#White Glove Deliver

[gmanmedias]

📼 📼 📼

☠️ ☠️ ☠️

📹 📹 📹

[theryanitecorruptionandothersins]

The Auditor makes his appearance towards the end of the event. He sobers the crowd with a speech on posterity and rouses their ambition with a toast to the future and a reminder to make with what they leave behind better than what they bereaved on the surface.

or House crashes a Rapture new years party with a dress and a lecture on the consequences of bigotry.

This is set in my very alternate universe where, towards the end of his millenium tenure of supervisor over New Vegas, accidents happen and House finally passes the torch fully on to his exasperated courier and the safeguards they've developed over nearly 700 years of service, to go and fuck around with Andrew Ryan—or a version of Andrew Ryan.

[postmortemnivis]

nobody knew simon’s name, his cold glances penetrating souls whenever someone on the force even dared to call him by his first name. he preferred it this way. he wasn’t the kind to blend personal life and work, he didn’t want to look at himself in the mirror without his mask and still see a murderer. his hands were clean, protected by the gloves ghost slipped on each time he reached base. it was soon that the other soldiers almost forgot his name, agreeing that their lieutenant was indeed a ghost.

that was until your worried voice called for him.

you didn’t know of the ghost identity, it had never even crossed your mind that your simon, your sweet and caring boyfriend’s personality would switch into a cold blooded killer as soon as he set foot at base or in the field. of course he never mentioned it with you, he sporadically talked about his job and his missions. you knew he was a strict lieutenant, but you had been kept away from more by the person with the skull mask and balaclava.

“simon?” you asked for the third time the receptionist. she apologetically looked up at you and shrugged. “oh cmon, simon riley. i know for a fact that he’s here. please, i need to see him.”

“i’m very sorry miss but…” the woman shook her head again, “let me call the captain.”

you sighed and sat down by the waiting area until a man walked in and talked to the woman.

“who’re you looking for?”

you stood up. “simon. simon riley.”

“ghost?”

you shook your head, almost clueless. “no, simon riley.”

“yeah, that’s him…” he said, “he’s training the recruits now. shall i deliver a message?”

“no, i need to see him personally. i wouldn’t have come all the way here if it wasn’t important, captain.”

you'd seen price a few times, simon's loyalty to the man was almost like a dog's one, always following orders and rarely complaining. he often talked about him when he was at home, all he shared with you about his threatening job was the friends he made along the way: johnny, kyle, price, gary, nikolai. he'd often go out for a pint—or two—with johnny and kyle, who also occasionally would come to your shared apartment for dinner with their temporary girlfriends.

"follow me." price sighed. you eagerly followed him, as close as his shadow, and the courtyard came into sight. dozens and dozens of soldiers in scarlet training uniforms were running laps of the immense open space under the pale sun, and that's when you spotted a tall and muscular man in black tactical gear. hell, he was hard to miss.

"another lap, smith!" his mancunian accent was stronger than his will to neutralise it. "if my gran was alive she'd be faster than ya."

you'd recognised the voice, of course, even if it was much harsher than usual, but you couldn't recognise him.

you realised, that was ghost. his cold eyes were studying each of the recruit's tired and red faces, his arms behind his back as he barked for five more laps for the ones who didn't look sweaty enough. even his voice was different, but what shocked you was the black balaclava with the white skull drawn on top.

you'd seen the mask once or twice over the years, shoved on the bottom of his duffle bag or drying on a windowsill, but you've never given it much thought, why would you?

"si?" you asked, standing directly behind him as price stood a few feet from you.

his head snapped in your direction at a worryingly fast speed, his eyes immediately becoming soft, then confused.

"what're you doin' here?" his voice spoke, much sweeter.

you kept staring at him, not recognising the man you loved.

he immediately grabbed the crown of the balaclava and yanked it off without a second though. holding the black piece of clothing in his hand, both of them came to cup your elbows, drawing you closer to him.

"love?" he called you.

still at loss of words, you reached to the balaclava and twirled it between your fingers.

"love, talk to me." his voice sounded worried.

"ghost?"

he shook his head. "simon, love."

"we'll talk about that at home." you raised your eyebrows, attempting a smile.

he looked at you impatiently, his fingers brushing up and down your forearms.

you fished in your bag a small plastic bag and gave it to him.

this wasn't like one of the times when he'd forget his lunch at home so you'd drop by and give it to johnny so he'd give it to an always so busy simon ghost; he could see it in your eyes that this was something more.

he unwrapped the plastic bag that you had rolled up on itself. his eyes looked brighter than ever when he took with shaky fingers the finally positive pregnancy test.

[claymoresword]

The Queen And Her Knight | Chp: 7

Alicent Hightower x Knight Fem!Reader

Summary: Alicent Hightower against her better judgement, falls in love with her sworn protector. Can she bear to fight her feelings or will she finally just give in?

Wordcount: 4.2k

Pairing: Alicent x Reader

Warnings: power imbalance, angst, fluff, smut, fingering, g!p reader, dialogue heavy, mentions of alcoholism

Note: you asked and after a year i finally delivered! this one definitely moves the plot forward but i also managed to get carried away with the smut somehow lol. if you wish to skip it just keep a lookout for the asterisks

enjoy!

Taglist: @blackbirdv98 @flaiire1805 @alicentfangirl @memarrymilf @thegayassbit-ch @vantestark @hauntedfictionland @livinginafantasysposts @baddie-on-a-mission-xx @evolutionsglory @darthtargnister @dxrewclf @rozmrazaradelfinow @wlwfanfictionss @karsonromanoff

You hold up the crown for all to see. The aged relic is a circlet of valyrian steel, set with blood-red rubies. Although only few remained, the squared cut gemstones were still a captivating sight to regard nonetheless.

The crown was once worn by Aegon The Conqueror – it seems fitting that it now be passed down to his namesake. 

The dragon pit is engulfed in trepidation enough to stifle, as you gently place the crown upon Aegon's head.

It fits like a glove. A reassuring and altogether unsettling prospect.

“Let the Seven bear witness, Aegon Targaryen, is the true heir to the Iron Throne.” A declaration that rattles the silence. Your voice travels far, it ricochets off the towering walls and high ceilings.

You watched as the High Septon assisted the King back onto his feet before bowing at him in respect. 

Your hand firmly resting on the hilt of your sword as you incline your head the same way when Aegon glances at you.

As he shifts his stare toward his mother, Alicent performs a curtsey. Followed by the same from Helaena. 

Aemond holds his older brother's gaze for a moment before inclining his head in respect as well.

“All hail His Grace, Aegon, Second Of His Name, King of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord Of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm.” The High Septon announces as Aegon turns to face the mass of people watching the ceremony.

“Aegon the king!” You call out, and soon the crowd erupts, loud bursts of shouts and claps, all celebrating their new king.

═══════════════════════════════════════════

While you stood in the dowager queen's bedchambers, your expression twists incredulously as Alicent endlessly fusses at your breastplate. Soon, moving behind you to fasten your white cloak.

“Your Grace, I can manage this on my own, truly.” You insist once more, feeling rather queer. A queen should not be tending to you, in fact it ought to be the opposite. 

Alicent remains determined, and stubborn.

“Hush.” She scolds, and you say nothing else.

“There we are.” She says, smoothing out your green tunic. After accepting the post as Lord Commander, you have since abandoned your own house colors. 

Even the breastplate you have chosen for today was a foreign one, no longer the golden kraken, now intricately carved with the sigil of House Hightower instead. 

Uncanny as it may be, you could not deny that it was beautifully made, and generally easier on the eyes compared to your old armor, it also fits far more comfortably.

You catch Alicent's eyes upon you, now suddenly feeling exposed, by the way she was observing your frame. 

Shameless and brazen; you can't help the way it stirs something within you.

“Alicent.” You snatch her attention abruptly, forcing back your amusement.

“Hm?” The dowager queen replies, lost for a moment. It seems she only realizes she has been caught when your eyes meet. A visible blush rapidly creeps up to her face in a way that makes your heart flutter.

“You seem to be eyeing me like a meal to devour.” You point out, causing Alicent to avert her gaze entirely from embarrassment.

Gods, how desperately you wish to kiss her right now.

“You look exceptional in green,” The queen utters, her hand slips up your forearm.

In truth, her admittance doesn't surprise you. 

Fascinating how she can be transparent one moment and entirely unreadable the next. 

This notion alone draws you in beyond reason. With Alicent, you are always acting on pure desire and instinct. 

She has completely enchanted you.

“Is that right?” You ask regardless, moving closer.

Alicent nods, her bottom lip set in between her teeth. The sight of her like this always drove you mad with the urge to ravage her here and now. 

The older woman instinctively slips her arms around your neck. It takes all of your control to only place a hand on the small of her back and nowhere else, trailing tender kisses along her jaw.

“Do you enjoy seeing me in armor, Your Grace?” You whisper. 

As you part her hair away from her neck, you allow your lips to meet the shell of her ear. Relishing in the way Alicent trembles at your touch.

“I do, very much.” She answers, and as you pull away, Alicent does quite the opposite, leaning in to capture your lips with her own. 

Open-mouthed and eager, she kisses you with enough fervor and passion to leave you aching for more.

You can hardly help the way your hand slips lower to squeeze her rear, pulling her flush against your groin.

Alicent gasps into your mouth at the sensation, now feeling the bulge in your breeches. 

She kisses you once more before pulling away, nuzzling her face into the crook of your neck to hide her flushed expression.

“Lord Commander.. you are being terribly indecent.” The queen's tone betrays a playfulness, one that exhilarates you.

“I cannot help it, my queen. You drive me half-mad with want.” You remark, as your hand slides up her back in a languid manner.

Alicent exhales against your neck. She pulls you in even closer, welcoming your touch.

“Be safe today.. return to me in one piece.” The other woman utters, you meet her brown eyes, warm and enticing.

“If the Gods will it, I shall.” Your response is likely less than reassuring, but the dowager queen does not say anything to confront this.

Alicent merely occupies herself by tracing along your features delicately with her thumb. Your eyes flutter shut for a moment, unable to hide the smirk that tugs at the corners of your mouth, basking in the attention she is giving you.

“Kiss me again.” You ask, and the queen moves to do exactly that, but a knock on the door causes Alicent to abruptly pull away, resuming a proximity.

The suddenness of her action nearly knocks the wind out of you and your smile quickly dissipates. 

It aches, in truth, having to sneak around like this. You mislike feeling like a dirty secret– the queen's mistress.

Or perhaps her whore.

“Come.” Alicent calls, she composes herself as she straightens out her gown. A heartbeat before her father enters.

Alicent's demeanor shifts in a way you have been privy to in the past. It appears effortless the way her expression sets impassively, her hands clasped firmly over her stomach.

Now she is queen Alicent, again. No longer the woman you had been kissing just moments prior.

Otto has his jaw tightened in a similar fashion, studying you in a way that forces you to shift uncomfortably, despite yourself. “Lord Commander, it is time for us to depart.” He finally utters.

You nod, reaching for your sword belt. “Very good, m’lord.” 

As you fastened the belt upon yourself, you observed as Alicent retrieved what appears to be a piece of parchment from her bedside table. The dowager hands it over to her father, whispering something to him that is intelligible to your ears. 

Even as you move slightly closer under the guise of arming your steel, you are still unable to make out the sudden, and evidently secretive conversation being had between them.

You vow to sate your curiousity and confront Alicent about this later; after you have successfully delivered terms to princess Rhaenyra.

═══════════════════════════════════════════

Your arrival at Dragonstone was expectedly greeted with nothing but asperity– the threat of blood shed felt imminent as you stood on the bridge.

Your army, alongside Otto's, staring down the few men who remain loyal to the Rogue Prince.

Rhaenyra Targaryen has evidently fashioned these men to act as her newly appointed Queensguard.

The notion of an agonizing death looms over all of you as her large dragon remained perched a few feet away. 

Syrax is silent– as if she possessed the capacity to understand the situation at hand.

You could sense the ground beneath you rumble every time the dragon took a breath, sending a never ending chill down your spine.

“You all are traitors to the realm.” Queen Rhaenyra declares, her late father's golden crown perched upon her head.

“King Aegon Targaryen, second of his name, in his wisdom and desire for peace, is offering terms. Confess Aegon as king and swear obeisance before the Iron Throne.” Otto pauses, and Rhaenyra only acknowledges the statement with a scowl, before a hardened expression takes over her features once more.

You observed as Daemon scoffed. His grip on his steel continued to advise you to keep a firm hold on your own sword.

“In exchange, His Grace will confirm your possession of Dragonstone. It will pass to your true born son Jacaerys upon your death.” The Hand offers, generous in any other circumstance– if it was not Rhaenyra's birthright that has been stolen from her.

“Lucerys will be confirmed as the legitimate heir to Driftmark, and all the lands and holding of house Velaryon.”

“Your sons by prince Daemon, will also be given places of high honor at court. Aegon the younger as the king's squire, Viserys as his cupbearer. Finally, the king in his good grace will pardon any knight or Lord who conspired against his ascent.” Otto finishes, and the rogue prince is quick to retaliate.

“I would rather feed my sons to the dragons than have them carry shields and cups for your drunken usurper cunt of a king.” Daemon sneers, yet you notice Otto's resolve, he remains unfazed, confident.

One you utterly lacked, in truth. You kept an eye on a second dragon, red and much larger than Syrax, orbiting the sky.

“Aegon Targaryen sits the Iron Throne. He wears the conqueror's crown, wields the conqueror's sword, has the conqueror's name. He was anointed by a Septon of the Faith before the eyes of thousands. Every single symbol of legitimacy belongs to him.” Otto claims, unwavering.

This works to agitate Rhaenyra enough, her Lord husband appears more than prepared to behead any one of you currently standing before him.

“Then there is Stark, Tully, Baratheon. Houses who have also received and are at present, considering generous terms from their king.” The Hand adds salt to an already gaping wound.

“Stark, Tully and Baratheon have all sworn allegiance to me. As have your House, y/n.” Rhaenyra states, addressing you directly, taking you by surprise for a moment before you found the sense to meet her hard stare.

As you remain silent, Rhaenyra continues.

“I understand if you don't recall, you were still suckling at your mother's teats when your father bent the knee.” The Targaryen remarks, whether intended as a jab to your pride, it matters not, as you refuse to feel it.

“But he swore his allegiance to me, nonetheless.”

You shift your weight from one foot to another, hand resting on the pommel of your sword. “I am not here on my father's behalf.” You respond curtly.

“Then who are you here for?” Daemon inquires, he quickly continues before you can conjure a reply.

“Are you so cunt-stricken by that whore you call your queen that you are willing to abandon a sworn oath? Where is your honor?” He taunts, and this time you do feel it, like a lance to the gut.

You open your mouth to respond, but Otto quickly interjects before things get the chance to escalate further.

“Grand Maester.” He calls, extending his arm. Maester Orwyle then passes him a piece of parchment, the same one that you had witnessed Alicent give to her father in her bedchambers.

Your confusion sets in once more as Otto bravely advances forward, passing the same parchment to Rhaenyra.

The queen, in her fury, snatches it from Otto, unfolding it to discover its contents. 

It was only then you noticed that it was not a letter– rather, an illustration. A page torn from a book.

“What the fuck is this?” Daemon curses, ironically sharing your sentiment.

Rhaenyra remained silent as she stared at the page in her hands, her expression still unreadable.

“Queen Alicent has not forgotten the love you once had for each other. She eagerly awaits your answer.” Otto utters, and your face falls once you recognize the tears that escaped Rhaenyra's eyes. 

A sinking feeling that you've been trying to set aside all day, re-emerges, inexplicably, you reach for your sword.

“She can have her answer now stuffed in her father's mouth, along with his withered cock. Let's end this mummer's farce.” The rogue prince hisses, as he unsheathes his steel, you immediately do the same. 

In the next few moments the noise of metal scraping against scabbard charges the air as the rest of your soldiers along with Daemon's draw their weapons.

“Ser Erryk, bring me Lord Hightower so I may take the pleasure of killing him myself.” The prince consort's command is broken by the sound of Syrax shrieking, flailing her body violently.

You flinch, but do your best to ignore the incessant pounding in your chest as you gripped your sword tighter.

Then, by a miracle, Rhaenyra subdues her uncle with a single word. “No.” She declares, Daemon is forced to set down his sword. He does it begrudgingly, and you slowly do the same.

“King's Landing will have my answer on the morrow.” The queen utters sharply before turning away, disappearing through her guards.

You stand frozen in place. 

Somehow, no blood was spilled today. The simple prospect of Alicent's care for Rhaenyra seemed enough for the Targaryen to forsake her own claim to the throne.

It appears you shall return to Alicent safely, as she asked. You should be relieved, and yet you feel nothing of the sort. 

The thought of the dowager queen welcoming you home, with a warm embrace, doesn't fill you with a sense of joy like it usually would.

It only makes you ill.

═══════════════════════════════════════════

Since returning to the Red Keep you had chosen to keep away, sequestered in your quarters. Only your thoughts and a flagon of strongwine to keep you company.

You realize that you ought to visit Alicent, assure her of your safety, but still, you couldn't bear it, not today. 

Endlessly replaying the moment in your head, Otto's words pollute your thoughts.

Alicent has not forgotten the love she once held for Rhaenyra, that much is evident.

So where does that leave you? 

You are no longer certain you even possess a space in Alicent's life, let alone in her heart.

She loves Rhaenyra, and you are only a mistress.

You wipe away your tears, it is no use crying, you are simply mourning a fantasy. Queen Alicent is beyond your reach, she always has been.

As you continued to lose the battle to your anxieties, you fail to hear the main door of your bedchambers creaking as it gets pushed open.

Alicent catches you throwing your head back as you emptied the contents of your goblet. Her expression displaying palpable concern as she approaches you.

“Why are you drinking?” She inquires, and you scramble to your feet, perplexed in the way she somehow managed to enter your chambers without you realizing it.

“Your Grace.” You address her, inclining your head as you propped your hand against the back of the chair.

Alicent appears taken aback by your formality, nonetheless she moves to touch your cheek, but halts immediately when she notices the way you recoiled.

“What is the matter?” The older woman asks carefully, studying you with such concern that it weakens your very being.

How could she possibly place you above Rhaenyra Targaryen?

“I was convinced that I was going to die at Dragonstone.” Your voice breaks.

“But you did not, thank the Gods.” Alicent utters in relief, she grabs your arm, still unaware of your true grievance.

“The only reason my men and I were spared was because Rhaenyra commanded it as such.” You state, pausing for a moment to steady your breathing. 

“and, she only did so because of you.” You accuse, and Alicent straightens her back, retracting her hand once more.

You mourn her touch, but force yourself to look into her eyes as you await a response.

When nothing comes, you decide to speak again.

“Do you love her?” You ask boldly, prepared for any response, but the one Alicent gives you is barely anything at all.

“I–” She stutters after a prolonged silence, and you scoff, moving past her to sit on the edge of your bed.

Alicent takes large strides after you, eager to explain herself. 

“Rhaenyra and I, we were children together, we did everything together. She was my closest friend.” The dowager queen starts as she moves to stand directly in front of you.

“Perhaps I was in love, at one point. But that was an entirely different lifetime, y/n. A life I do not even recognize.” She admits, and you finally look up at her.

Alicent tentatively wipes away the tear that managed to escape your eye. 

Despite yourself, your lips meet the palm of her hand as you hold it close to your face.

The dowager queen smiles.

“I am in love with you. Only you.” Alicent reassures, and your heart soars. Whether it is a lie to spare your feelings or a vulnerable truth, you are still thankful she cares enough to utter the words.

For now, that is enough.

“I love you too, so much.” You respond, still gazing up at her.

Alicent's auburn locks fell loosely down her shoulders like liquid fire. Her white nightdress, although modestly crafted, still managed to highlight every delicate curve and dip of her body.

She looks utterly breathtaking. 

The queen snaps you out of your trance when she leans down to meet your lips with her own. A searing kiss that immediately leaves you breathless.

Alicent whimpers softly as your tongue enters her mouth, overcome with an urge to feel her, you place a firm hand on her waist, guiding her to straddle your lap.

The dowager does so with no protest, her knees quickly settling in between your hips on the bed. 

Her core snug against your clothed groin, she feels so warm, so intoxicating.

*

Alicent grinds against your lap instinctively, causing you groan into the kiss. The queen seemingly overtaken with desires of her own, pulls away to begin trailing open mouthed kisses from the shell of your ear, down to your neck.

Your breathing quickens.

“Fuck��� I cannot believe how perfect you are.” You say, and Alicent leans back to look at you. She does so comfortably with your firm hand supporting her.

“I am far from it,” She argues, and you are quick to shake your head in disagreement, guiding her close once more by the nape of her neck.

“You have no idea how ready I am to commit treason just to prove you wrong, my queen.” You remark, and the sound of Alicent's giggle fills you with hope for the first time in days, before she connects your lips once more.

**

As the kiss deepens your hand wanders the dowager's frame, almost like second nature, you slip it underneath her nightgown, feeling goosebumps form on her thighs from your touch.

You squeezed her rear, indecently causing Alicent to grind on your lap once more. Swallowing her gasp of pleasure as she does so. 

“Y/n..” She utters against your lips, urging you on.

Soon you glide your hand towards her inner thigh, inching even closer to her core. “Can I?” Your ask is met with an eager nod. Alicent kisses you again, harsh and wanting.

“Touch me.” She says, and you do just that, finding your way to her sex. You begin to add pressure with your palm, causing Alicent's hips to buck against your touch.

She is dripping for you already– meeting your touch desperately. As you continue to move your hand against her sex, Alicent's gasps and mewls grow louder, she results in burying her face into the crook of your neck.

“Gods–” You marvel, kissing her shoulder before prodding a finger at her entrance. 

The queen grips your shoulder tighter, nodding profusely as words continue to fail her. 

You take it as permission to enter her. Doing so with two fingers, your breath hitches at the feeling of her walls contracting deliciously against your digits.

You would kill to feel her do the same around your cock.

“Yes, oh, Gods–” Alicent pants as you continue to pump in and out of her. Less than a minute has passed and it seems she is on the verge of release already, muttering incoherently against your ear.

She squeezes your fingers once more, pulling an involuntary groan from you, she is so wet you can feel her dripping down your hand, causing you to nearly soil your breeches.

“Come, come for me, beautiful..” You coax curving your fingers inside of Alicent, and that is all it took for her to fall apart completely.

She climaxes around your fingers with a cry, the sight of her writhing on top of you was truly the most captivating thing you have ever witnessed. You cock pulses with need, straining painfully against the fabric of your breeches.

Alicent's chest is heaving violently as she meets your gaze once more, her eyes dark amidst her pleasure. 

“Thank you, for that.” She mutters before kissing you deeply, and you can't help but chuckle.

“No, my love, I should be thanking you.” You insist, and Alicent cares not to argue at this moment. Her lips meet the base of your jaw, a confidence overcomes her when she touches your breasts before moving her hand further south, squeezing your cock.

She gapes at the sensation, with a look of palpable arousal that again, nearly causes you to finish right then and there.

“You are so hard..” Alicent remarks in awe, squeezing you harder, earning a guttural noise from yourself.

“Yes, all because of you.” You confer, and the dowager bites her lip to mask her delight.

The sight drove you mad, as it always does. Quickly grabbing hold of her nightdress, Alicent allows you to lift it over her head.

You toss the garment carelessly across the room. Alicent moans anew as your mouth makes contact with her bare and sensitive breasts. You begin licking and sucking as though your life depended on it.

Another shudder of pleasure nearly immobilizes the Alicent before she grips a fistful of your locks, harshly pulling your head back.

She ground her hips again, her weeping sex pressing down on your hard cock.

“Please, I want to feel it inside me. I want to feel all of you.” Alicent pleads, and the prospect alone makes you lightheaded.

You don't plan to deny either of you the pleasure any longer.

Alicent lets out a yelp in surprise as you flip your positions, placing her flat on her back as you quickly remove your tunic, finally fumbling with the laces of your breeches before removing them as well.

The queen's stare falls onto the large shaft in between your legs, she reaches out to touch your cock, but you quickly grab ahold of her hand, pinning it against the bed as you settle on top of her.

Alicent whines in protest, arching her back helplessly, causing your breasts to press up against her own.

“Please,” The dowager queen begs once more, and you smirk with a sense of triumph, in this moment, you truly believe that Alicent is yours to worship and love entirely.

“So impatient.” You tease, placing a chaste kiss against her cheek.

If Alicent aimed to respond, she was not given the opportunity to, as you thrust your hips forward, skillfully sheathing yourself inside of her. 

Alicent releases a strangled moan at the sensation, whimpering like a maiden as she grows accustomed to your size. Her nails dig into your back, she lifts her leg to wrap around your waist, inevitably pulling you even deeper inside of her as you begin to move your hips once more.

“Fuck– oh my Gods..” Alicent curses, motivating you to move harder against her, with every stroke, her cunt welcomes your cock eagerly. Squeezing your girth in a way you've never experienced before.

Alicent eagerly intertwines your hands, the intimate noises of your coupling filling the room. 

You groan with every thrust, feeling dangerously close to your release, you kiss her once before speaking.

“Alicent, I– I won't last much longer.” You admit, and Alicent moans at your words, anxious to witness your release.

“Don't hold back, darling.” She coaxes, letting her leg fall away from your waist, you pump inside of her again and then once more before pulling out.

Alicent continues to hold your hand as your entire body tenses, she watches your strained expression as you reach your peak.

She gasps as your seed spills onto her belly. 

Your breathing grows erratic as you ride out the shockwaves from your release. 

The feeling of Alicent's soothing hand caressing your forearm manages to coax you back to reality.

Alicent chuckles lightly as you collapse next to her, attempting to gain your bearings. 

The queen turns to face you, placing a lingering kiss on your stomach, before doing the same on your chest. 

You smile weakly, threading your fingers through her auburn locks, still feeling as though you are in a dream.

One you never wish to wake from.

“I love you..” You declare, just above a whisper.

Alicent beams, her thumb tracing across your bottom lip. “I love you too, y/n.”

[suashii]

— 𝓁𝒾𝓉𝓉𝓁𝑒 𝓂𝒾𝓈𝓈 𝒸𝒾𝓉𝓎 𝑔𝒾𝓇𝓁 ౨ৎ

boothill x f!reader. 2k wc. ﾉ non-canon compliant ﾉ sfw ﾉ some vaguely suggestive bits ﾉ farmhand!boothill ﾉ flirty teasing ﾉ pet names ( darlin', princess, honey, sweetheart. . . i went crazy @.@ )

my comeback to writing for hsr! first time writing for boothill so pls don't be too tough on me :3 hope u like ! !

masterlist ౨ৎ next part

the new farmhand at your grandfather’s ranch is trouble.

he shouldn’t be, not with the way your grandpa speaks so highly of him—he’s exactly the kind of help this place needed, he tells you. starts on time, is thorough in his work, and takes good care of all that your grandfather holds dear. you should love him simply for that—taking a weight off the old man’s shoulders and putting his heart at ease—but you’ve seen an entirely different side of the so-called saint.

ever since you arrived at the ranch a few days ago, the one called boothill has been a pain in your neck. it took nothing more than you stepping out of your car for him to label you that city girl, the “little lady” who looks like she’s never stepped foot in mud a day in her life.

from that moment onward, it’s been nothing but sly remarks at your expense. you don’t miss the chuckles he makes no effort to hide as you refamiliarize yourself with the animals and get used to the scent of hay and manure. his not-so-subtle smirks when you’re simply passing by have been the most irking. your mere presence is seemingly a joke to boothill.

you’ve made it your mission to steer clear of the man but the task is proving to be difficult. the fact that he’s now living in what you used to know as one of the guest bedrooms coupled with your grandpa’s oblivious albeit innocent nature seems to be enough to throw a wrench in that plan of yours. 

your trip here was meant to be a relaxing getaway from the hustle and bustle of city life but you’ve only taken on a new role as boothill’s personal assistant if the tray with two glasses of lemonade is any indication. if it were up to you, you’d be enjoying a peaceful breakfast without worrying about the man bothering you but it’s just your luck that your grandfather caught you before you could make the meal, politely asking you to deliver a cold beverage to boothill who has been working since the sun rose over the horizon.

luckily for the farmhand, you can’t say no to your grandpa.

that’s how you find yourself wandering the grounds in your satin pajama set and the boots your grandpa prepared for your arrival. your legs move in muscle memory as you navigate the vast stretch of land in search of boothill. thankfully, you don’t have to go much farther, catching sight of the man at the entrance of the barn.

he’s gone for a simple look today—a white t-shirt and jeans paired with the dirtied boots you haven’t gone a day without seeing him in. his shirt is already stained and is darker around the neckline, dampened with sweat. he’s made an effort to tie back his black and white strands of hair, though, a few of the shorter ones have escaped and frame his face. the hat you’ve grown accustomed to seeing him in, strangely, isn’t sitting atop his head.

he must see you approaching out of the corner of his eye because he turns to face you, an immediate grin taking over his lips. it makes you grip the tray tighter.

he looks you up and down as he pulls off his gloves, stuffing both in his back pocket. when gray eyes settle on yours, he tells you, “nice get up.”

you roll your eyes because you saw a comment like that coming. everything you do down to the way you dress is scrutinized when it comes to him. even though you’ve only been here a short while, you’ve come to expect this kind of behavior from boothill.

he huffs out a laugh at your reaction before his gaze falls to the tray in your hands and the glasses that sit on it. “that for me, darlin’?”

against your will, your heart jumps in your chest. that, you haven’t grown accustomed to. you’re not sure you’ll ever get used to him throwing around pet names at you like it’s nothing, like it’s the most natural thing in the world to him. it’s easier to blame the heat blooming in your cheeks on the sun’s beaming rays rather than boothill’s sweet talking.

you hold the tray out to him, hoping the effect of his words isn’t visible on your face. “courtesy of grandpa.” you can’t have him thinking this gesture was born from the kindness of your heart. his teasing would be merciless then.

“of course,” he drawls, grabbing one of the glasses and swallowing a few gulps. the shine of the lemonade is left on his lips when they pull away from the brim, his tongue poking out from between them to lick up the lingering drops. your eyes remain on his lips longer than they should, long enough to see them curl up into that annoyingly handsome smile. “little miss city girl wouldn’t be caught dead out here on her own accord.”

he can only stay charming for so long. “did you miss the whole part when my grandpa told you i grew up here?”

“no, no, i caught that.” he takes another sip of his drink. “it’s just that you strike me as the type who spent more time riding the horses than cleaning up after ‘em.”

you keep quiet and nurse your glass of lemonade because the only other option besides lying is telling him that he’s right. in your defense, what ten-year-old wants to spend their summer hauling hay and shoveling up horse crap?

“look,” you start, “i’m not some delicate glass figure who can’t get her hands dirty. i’m perfectly capable of helping out.”

boothill raises his eyebrows, a glint of humor sparkling in his steel irises. you know the look of a challenge when you see it and it almost makes you regret trying to defend yourself. “oh yeah? then the princess wouldn’t mind lending me a hand?”

“i wouldn’t,” you tell him. contrary to your statement, you really don’t want to spend more time with him than necessary, even if that means proving a point and settling some stupid argument. your mind races to find a believable excuse that’ll let you off the hook. “but i’m barely dressed to do any work. another time, maybe.”

he waves his hand in dismissal. “don’t worry, darlin’. what i’ve got in mind ain’t much work and won’t steal too much of your time.”

you nervously chew your cheek as boothill takes the tray that’s tucked under your arm, setting the now empty glasses on it and finding a place for them to rest. he nods his head in the direction he wants you to follow and, reluctantly, you do just that. he casts a glance over his shoulder to look at you. “just help me get this hay inside the barn, will ya?”

the job seems easy enough, a surprisingly straightforward request from boothill who seems to derive pleasure from giving you a hard time. too easy, you think to yourself as he heaves one of the rectangular bales of hay from the top of the stack. the task looks effortless when he does it, a short grunt being the only suggestion of exertion on his end.

he disappears into the red building and you take his temporary departure as an opportunity to pick up a bale of your own. you grab a hold of the twine keeping the hay in its shape and immediately grimace at the way the fodder pokes and prods at your palms. you’re tempted to let go and step away but you have a point to prove and plan on doing so. with a groan, you lift the bale, or at least try to. it’s heavier than you expect it to be and the scratching against your exposed legs is uncomfortable, sure to get worse with the distance you’re meant to walk.

you’re about to drop the bale back in place when a pair of arms reach around you, calloused hands joining yours to carry the collection of hay. boothill’s unexpected presence catches you off guard and the proximity of his mouth to your ear makes your breath catch in your throat. “having a bit of trouble, love?”

love? your skin prickles with goosebumps at yet another pet name. this time, it’s more difficult to blame the heat running beneath your skin on the sun. it takes a moment for you to find your voice and when you do, the ones you manage to get out refute his claim. “i’m not. i told you i wasn’t dressed for this.”

he snorts at your reply as though he can see right through the flimsy excuse. “right, well, you’re in my way, so why don’t i help you with this one?”

before you can protest, boothill is on his way, dragging you along with him. your steps match his, his bigger boots trailing behind yours as the two of you walk the path to the growing supply he likely started before you interrupted. you’re released from your place between the bale and boothill when he drops it on top of the other.

you’re free to make a move, to slip away from the charged air and reclaim your personal space. instead of doing so, you simply turn around to face him. you’re met with his broad chest before you tip your head up to meet his eye. “i could have done that on my own.”

“i’m sure you could have,” he says, but the smile pulling at his lips tells another story. he reaches behind him with one hand to pull the gloves from his pockets, waving them between you as an offer. “these might help.”

you happily take the gloves as he takes his leave, slipping your hands into the protective gear. they’re larger than you need and there’s extra space in them but you don’t mind, not if they’ll help you show boothill that you refuse to be reduced to some city girl.

and they do help, at least with shielding your hands from the unpleasant sensation of hay against them. the bales are just as heavy and just as awkward to haul but you’re able to get the job done, nonetheless. for every one you carry, boothill lugs two more past you. his familiarity with the job means the two of you are finished one within a reasonable amount of time. 

you drop the final bale with the rest, a relieved sigh pushing past your lips at a job well done. boothill stands off to the side and whistles as you snatch the gloves off, wiping your forehead with the back of your hand. “well, would you look at that.”

“surprised?” you ask, tossing his gloves back at him.

“honey, anyone can hoist some hay.” he catches the gloves with ease, stuffing them back in his pocket. you’re almost offended at how easily he dismisses your efforts but you don’t have time to let the annoyance sprout before he’s approaching you, tipping your chin up so that you have no choice but to look at him. “though, i doubt they’d look as pretty as you doing it.”

you can’t tell whether he’s trying to get a rise out of you or if he truly stands by his statement. all you know for sure is that his sugary words and the feel of his skin against your face leave you unmistakably flustered, so much so that you can’t control the erratic beat of your heart and can’t stop the little nagging voice in the back of your head from whispering that you don’t dislike him as much as you let on.

boothill is trouble, but not in the way you thought he would be.

“i have to go.” you knock his hand away and turn on your heel in a rush to get back to the house, far away from boothill.

you can escape the sight of him, the feel of him, but not the sound of him as he yells after you. “see you around, sweetheart!”

thanks for reading! consider reblogging if u enjoyed :3

[carmenized-onions]

Where To? | Delivery Fees

logline; Fix, after fix, after fix; at a point, you've gotta ask what you are.

[!!!] series history, this is the fifth; First, Second, Third, Fourth

portion; 8k+ (sorry, it's about to go down. Perfectly in time for your long Friday midnight read that you regret in the morning!)

possible allergies; birth/medical shenanigans (nothin' scary, tbh, unrealistic), Mikey heavy talks and thus, mentions of drug addiction, it's traumas, his death, and grieving! Tony makes a joke about being bisexual, and I simply can't apologize for this, I write the perspective I have, man.

pairing; Carmen ‘Carmy’ Berzatto & Fem Reader (aunt, mentions of bein' a mom, no pronouns? I think?)

this is by far, I think, the best (and longest) chapter so far, and if you don't leave me a paragraph (or several) detailing your thoughts and favourite moments, I will eat a lightbulb. And you will simply never hear from me again. Be warned,,,,,

Everyone works fast and efficient. Hospitality is used in two places for a goddamn reason. A well-oiled machine can switch gears on a dime.

Sydney gets a clean table cloth sample from a pile of off-whites they’d been considering. She puts it down in the office, swiping it over the floor to cover up the grime. Does she close her eyes when she walks in, and trip over the chair on the ground? Yeah. But she’s trying to be respectful of Nat’s privacy, okay!?

Tina talks Nat through everything as she gets Nat to lay down, she finds your Carhartt jacket hanging the shelf, folds it, and tucks it under the small of Sug’s back for support.

Richie is in the front of house, yelling at Pete over the phone, both with disdain and love somehow? That’s fathers for you. Fak is respectfully standing in front of the office door with one pile of warm cloths and another pile dry. Was he yelled at when he initially tried to come in? Yes. He’s handing them off to Sydney as needed now.

You scrub your hands clean, dry them, then start rolling on prep gloves at the sink. An apron is thrown around you, you turn your head just so, to see Carmen behind you, tying the neck and then waist of your apron for you.

He’s focused on the knots, but he looks up at you for a split second, meeting your curious gaze, his only explanation is, “S’faster.” You refocus on your gloves, because you’ll go insane if you don’t. It’s a silent exchange.

When you’re both scrubbed and ready, Carmen takes the towels from Fak and you usher for him to switch places with Tina, who slips out along with Sydney.

Everyone else sits outside the office, hushed and worried, and it is just the three of you, in here. Technically four, if you think about it. He sits on his knees so Sugar can elevate her head on his lap. And on the other side of him, about to assist in the birth of his niece, between her legs, is you.

You situate yourself, hands at the ready to catch a baby, towel in your lap.

And if you can just pretend you’re wearing medical gloves instead of prep cook gloves, and scrubs instead of an old Beef apron, you can almost believe it’s three years ago and you’re riding in the back of an ambulance helping a new mom deliver a baby, and Mikey is still alive somewhere where you don’t know him yet. You shake your head out of it. There’s not time for this.

“Alright, you’re doing a great job, just keep breathing, just keep pushing— Sometimes talking helps, uh, with labour.”

“I— What should I talk about—?”

“Oh, uh—” You look up at Carmen as if it’s gonna help you, and in a way, it does, “Why don’t you tell me baby names you’ve been considering? You pick one out?”

“Oh, oh I— Christ— I was thinking maybe, maybe Michaela? Is that stupid? That’s stupid, isn’t it?” She warbles with a stinging level of insecurity.

“I don’t think it’s stupid, Sug.” Carmen’s quick to jump in, swiping her hair out of her eyes. You nod in agreement, backing him up. “I don’t think it’s stupid. It’s a sweet sentiment— Nobody gets to judge the way you mourn, Nat.”

She groans in pain, then groans more pitifully, like being struck with a sudden guilt, “Tony!”

“Yeah, yeah, Nat? I’m here.” You take her hand.

“I was being a bitch before in the bathroom!” She whines this out like a drunk girl’s confession.

You’re quick to lean forward to her, consoling her, as if she is in fact a drunk girl in the bathroom with you, “Nononono, you were fine— Hey, keep pushing, keep breathing— You weren’t bein’ any type a way, you’re good!”

“I was so judgy! I was just like my fucking mom— Oh my God— Am I gonna be my mom?!”

Carmen and you are lightning fast to usher and coo a myriad of denials and flat out ‘No’s. When he gets the chance, he looks up and whispers to you, “What did she say to you?”

He’s far too hung up on this, in this moment. You squint at him, whispering back, oozing with sarcasm, “She can still hear you.”

“I said— I said ‘didn’t see you at the funeral’! Like who says that!?”

Carmen should be looking at his sister, which makes his stare feels ten times more exposing, “You didn’t go to the funeral?”

You shrug, but you feel a mountain of guilt on that shrug, like fucking Atlas. “Neither did you.”

He squints back at you, head tilting just slightly, “Yeah, but—”

“You knew him so much better than we did and I just— You’re so intimidating!”

“Intimidating?” Looking at Carmen’s face, it doesn’t look like he disagrees. Which only shocks you all the more.

“Yes! You know, you’re— You’re—”

“You’re like Mikey.” Carmen finishes for her. She nods, deliriously, trying to focus on her breathing.

“In what way?” You’re way too interested in this conversation, Goddamn it, look at the baby forehead, not the boy.

“You don’t talk like him or nothin’, but—”

“It’s the air!” Sugar shrieks on ‘air’, white knuckle gripping your hand. “You just, you control the temperature— you make rooms easier to breathe in like he did— And I— I wanted to push to see you make it harder to breathe like he—Oh my God!”

“Nat, you’re doing a fantastic job. The head’s a quarter way out, you’re doing —great.” You nod to Carmen, and wordlessly he knows to take your absolutely shattered hand out of her grasp and replace it with his. “And I try my best, but I— Y’know what, this isn’t the time—”

“No! Please, God, keep going!” She is clinging to your words like a telenovela. “This is all I have to keep my mind off my vagina tearing open!”

You nod, you want to wring your hands together but you’re wearing latex gloves. “I just— I didn’t know your brother better than you did. I just— I just knew him when he wasn’t letting a lot of people know him.”

“How did— you become friends with Mikey?”

“Dad was a fixer—”

“No, I know how you met. How did you become friends?”

You pause. God, no one’s ever called you on it. You've always been able to get away with a mere list of factors.

“I, uh…. was a couple jobs in at the Beef, with my dad, and we’d spoken casually before, but I stepped out to get some air, and he was there, havin’ a smoke, and he offered to share, and when I said ‘Oh, I don’t smoke’, he—”

You soften at the thought, eyes distant, smirking. “He went ‘What, are you Amish?’ And I guess, we just… Became friends over how detached and different I was, from everything else in his life. I didn’t know anything about him before The Beef. I didn’t come with expectations or social circles to rat on him to. I was— I was basically Amish, to him.”

You were his lock box. You had no way of using anything he ever said against him, and even if you could, you never would.

He could bitch about his successful baby brother in Denmark, and also rave over how excited he was about his successful baby brother in Denmark. He could do impressions of his little sister's cringey husband, and also show his relief in the fact that she will always be loved. He could tell you how scared he was, he could tell you what Uncle Lee said—he couldn’t tell you he was using. No. He couldn’t tell you. But you would find out, when you had to administer Narcan on him as he was passed out in the back alley of The Beef.

From there, there was nothing you didn’t hear about, nothing he thought would be worth hiding, after that. A diary of confessions is carved into your heart. Your name is carved into your favourite booth at your second favourite diner, not two blocks from here. It’s all the same handwriting.

You didn’t know Mikey better than his siblings did, you just knew how he felt about the things they saw.

Natalie’s shrieking brings you back to earth, you re-cradle your hands for the very top of the baby’s head. Despite the pain she’s in, she was right, your talking really is helping her keep the focus off her pain, “Is—Is that why you didn’t go to the funeral?!” She’s not judgy or mad, she just can’t say anything without full screaming it.

“I don’t— I don’t know if this exact moment is the best time—”

“I decide what time it is!”

Carmen looks up at you, and for the first time, is wincing at the iron clad grip his sister has his hand in— Ironically, the one with the stabbing tattoo. He wheezes, “She— She decides what time it is.”

“Right.” You nod at both of them, eyes wide. Your tone is hasty, you’d rather explain yourself well, but now you just have to explain yourself fast because the baby’s head is three quarters of the way out.

“Well, I, uh, yeah— It was, it was tough. I didn’t— I didn’t want to watch a group of people I’d heard so much about, good and bad, walk up on stage in front of a closed casket— N’— N’ talk about like, cute childhood moments— When I—When I had seen, when I had only seen him at his worst. And I— I liked the Mikey I got, loved the Mikey I got, but I know those last two years were very different. And I guess— I guess, I didn’t wanna learn… What I missed.”

There’s a lot of reasons why you didn’t go to the funeral, but that’s the one you know she’s going to find the most digestible and make some semblance of sense out of, right now.

She nods, repeatedly, deliriously, Carmen holds her head still. “I’m— I’m sorry, Tony.”

“I forgive you, Sug.” You nod back, reassuring, a soft smile for but a moment. “Now breathe, and one last big push— Head’s almost out! Smooth sailing from there, you’re doing so good!”

Just as frantic as Natalie’s screaming, there’s doors slamming, yelling, and what sounds like tripping from outside the office, “Nat! I’m here! I’m here! I’m coming!”

“Oh! Hold it in, Pete’s here—”

“Sugar, again, I hate to tell you this, not how that works!”

It’s about an hour later, you’re sitting out in front of The Bear, on the curb, with Syd.

Tina headed home as soon as she could to get back to her family. Richie said he’s on ‘daddy drop off’ for Eva tomorrow, so he had to head out— And he’s Fak’s ride, so he left too.

Once the baby had been delivered, and you’d screamed at calmly communicated to Carmen to get the exact time for the birth certificate, and Pete had rushed in and almost slipped on the wet sheets and cracked his head open— Everything was totally chill.

Pete’s driving his wife and daughter to Saint Anthony Hospital, where they’ll stay in holding for the next one to two days. Carmen refused to let you clean up on the basis of, ‘you just delivered my niece, get the fuck out’; and is inside, finishing that up. And so, you and Syd are perched up outside, getting some much-needed air, talking about nothing.

“That was fucking— crazy.”

“I think I should start smoking.” Is all you can reply, laughing shakily, eyes on the stars— Though there’s not many. Shout out light pollution. You hug your arms, still in the same outfit, apron-less, jacket-less, cold as fuck.

Syd laughs, “Yeah, that’s the move. For sure.” She sighs, sipping water from a deli cup she’d brought out. “...I’m never fuckin' having kids.”

“No, for sure.” You whistle, leaning back for dramatic effect, “I go back and forth on it a lot, and then I see a mom giving birth or dealing with her goblins and I’m like—”

You look to each other, speaking at the same time, “Free birth control!”

“Genuinely!” You snort, laughing through the words, “I leave cat food out on my fire escape for this one stray on my block, and I think that is as committal as I’m willing to get with taking care of creatures.”

She sniffs, looking at you more peculiarly, still smiling, “I think you’d be a good mom, though.”

Your amused grin sobers into a wistful smile, “I think you’d be a good one, too. Both like taking care of people.”

She punches your shoulder, softly, obviously. “You came through in an insane way, tonight.” When you try to wave it off, she doubles down, “I literally do not know what would’ve happened without you. The Bear is literally in your debt—And—And— You ditched your date, for us.”

You sigh, though smiling, “Syd, it wasn’t—” “It was bad? It was so bad you were kinda wishing this would happen?”

The house lights of The Bear shut off and Carmen comes out as you respond, locking the door behind him.

“I cannot fathom a date so bad that I actively hope my friend’s sister goes into labour and needs me to deliver her kid.”

“So it wasn’t bad?” She leans forward onto her knees, like she’s about to get the daily scoop.

“Not what I said, no, you keep cuttin—”

“You cold?” It’s Carmen who cuts you off this time, standing behind you both. You turn your head to him, still hugging your shoulders. He looks …stiffer than usual? Tense? You can’t tell the adjective, he just looks… Different. Or maybe it’s just a default you’ve never noticed. But you think you would’ve noticed.

You stand up, as does Syd. “Oh, yeah. I thought I’d like… Rinse my Carhartt before I wear it again. I’m good, though.”

He pauses where he is, like he’s computing, then shakes his head, “Don’t act tough.” And takes off his jean-fleece jacket, holding it out for you. Who are you to refuse that?

When you reach for it, he pivots in time to put the sleeve over your arm for you, then the other. You quickly recall the walk-in, and suddenly this feels like divine retribution. God, it’s weird to be cared for in return. God, he cares for you? Don’t start ruminating right now, holy shit—

“Thanks.” You cough, awkwardly, looking to Syd, pointing your fingers to both of them. “Ride? Ride?”

Syd holds her bag over her shoulder, and you can already tell what she’s gonna say. “I’ll take the—”

“If you say L instead of my fuckin’ car, it’s your ass, Adamu.” It’s past twelve. No way.

“…I’ll take the ‘your fucking car’, please.” She bows her head down, you throw your arm over her shoulder, dragging her with you. “That's my girl!”

You turn your head over your shoulder to Carmy, his weird different demeanour has somewhat melted away, good enough. “You comin? I’m holding your jacket hostage this time, so you kinda have to.”

He follows close behind you two, sheepish. “Yeah, yeah, I’ll take the ride.”

“Who wants to sit in the back?”

“Isn’t the hot-seat s’posed to be shotgun?” Syd questions.

“You know, people say that, but that’s for when you wanna socialize, when it’s late you wanna sprawl in the back and pretend you’re the last person on earth.”

“You make a compelling argument, my friend.” Syd taps her nose, grinning. She calls to Carmy behind her. “I call the back!”

“Is it bad if I don’t check on my dad, while I’m here?” You park in front of Syd’s place. You know it well, your dads live on the same block. “No, right? It’s twelve in the morning and no matter what you both say, I think I do still smell vaguely of afterbirth.”

“If I were your dad, I think I would prefer to not be visited, right now, yeah.” Syd nods, taking her seat-belt off.

“Woww,” You eye her through the rear-view mirror, “You don’t love your daughter, Syd? Wouldn’t get up at midnight for me?” Carmen laughs from the sidelines into his fist, leaned against the window.

“Of course I would, my sweet child!” She snickers, reaching forward to pinch and pull your cheek, you slap her hand away. “Alright, fuck off.”

When she pulls back and goes to grab her stuff, you remember. “Oh! There should be a lil’ gift bag, somewhere on the ground back there?”

“Yeah,” She procures the bag, lifting it up to her head for you to see. “This thing?”

You nod, “Open it.”

“Oh what!?” She groans, before even opening it, “You got me a present and have saved me twice? Did you kill a loved one of mine or something?”

You laugh, shrugging. “Bloodlust is insatiable. But, y’know, I’m proud of you for opening and getting Head, I wanted to commemorate, or whatever.” You shove Carmen’s shoulder, getting his attention, “Yours is coming, by the way, I just need a lil’ more time on it.”

He seems perplexed by the idea that you’re getting him a gift, even though you already told him you would, but he nods. Syd unbags her present, “What…?”

In a small box, with a clear lid so she can see through, is a white Dickie peter pan style collar. Tacked onto both lapels are gold circular collar pins. On the left one, it has the initial S, and the other A; both in gold over a white background. A thin gold chain connects the two pins, across the neck. All fake gold, duh, you’re not rich. But it’s still gorgeous. And thoughtful.

“‘You lose all sense of identity, in a restaurant.’” You repeat her own words back to her, looking at her through the rear-view mirror, smiling. “I thought maybe a little extra personal touch on the uniform would help with that. The collar’s really just to explain how the fuck it works, but I also sweat so much in your kitchen, so I thought it could be use—” Syd cuts into your ramblings, swinging her arm over your headrest to hug you, more like choke. But with love, so you hug her arm back. “—Full.”

“You’re a great daughter, Tony.” She squeezes. “Thank you.” You just squeeze her arm back.

She shows the gift off to Carmen, who seems genuinely impressed, he can’t stop glancing between the gift and you. You remember things. “Beautiful, Chef.”

“Oh, oh oh, before you go—” You snap your fingers, “I’m coming to the wedding gig, fuckin’ uh… Vickie and Merman? That can’t be right…”

“You’re coming to Vinnie and Mira’s wedding?” Ah, count on Carmen to know names. It's his family, after all. Or family adjacent? Unsure.

You nod, “Bartending. Cicero got me. You’re catering?”

He nods, “30k is 30k.” Syd backs him up. “It’d be fucking stupid, if we said no, especially since they’re taking expenses.”

“We should like, coordinate or something—” “Wait!”

Syd interrupts, clutching the shoulders of your seat and Carmen’s. “When did you see Cicero?”

“Uh, couple hours ago? When you were spamming?”

Syd squints, looking into the middle distance like she’s just cracked a case wide open. Hot outfit. Denial of dates. Cicero. “Oh my god... Cicero’s your sugar daddy?”

“What?!” Lightning speed, both you and Carmen yell. Probably for entirely different reasons and confusions.

“No! Syd, I was at work—” “Well, it is a type of job—” “I am not doing any sort of code for Sugar Baby activities! I was at a real place of business and he was there, he asked me to bartend, he said y’all would be there.” You gesture with your hands wildly as a form of enunciation.

“Right…” She opens the door behind her, eye contact un-breaking. “I’m gonna figure you out…”

You roll your eyes, waving goodbye with one hand, flipping her off with the other. “Text me your hotel plans for New York, loser. We can split a room.”

“Okay, loser! See you. See you tomorrow, Carm!” She waves you off, shutting the car door behind her. Carmen waves back to her. Once she’s safely inside, he turns to you. You speak before he can.

“Listen, there’s something about being around your childhood friend, and also around your old neighbourhood, dropping her off at home like you used to in high school, that makes you completely age regress into a sixteen-year-old.”

He smiles, putting his hands up in defense. “I didn’t say shit.”

“I could feel the judgment, radiating.”

“I, I wasn’t—” He chuckles awkwardly, scratching his nose to hide his eyes. “I thought it was cool. To uh, see, a different side to—to both of you.”

“Awe.” You pull off the curb, driving off. “Wonder what you were like, as a teen.”

He laughs, “A fuckin’ loser, is what.”

“Eh, I was too.”

“No, you weren’t.”

“Oh? We go to the same fuckin’ high-school, Berzatto?” You flick your gaze from the road to him for a moment. “I think I would’ve remembered.”

He rolls his eyes, though you don’t see it, back on the road. “You wouldn’t have been a loser. Not like, like me level loser, at least.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Too nice.”

“That’s true. I was an angel.” You hum. “I was well known but not popular, I tended to hang out with the more fringe people. Also, I was fucking depressed, I missed like, half my junior year with fake sick days.”

“Hm.” He crosses his arms, leaning against the head rest, tilting his vision to you. “I would’ve thought you were cool.”

“I would’ve thought you were cool, too.” You smile. “I bet we would’ve been friends.”

He just hums in reply, not confirming or denying, lost in thought. He tilts his head back to look at the road. You speak up after a moment, “Where are we headed, by the way?”

 He straightens up in his seat immediately, leaning forward. “Oh, oh right, fuck, directions—”

“That, but also like, I can drop you somewhere else— Like, not home.”

“Like?”

Like your place. “Like uh, I dunno, if you wanted to go to the hospital? If you’re like… A hospital family?”

He snorts, “A hospital family?”

“Like, for my nephew, I didn’t go to the hospital, I met him a week later. But you did already meet your niece— So maybe you get a pass?”

“Yeah, I don’t think we’re a hospital family, anymore, anyways.” Ah. The silent knowing. The glue that was there is gone. “You have a nephew?”

“Yeah, you wanna see photos?”

“Oh, uh, yeah—”

“I’m fucking with you.” You chuckle, “No one wants to see photos. But I do have a nephew.” You click your teeth. “You have now joined me at Aunt and Uncle status, people will congratulate you despite the fact that you contribute nothing to becoming one. Congratulations.”

You reach a hand out, awkwardly shaking his hand for a second before right back to the wheel. It’s hard to move one hand up and down and also drive. Carmen just shakes his head, chuckling. A win.

“We could also go shopping.” You shrug. “Buy your niece some baby shit? Or, you’re tired, so I should probably just drop you—”

“Let’s go shopping, yeah.” He’s quick to interrupt, pivoting to face you. Anything to keep the night going, with you. “If uh, if you want.”

“There’s always something I need to re-up on, I’m down.” You nod to him, more specifically, his phone in his lap. “Can you find the nearest 24/7 department store, for me?”

“Yeah, yeah.” He fiddles with his phone, getting directions, then balances it on the console so you can see. There’s a lull of comfortable silence as the adrenaline from you two delivering a fucking baby wears off. God, the trauma bond between you is as thick as a lead pipe at this point. You can’t tell if that’s a good thing. You don’t want to find out.

He’s first to break the silence. “Left up here.” Just reading you the directions, and then tacks on, as you take the left. “…Where were you, when we called?”

You groan, though smiling, “Not you fuckin’ too, Carmy!”

“I—” He laughs, disingenuous, you can tell. “I just wanna know, if, if we really did interrupt somethin’ for you.”

“You wanna know if I went on a date.” Not a question, a statement.

His mouth opens, shuts, opens. He shrugs. “A little.”

“Why, you wanna ask me out?”

What. What. What. What. Why— Where— Who—Huh? Crash the car. Why did you say that? Why would you say that? Crash the car right now. Veer into that streetlamp. Kill both of you. Instantly. Those should be your last words. Do it. Do it!

You cough, clearing your throat after a solid one second of silence— Eons too long. “I was— I was actually at work. Not lying to make you feel better. Didn't ruin shit, for me.” You’re certain you’re fumbling this, as you fake laughter at your cool joke, definitely a joke because he literally broke up with his girlfriend yesterday and that was an insane thing to say. Disrespectful, even.  

He’s silent, for a good few seconds, which again, centuries. If you were looking at him instead of the road, you’d see he looks like a deer in headlights, but like, a deer that is somewhat hoping he does get hit by that car.

“…What’s your work?” He flits between you and the GPS. “Straight through this intersection.”

“Bartender.”

“What bar?”

“You wouldn’t know it.”

“That’s why I’m asking. Take a right up here.”

You turn your head to look right, and also at him. He’s looking at you expectantly. You grimace, taking the turn. He’s not gonna let this go. “…Eden’s.”

He squints. “…Isn’t that—”

“VIP bar and club, yes.”

He backs up in his seat, thinking. Prodding at his inner cheek. “You’re a—”

“Alright, I’m a fuckin’ bottle girl, Carm!” You groan, wanting to say the realization before he could. “I do bar too— And I have been a sommelier, but yes, I am a fuckin’ ‘throw around bottles with flashlights strapped to them’ girl.”

“Turn into there, up left.” He crosses his arms, you’ve raised your voice but he hasn’t. “Is it… Good?”

You sigh, “Tips are good. And I tend to get put on bar. I’m only on-call, it’s just when they’re down someone and I’m down on services for the month.”

He nods, slow, pensive. You shrug, turning into the lot of the department store. A Target. The nice Target, too. “Gotta make rent somehow, y’know?”

He nods again, very clearly lost in thought. You park the car, in a relatively empty lot. He’s still thinking; you turn to him. “…You good, Carm?”

He turns his head up to you, at a molasses like speed. The gears are visibly turning in his head. “What if you worked at The Bear?”

“…Huh?”

“You could, you could do bar.”

“You don’t have a bar.”

“You could make drinks, in the back. We don’t have a drinks guy.”

You take a deep breath, thinking. That is really, what you want. You’d be at The Bear, every day. It’d feel like home. You’d spend time with your second family instead of an ever-turning roster of old male customers. Your coworkers at Eden aren’t bad, but you never quite clicked as family. Not like you did at The Beef. Not like you did at The Bear. You’re staring at Carmen, and his face is slowly morphing into a golden ticket.

Carmen wants you to quit. Carmen’s maybe never wished for the downfall of someone’s career more than right now. Or maybe it’s an uptick? He wants your success, really. The Bear would be an upgrade. You’d be at his restaurant, in his uniform. In the back, making drinks, where no one’s going to look at you, whistling, turning heads. You could make him lavender coffee, every morning. He could put it on the menu. You could work on a cocktail menu together. An evening coffee menu, too, maybe. He could spend the rest of his miles to send you to Paris, have you visit wineries to learn about different types of grapes and shit. He could come with you, maybe, if he got the time off. Who’s he kidding. He’ll never get the time off. But you could send him photos. An entire lifetime is rolling on in Carmen’s head, as he waits for your answer.

“You can hire me.”

There’s a wreath of grapevines, cascading over your shoulders, but then you poke his shoulder, and— “When—” they vanish. “—You can afford to.”

He squints, heart stuttering. “We-We can afford—”

“No the fuck you can’t.” You interrupt, shaking your head. “You and Syd are unpaid, right now, I’m not coming on until I see you cashing cheques.”

The coffee in his head hasn’t gone cold just yet. “But you will come work for us?”

You smile, nodding. You put your hand out for him to shake on it, he does. “You’ve got a promised bartender, Berzatto.”

He’s beaming, he’s trying to hide it, but his eyes are too bright for one in the morning. It’s impossible to not see it. But he keeps his cool persona, just nodding. “Cool. That's cool. Let’s uh, let’s—”

You smack your thigh, opening your car door. “Let’s get fucking going!”

It’s a ghost town in the store. You’re pretty sure you could rob this place blind, and not a single worker would bat an eye— If there’s even an employee here right now. You stroll through aisles relatively quickly— Carmen doesn’t have to wake up insanely early tomorrow, since The Bear doesn’t currently have a morning schedule— But he does have to get up at a decent time for Syd, who’s coming over to rework the menu.

Yeah, he took your advice. He’s working on being a better partner. He’s even grabbing ingredients that spark something in him, mumbling cooking terms you couldn’t utter back to him if you tried. It’s a stunning sight, to watch him work in this way. In his element.

Which makes him, in the Children’s Department, completely out of his element, look so much funnier.

“What the fuck do you buy a baby?” He stares down the aisle, alarmed, confused, possibly a touch scared. He turns his head to you, expectant, as though you’re a prophet who’ll save him. “What the fuck did you get your nephew?”

You shrug, counting on your hand. “A Peter Rabbit book, a teething toy that doubles as a stuffy, and a onesie—Or I think they’re called rompers? When they don’t go all the way to the feet?”

He squints, scratching behind his ear. “Do they use any of that shit, when they’re new?”

“No.” You deadpan. “But, my brother reads to him at night and baby switched from holding to teething pretty easy when the time came. Clothes are honestly the most useless. They outgrow that shit in two seconds.”

He nods, looking nowhere, thinking. “Bear and book?”

“Bear and book. Plus something for your sister.”

“Like what?”

“I’m not giving away my ideas.”

“You’re getting her something?”

“How haven’t you gotten my love language is acts of service and gifts at this point?”

“You could gift me with an idea.”

You cannot bite back the smile on your face. You shake your head and roll your eyes, walking ahead to get the bear and book. “I’m getting her a heating pad. You can get her bubble bath shit.”

The bear is cute. It’s incredibly squishable, he’s got adorable heart shaped nose and blue instead of pink on his ears. You’re holding the babe, since Carmen’s basket is full of groceries and you didn’t want to get the sweet little gentleman dirty. Carmen does not like that you keep calling the bear a sweet little gentleman. You do it more.

You offer up the Berenstain Bears for a book, he simply walks away from you. Oh, suddenly it’s bad to make this child’s life entirely bear themed? What world do we live in? You agree on Frog and Toad.

You split up for a couple minutes, he’s getting soaps on one end of the store, you’re getting a heating pad on the other. Plus the smallest bottle of bleach you can find.

It is a bizarre sight, you imagine, for the greeters watching you. Walking around, clutching a bear to your chest, holding a bottle of bleach in one hand, a boxed up electric heating pad in the other. Wearing a jean jacket that’s both a little too big for you and yet too small to button over your chest—and if they’re paying attention, underneath, a red leather corset. God, it’s one in the morning. Your makeup has probably melted off by now.

When you meet back up, he’s in the Hygiene aisle, relaxing bubble bath with Epsom salts already in his basket. Good Carm, he learns fast. Even better, he’s in the Men’s Hygiene section.

…Staring at Old Spice scents.

Your entire system completely reboots for no good reason. You blue screen mid-step. Thank God, his back is to you, so he doesn’t catch this. You sidle up next to him, coolly, squatting down to look at the scents on the bottom shelf.

“Every lesbian I know uses Wolfthorn.”

He turns his head to look down at you, flattening his lips in a line to not laugh. “You want me to smell like a lesbian?”

You tilt your head to look up at him, shrugging. “You currently smell like a bisexual.”

He still smells like you. Well, mostly he smells like seared meat and fish, but underneath that, he smells like your soap and shampoo.

He snorts, taken aback slightly by the subtle come out, covering the bottom half of his face with his free hand.

“You should get the fuckin…” You stand, finger waving over the bottles looking for the right one. “The relaxing one. Get all the advantages you can.”

He hums, “You like lavender?”

“In doses.” You shrug, swallowing. He thinks you’re intimidating? You feel like you’re under a microscope, the way he looks to you. “I get a headache, when it’s too strong.”

He nods, grabs the Bearglove scented one, and starts walking. Not letting you question the choice. You hurriedly follow after, heading to the self-check-out with him. He walks and talks. “What’s with the bleach?”

You stare at him for a long while, squinting. He stops walking to face you. “What?”

“I’m debating whether or not I tell you.”

“Are you gonna poison me?”

You click your teeth and snap your fingers, ‘awe shucks’. “You’ve foiled my plan.”

He smiles, but looks at you expectantly. You shrug, you must acquiesce. “It’s for your present.”

“You said you hate the painting in The Bear, so I’m making you a new one.”

It’s his turn to blue screen. You add, “If you end up hating it, you don’t have to put it up, but I wanted to take a shot at making a piece that’s you, like you wanted.”

All he can bring himself to do is nod, because if he doesn’t, he’ll spill his guts in the middle of this Target.  “I’ll hold off on getting a new one, then.”

He taps his card before you can, when you use self-checkout. He shrugs when you grumble about this. “I owe you gas money.”

“You did not owe me thirty dollars of gas money.”

“Then I’ve got credit in advance.”

It’s half past one in the morning, when you park in front of his place. Two nights in a row, this is gonna fuck with your schedule… Eh, when did you ever really have a schedule?

“Thank you.” He turns to you with a striking certainty, swallowing. “Like. For everything. I think I could’ve died every single day for the past few days, if you weren’t there.”

When you open your mouth to brush off the thank you, because he knows you’ll brush off the thank you, he hovers a finger in front of your face, shushing you. “Don’t give me that ‘no big deal’ shit, neither. It’s been a big fuckin’ deal to me.”

You sigh, nodding, you take his hand where it hangs in the air, bringing it down. You’re still holding it. You’re hoping he forgets that you are. He absolutely won't. “…I just don’t like it when people feel like they owe me. Other than, y’know, doing actual handyman shit for money.”

He nods, “I don’t feel like I owe you. I want to pay it back.”

You shrug, “You’ve fed me every day. So, that’s kind of a huge return.”

“You delivered a baby.”

“Listen, I’m just trying to make you feel better.” You lift your hands in defense, letting go of his hand. You regret it. “I’m very cool, we know.”

“You are.” He chuckles, but his words are sincere. Why is he looking at you so hard?

“What?” You cross your arms, looking back at him.

“You delivered a baby.” He repeats, wonderment in his voice.

You nod. “Not the first time. Which is lucky, not every paramedic has experienced a code O-B. I don’t wanna give you an unrealistic expectation.”

“How was that?”

“The code O-B?”

He tilts his head back and forth, ‘kinda’. “Being a paramedic.”

“Hard.” You nod, straightening up. “Hard. Went to school for two years, straight out of high school. Spent three years as a first responder. It was… Fucked. I cut like...”

You chuckle when you say it, shaking your head, but the feeling isn’t amusement, “Everyone out of my life. Not on purpose, just by design. The hours are insane, obviously, and my co-workers… Like, you expect to be the youngest in the room, and so, when you’re surrounded by kids your age, breaking some grandma’s ribs, doing C-P-R in the back of a shrieking, speeding truck…” You trail off, looking down.

“It’s uh… It was tough, yeah.” You sniff, not crying, just filling silence, looking back up at him.

He nods, “…That sounds pretty fuckin’ tough, yeah.” He’s thankful that you gift him with a laugh, however dry. “And you just switched to, to handiwork?”

You shrug, so-so. “I would’ve kept doing it, is the thing. Which is kinda scary to say. But, basically— In the free time I did have, my dad, who owned Chicago’s Kindest, would ask me to come fix shit with him— Which, would seem tiring, but he really just made me hold a flashlight and hand him shit, most of the time. It was more like… His dad way of asking to hang out.”

“And uh, it’s a old family business, right. He’s been doin’ that shit since I was born. And uh, when he started—” You flex your hands and fingers, cracking them, staring at them. “Gettin’ arthritis and all the other fun old people weaknesses, I started working and he started holding the flashlight… It was kind of a no brainer, when he told me he had to retire. To make the switch, I mean.”

You click your teeth, looking back up at him after a moment, “Sorry, I’m fuckin’ talking too much—” “No, no.”

“I— I, It’s good when you talk too much.” You do not notice the way his jaw grinds, for just a second. Cursing himself out in his head for bowing out at the last minute there.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

You lean your arm on the shoulder of your seat, then your head against your arm. “Yeah, good bedtime story, at least.” You check the time on your phone. Almost two. “You’ve gotta fuckin’ go to bed. You’re probably gonna need to meet with Uncle J, anyways.”

“…Oh fuck.” He rubs his hand over his face when he realizes.

You continue, nodding, cringing for him. “Maternity leave, catering gig— You’re in for a fuckin’ day tomorrow, Berzatto. Need your beauty sleep.”

He swallows, nodding repeatedly, head in hands. “Yeah, yeah, I do.” He laughs, halfheartedly. “Thank you. Uh, for all the shit, again, and the ride. And the detour.”

You shrug, “Welcome. More fun with you, anyways.”

He nods, eyes going from straight at you to literally anywhere else. He fiddles with the door handle for a moment, though he’s turned towards you, not the door. It looks like he’s having a wrestling contest with his own brain. You’re not sure who, but someone wins. “I, I uh, do want to, by the way.”

You furrow your brows, a little worried, honestly. “Want to do what?”

“Ask you out.”

…

It’s sort of like, all the facilities of your stupid brain shut off. You think the teenager tripped over an important wire and every thought and ability to contextualize feelings has left. The same has happened to him, of course, and now it just comes down to both of your now palaeolithic brains to rapid fire responses to each other.

He adds, “Not right now, but, eventually. After, y'know, we— we know each other better.”

You nod. He continues, rambling. “And I’ve— I can’t split my time, right now. I’ve gotta-gotta focus on The Bear, right now, and- and Syd, right now.”

“That should be priority, yeah.”

“—I’m not expecting you to wait—Or-Or even say—.”

“I will.”

It’s his turn to go mum. You play with the stray baby hairs on the back of your neck, explaining.

“The timing right now, like, could not be worse for you.”

“Right.”

“You just started a new business,” “—Yeah—” “That you’re 800k in the hole for,” “—A little less—” “You just went through a break up.”

“Not a rebound.” He’s quick to assure, with a certainty. “If that’s—If that’s a concern.”

You smile, shaking your head, “Not a concern for me, concerned for you. I just wanted to agree with you, that the time for it isn’t right now.”

He laughs, softly, through an exhale. “You don’t wanna convince me otherwise?”

You laugh, shaking your head. You straighten up, putting your hands down. You feel bolder. He’s sort of asked you out, he’s called you pretty, he smells like you, you’re wearing his jacket, he’s staring at your mouth. No risky half-joke is gonna get rid of you now. Probably.

“I’m not gonna lie to you, just so you’ll fuck me, Carm.”

It’s like, a sleeper agent activates, in his brain. Like you’ve done the fucking Konami code. He goes from nerve wracked to nerve wracking. Reaching over the console, fast, hand on the back of your head, pulling you while also meeting you in the middle— And he’s about to go for it, not give you a second to reject him, before he thinks better. Well, kind of.

Holding you there, “I’m going to kiss you.” It’s not posed as a question, but it’s functioning as one.

You stare, wide eyed, taking in his features. Taking in his already waning confidence. “…Sure.”

And he does. And he’s realizing, as he pushes you towards him, pressing his mouth to yours, that this is so so so different, from Claire. You are not going to distract him— In a good way. You wouldn’t let him. You’re prioritizing him, even when that means you need to wait on him. You want to know him, first. He wants to know you. You were being funny, sure, when you said you wouldn’t lie to fuck him— But God, think of how much that means. He sure is. And now, that he knows you have so much respect for his work, his mind, his body, and are happy to just get to know him as a friend first—to give him the space and time he needs— He immediately wishes he'd never asked for said space.

He's holding your head to him, unyielding—Unless you signalled otherwise, but you haven’t yet. At the same time, he’s also pushing your shoulder back, pushing you back, leaning over the center console. He's realizing he's never really gotten the idea of wanting to give oneself and take another. He’s taking in everything, taking everything you’re willing to give.

He knows your conviction well enough, at this point, when it comes to others. He’s asked for time, and that essentially means, the second he stops, he’s going to be locked off from doing this again. He has to give everything—then take everything he can. Ration it out, over weeks. God, what if it’s months? You wouldn’t hold this from him for months, surely?

You tap his neck, gently, and he swears he hears— Feels a gasp. A moan? Don’t think about it. He pulls away, just a few centimetres. He smells like you. He still smells like you. Staring. Soft, scary, eye contact. It’s two in the morning, your makeup has melted, your lip gloss has evaporated, but it doesn’t look like it. No. They’re perfectly wet, blush pink bottom lip. Don’t think about it. He thinks about it; he doesn’t think about his next sentence. You speak at the same time, and for the first time, don’t say the same thing.

“Do you wanna come up?”

“You’ve gotta go, Carmy.”

He shakes his head; you can’t be serious. You’re so sweet, and now you’d be so cruel? You laugh at him, incredulous. He swallows, correcting himself, “Come up and—And sleepover, just that. Make you breakfast, again.” He kisses you, again, selfish. He knows that. He’s at peace with it.

“Carmy,” Good start, that deserves a kiss. “—as much as I’d love to see your apartment—”

“You’d hate it.” He cuts you off, God, it looks like you’re gonna keep talking, and he’s going to have to respect that. He switches to your jawline. “I don’t have a bookshelf.”

“You— Hold on, you don’t have a bookshelf, Carmen?”

“Don’t say my name like that.”

“Don’t bite! How many books do you have?”

“Ninety-one. Cookbooks. I narrowed down for the move.”

“Where do you— Christ— Keep ninety-one books?”

“Floor.”

“Floor?!”

“I told you you’d hate it.”

“I don’t hate it, I just— You deserve to have nice things.”

He pulls back again, staring at you, practically wheezing he’s breathing so heavy. He thinks on it for a second, this time. He wants nice things, too. You make him believe he deserves nice things. You're why he took a chance, took a risk, and told you he wanted to see if more could happen. He believes he deserves nice things. Nice you.“Come up.”

This motherfucker is evil, you think. He’s asked you to hold a conviction, asked you to hold a level of patience, for him. And you’re trying so hard to hold that conviction— While he’s actively trying to make you break it the second he’s decreed it. You’re hanging by a thread here. You cradle his face in both hands, kissing him on your own accord, this time. He takes this as meaning he’s supposed to go insane again. You laugh, and that makes it hard for him to not laugh too, which makes it hard to kiss you.

“Carmy.” You hold him back by his shoulders, just slightly. Giggling. You’re smiling, he can get you to fold, if he puts his mind to it. “You’ve got Syd coming over in the morning, all week—”

“Not until noon.”

“Baby, not the point.” Oh, pet names. Good. You called him Sweetheart when he was locked in the freezer, and that was all his brain had to work with until now. God, why did he say he wanted to get to know you first? You can do two things at the same time. You're multi-faceted.

“The sooner—” You wheeze, looking at him, he looks insane. “The sooner you go get sleep, the sooner the morning will come, the week will go by, you’ll start being able to pay yourself, soon enough. I’ll become your barback, you’ll be able to take time for yourself, and you’ll ask me out.”

He stares at you, thinking. “…I don’t think it’d go any faster—” “Carmen!” You squeeze his face with one hand. “Bedtime!”

He nods, finally, escaping his fugue state. “Okay.” He reaches into the back to grab his grocery bags. Christ, don’t look at the midriff, motherfucker, lock in! Lock it in!

You start to peel off his jean jacket to return it, he’s quick to stop you.

“Keep it. Wear it to work. Til you quit.” He looks at you, considering something once again, groceries in hand. “…Wear this too.”

After he finally gets out, and you wave to him from your window, waiting for him to get inside safely. You drive off, heading home. You take a long fucking breath. Slowly, your motor skills and cognitive abilities return to you.

You take one hand off the steering wheel, fishing out your rope chord necklace from your pocket. You rub your thumb over the plastic pendant, a year-old self-soothing method, by now.

You think about something Mikey said off-handedly, quite often, you squint, staring at the road ahead, perplexed, driving home with the first hickey you’ve had in a minute. You shout out in your car, pleading for an answer from beyond the grave here.

“Mikey, are you sure he’s a virgin?!”

Before we even, start here-- Number one, I'm sure you've forgotten at this point, but I will eat that lightbulb, motherfucker-- I just wrote 8k, I need my k of thoughts in return!! What'd you like! What stuck out to you! Favourite lines/moments!

What even happened in this chapter, deadass, I can't remember it all. Let's try to summarize.

Birth (woah!)

Mikey talks, a lil more of their friendship revealed, cute

Syd and Tony being cute as hell. Speaking of, I'm Desi, so I write Tony like a WOC-- I don't think it makes a huge difference to their dynamic, but I felt like noting it. Oh, Tony's gift!! Collar pins!!

Jacket exchange program, fr.

We would've been friends in highschool.

Why!!! You wanna ask me out!!!??? (crashes car)

Haha, what if you worked for me? (imagines a full perfect life together) I'm so normal.

(buys the brand of body wash you like) (specifically doesn't get the one that could give you a headache after a prolonged period of time) (even if it's the relaxing one) This is what normal people do.

Paramedic/Chicago's Kindest backstory!

(pseudo) ASKS OUT!! TENATIVELY!! REALLY JUST GOT SO FUCKING SCARED BY THE IDEA OF YOU GOING ON A DATE WITH SOMEONE TONIGHT THAT HE HAD TO TAKE THE PLUNGE.

kith.

That was the coin flip, btw. Hehehe. Heads he goes full smooch, Tails you go 'alright, sick, see u later', and he leaves. I could see it going either way. Carmen's a reserved guy. I knew I was going to make him state his interest, because I wanted to try out a lil something new. In the past, I've had the climax of a romance be 'omg we like each other how nice', and I wanted to try out the idea of these two knowing they like each other, and basically trying to maintain that. Thought it'd be fun.

Oh, this one's serious. I gotta know-- Good kiss? God I feel like someone's first boyfriend. I do not write sequences of intimacy. I go 'they fucking kiss, hurray, next scene'. And so, I really gave it my all here. I hope it turned out. I think Carm and Tony had so much tension piled on top of so much trauma that it simply couldn't have not been so feral.

Anyways, I expect an essay on my desk tomorrow. Thesis statements with supporting evidence, motherfucker. I love u. I hope u liked it <3

I start my job next week so I'm trying to write as much as possible before then, lmao.

Next Part

[eggyrocks]

bruised part nineteen-> four years later

m. list

♪ now playing: sparks by coldplay ♪

Everything is quiet. In the whole world, there's nothing but her.

Iwaizumi's knuckles are white around the banister in front of him as he leans forward, teeth gnawing at his bottom lip and breath held tight in his chest. There are cameras and cheers and whistles and background conversations but Iwaizumi doesn't hear any of it.

Japan is written across her back, and her cheeks are puffed up and swollen-looking from the mouth guard bitten firmly in place. Every punch she takes from Ireland makes his gut lurch. He wants to yell, but he can't seem to open his jaw to manage it.

It's her time, he tells himself. It's finally her time. She's gotten stronger in the past four years. Faster. Smarter. Better.

She's an Olympian. Not the one she used to be. Not the kind the doesn't place. But the kind that can taste gold.

Iwaizumi watches. To his right, Oikawa says something. He doesn't hear it and he doesn't try to. Yachi has her name painted across her forehead, and screams. Haiba holds a sign above her head, and screams louder.

She's center-stage, in that ring. Her footwork is quick and elegant, and Iwaizumi's mesmerized by it. In love with the way she moves, the same way he's in love with her.

The fight draws to a close. Iwaizumi can feel it in the air, as the tension rises. And when the final blow is delivered, and her opponent falls to her knees, that's when he finally screams.

Her name comes from his lips as he yells out, victorious and proud. The referee takes hold of her wrist, and lifts it above her head. And there, on that center-stage, she falls to her knees.

There's gold on her name, now.

And Iwaizumi can't help himself. He jumps the banister.

If there are people that try to stop him, he doesn't notice them. She's all he can see, and all he can think about. And as soon as she stands back up, she dips under the ropes, heading straight towards Iwaizumi without even having to look for him.

They collide, Iwaizumi's arms going so tight around her he's worried for a second he might be crushing her ribs. He thinks he might be crying. She definitely is. All of the sweat and blood is rubbing off on him, and he wears it like a badge of honor. "You did it," he says into her ear. He has to yell for it to carry over the noise of the crowd.

"I love you," she yells back in response, arms around his neck.

Iwaizumi's response is to lift her by the hips, and prop her up on his shoulder. He's definitely crying. She raises a gloved fist in the air, and yells.

REST IN PEACE BRUISED MY MOST CONTROVERSIAL SMAU I WILL MISS YOU SO MUCH thank you @wyrcan for giving me the motivation to finish this you are an angel sent down from the heavens

taglist: @thechaosoflonging @publicbathroompanic @bedeater @rottingt1tz @rintarawr @deluluforcarlos55 @ahseyy @localgaytrainwreck @cherrypieyourface @baskin-robinhoods @polish-cereal @iheartamora @ferntv @eclecticeggknightpsychic @httpakkeiji @does-directions @needtoloveoutloud @rinheartshyunlix @causenessus @makkir0ll @cr4yolaas @k8nicole @cannibalsrider @bookworm-center @frootloopscos @ekeio @michivrse @phoenix-eclipses @hermaeusmorax @milkwithspiceyicecubes @anonnreader777 @mehreya @kmwife @rrosiitas @riousluvs @atsumou @ryeyeyer @faesix @milesmoralesluvs @bae-ashlynn @um-no-ok @kozuskitten @ncthourss @ms-downhill @bellamsby @karasyuu @k0z3me @blamemef0rit

[whiteglovedc]

[jymwahuwu]

Hi! Really love your stories they always scratch my brain (*≧∀≦*)❤️, so I got an idea and wanted to ask what you think about it

I got this question with Sunday on the minigame/event (idk what to call it lol)

"Just as you're about to pull a dusty hard-leatherback book, you hear a gentle whisper within earshot, "Averoy Rosewood's works are notorious for their obscurity," the Oak Family Head Sunday faintly smiles at you. "Perhaps you need more elaboration."

(I couldn't put the image since anon asks don't allow me to put images😮‍💨, but it's from a Board Encounter in Cosmodyssey)

and when I read it my brain immediately went WHAT IF SUNDAY FILLS THE READER WITH A VIBRATOR ON THE LIBRARY, and him just watching in amusement as he talks about books and asking her questions about them while he plays with the levels of vibrations with a control on his hands and she just struggles to make sentences, so he goes and asks "What's wrong? Are you not feeling well?" To tease her and remind that she's in a public space and can't make much noise unless she wants everyone to know about what they're doing.

Hmm... I wrote this about Sunday, but I feel like maybe it could be about Jing Yuan or Aventurine 🤔, anyways sorry if it sounds weird my brain sometimes goes into unga bonga mode when I think about these men.

Sincerely,

An unhinged anon.

Thank you for telling me. I experienced this event and read the content of Sunday helping us in the library!! Wrote a little bit, I hope you like it 💗🫶

cw: yandere, non-con, abuse of power, abuse of credit, vibrator, harassment

How about you being the librarian at The Family Library? A nerdy librarian. The Family claims that this is a library open to everyone to read and borrow, covering a variety of books and hologram collections.

Sunday, the leader of the Oak Family noticed you. He can accurately talk to you about your interests, hobbies and ideals, and encourage you…but one thing is that you are not religious enough in your belief in harmony. You are too withdrawn…and cannot integrate into The Family. Sing hymns, participate in activities, and protect The Family, others can do it, but what can you do? He cannot allow you to continue in this position under these circumstances. You panicked, grabbing his sleeves and pleading with him through tears. "W-what, I really believe Lord Xipe…I need this job badly! Please Mr. Sunday…"

He offered a plan. He used his gloves to push a delicate small box in front of you. You must put two vibrators in your underwear while on duty to test your professional abilities. If you can tolerate sinful sexual pleasure, you qualify for this position.

"But… Mr. Sunday, can I-can I take a break?"

"Of course. I'm not here to torture you. This is for your and everyone's happiness and harmony, I hope you understand." His words ignited the hope in your heart. "You have 2 hours a day to take them down. Allocate your own time. After get off work, you head to my office and I will check on your progress. You must do this every working day."

"Check?" Your heart sank into the starry sky and was crushed. "Okay. Mr. Sunday..."

These two vibrators… are pearl white and have an angel wings pattern on them. It's silent, but it delivers a surge of pleasure to your private parts, sometimes fast and sometimes slow down. It's not much better when it's slow - it's a long, quiet torture that gives you no relief. You kept your legs still and sorted your books and documents, your underwear getting wet. Every half minute, you check like a hawk to see if you have wet your clothes, fearing that it has become a joke in the eyes of others…

He occasionally wanders into the library to check on your work and ask you to recommend books in a certain category or answer questions about the collection.

"What's wrong? Are you feeling uncomfortable?" Sunday approached you with caring eyes and ruthlessly pushed the controller frequency to the highest level. You lowered your head, holding back tears, your legs trembling. "I-I'm fine. Mr. Sunday. Thank you for your concern."

This kind-hearted gentleman and leader offers to take you to another secluded corner of the library to rest. On the road, Sunday dials down the vibration frequency and doesn't crank it up until you get to the corner. The intense ecstasy immediately hits you to the extreme and stimulates your nerves. You endured your moans, trembling in Sunday's arms as you reached orgasm. His hands caressed your hair like a lovable pet. He commented that your ability to endure needs to be improved.

After you get off work, Sunday asks you to take off all your clothes in the office and fold them on the table. He uses white gloves to inspect and rub your private parts, circling them with his thumb. In the watery light, those fingers slowly inserted between your legs and twitched. He clicked his tongue in disappointment when he realized that his fingers were already wet enough to slide into the inner walls before being inserted. "Not religious enough, are you? What are you thinking about? You're letting pleasure take over your body."

"...I'm sorry!! Mr. Sunday, Please give me a chance…" you begged with a sob, then cummed hard at his disappointed sigh.

[aphrogeneias]

no more tears — one-shot

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader

summary: it's halloween night, 1986. you want to celebrate your favorite holiday after the year you and your friends just had, but after being dumped by your, now ex, boyfriend a week before puts a damp on your plans. eddie munson, however, has a different plan for you.

word count: 5.3k

warnings: fluff, hurt/comfort, mutual pining, mentions of a past bad relationship, petty vengeance, protective!eddie, eddie being a sweetheart. eddie in a corset, eddie in leather pants (those are worthy warnings). drinking, smoking. implied smut towards the end.

author's note: happy, very early, halloween <3 i started writing this last year and originally, it was supposed to be a four-part series, and it became this one-shot. because of that, i'm sorry if it seems rushed, but i hope you enjoy it nonetheless.

Hawkins' suburban streets were a dull blur of white picket fences and houses that looked all the same, passing through the open windows of your car, despite the cold autumn wind blowing in. Even on Halloween night, where the air was full of childlike wonder and mischief, those same houses lit up with the same old seasonal decorations, the children going trick-or-treating, your school friends going out with the best of worst intentions. It all still felt dull to you. 

Perhaps because you felt that dullness deep inside of you, dead to the world around you. Fitting for such a morbid holiday — your favorite holiday, completely ruined by someone else's decisions.

Your self-pitying thoughts were interrupted by the curly-haired freshman who was currently inspecting the tapes piled in your glove compartment. You watched with interest from the corner of your eye as Dustin clicks the radio to a stop, without asking, and inserts your Blizzard of Ozz tape in the cassette player.

As the first chords of I Don't Know started echoing through the car, you teased, "Since when do you like these?"

"Since when do you care about what I listen to?"

Most days, you could deal with the kid's presumption, it was quite endearing, actually. That night, though, all you managed was to sigh as dramatically as you could.

"You've been hanging out with Munson a little too much." You pointed, "What's next? You're gonna grow out your hair like Mike is doing?"

"Mike isn't growing his hair out because of… Oh."

"You used to be more observant, Dusty."

You smiled at his silly expression, blue eyes wide with realization. It was the first time they could bring out a smile from you that evening, and you could tell that the teens in the backseat could feel the tension lift a little bit. 

The accidental mention of the metalhead made your mind wander once more. You wondered if you'd see him tonight, even if just for a moment, and if you'd be able to look and, perhaps, melt at one of his lazy smiles and cute dimples without feeling guilty for the first time since you met him. 

If being able to reciprocate Eddie Munson's lingering stares was the reward you got after being suddenly broken up with a week before Halloween, then you could start seeing an end to your current misery.

You didn't let yourself hang on to false hope, though. You were still nursing a broken heart and delusion wasn't going to help with it — but going home to a warm blanket, cheap wine and a bunch of horror movie VHS tapes that your Family Video friends had graciously delivered to your house after a very persuasive phone call.

After years of friendship, Steve Harrington still couldn't resist your pouting, even from a distance.

"Don't be mean. You're being awfully mean today, did you know that? Loosen up a little." Dustin snapped, but with little bite to his words.

You turned to him again, "Can you blame me?"

"Leave her alone, butthead." From her place in the backseat, Erica Sinclair, in her meticulously pink Barbie costume, interjects. "She's already doing us a favor and you're trying to be a smartass?"

Her older brother and Max Mayfield completely ignored Erica and Dustin's following little back and forth, stuck in their own little teenage love affair — and if, for only a moment, you were jealous of the easy, uncomplicated way they talked and held hands in the small space between their bodies, you shook it off just as quickly — as you winked at the youngest Sinclair from the rearview mirror.

You'd never tell anyone, but Erica had always been your favorite.

Their conversation was once again forgotten, overshadowed by your racing thoughts and eagerness to get home as soon as you could, until you parked in front of Steve's house, where your younger friends would enjoy their official party of their High School years. There had been a long time without any ragers at Harringtons', not since Steve became one of the losers, but after the events of last Spring, he thought we could all use some innocent (probably not that innocent on his side, god only knows that boy needed to get laid), spooky fun.

You'd thoroughly agreed before your boyfriend, now ex-boyfriend, put an end to all of your plans.

"Listen," you started, shutting the door of the driver's side of your car a little too violently while the kids gathered up outside, "if you get in any kind of trouble, call me. If you're gonna drink, or do any kind of drugs…" You're interrupted by groans and whines of 'really?' and 'we're not going to!', "don't do it alone, okay? And drink lots of water! Better safe than sorry, babies."

Most of that advice was just to mess with them, you knew they weren't anything like you when you were their age, but you cared too much about those miscreants to pretend that monsters and secret government organizations were the only obstacles they'd have to face in their teen years.

It's all a flurry of rolling eyes and quiet mumblings of "okay, whatever, we weren't gonna do any of that anyway" before they leave across the street to find the host of the party that was slowly, but surely, starting to fill in, groups of people coming into the house from both sides of the street, music echoing through the walls and into the evening air. Your heart clenched, heavy in your chest, wishing you could let go of the ache that was pulling you down and allow yourself to feel alive again, maybe just for one night.

You just about missed the pair of warm, brown eyes that watched you slouch back into your car and drive away.

On the other side of the street, Eddie Munson stood on the pristine front yard of the Harringtons' house, taking a long hit of his cigarette and rubbing the back of his hand over the eyeshadow spread on his eye, cursing and coughing when he realized the black stain it left behind on his skin.

He was uncomfortable and bored, listening to the deep bass line of Blondie's rapture coming from the house behind him, Debbie Harry's soft voice lulling him into a steady rhythm. He knew he was pushing it, coming to a place full of people, of people who half hated him at worst, half mistrusted him at best, even after his name was cleared. Worst of all, none of them understood his costume, which, to him, was the biggest insult of all.

Not knowing who Alice Cooper was supposed to be was one of the biggest treasons in his own, personal, Munson doctrine.

Now, he stood there, regretting every decision he had made that night, his leather pants pulling a little too tight on his legs and feeling a little too tempted to scrub the black eyeshadow from his face, thinking about a way to let his friends down gently when he bails on them.

His discomfort lasted until he saw your car pull up, and suddenly, leaving felt like a very, very bad idea.

Eddie was used to admiring you from a distance. From when he saw you for the first time, that fateful night at Reefer Rick's boathouse, it was all he could do without making a fool of himself. He didn't know how to carry himself around you, too caught up on your beauty, on your wit, or on how absolutely unattainable you were, to actually become close to you.

He watched you as one would watch the midday sun, high in the sky, with a hand in front of his eyes, protecting himself from being fully consumed by your light.

When you exited the car — Henderson, Mayfield and the Sinclairs following close behind — he noticed two things: your lack of a costume (or, rather, the fact that you were wearing something that was probably your pajamas, and looked incredible while at it), and the lack of a douchebag boyfriend beside you. 

Before he could walk over, perhaps use the kids as an excuse to talk to you, you left. Eddie was left halfway through the yard, a hand limp to his side as his cigarette laid long forgotten, and what must have been a ridiculous, confused expression on his face.

It didn't take long until Dustin and Erica found him, while Lucas and Max entered the house. 

"Hey, uh… where's Y/L/N going? Is she not… Is she not staying?" He swore he tried to act casual, but he knew from the expression on both his friends' faces that he wasn't doing a great job.

"Does it look like she's staying?" Erica crossed her arms, looking as intimidating as a little girl in all pink and glitter could look like. All he did was raise an eyebrow, and got one eyebrow raised right back at him.

Dustin was more understanding, in his Luke Skywalker costume, orange pilot suit and all. "She's not feeling well, man. Steve asked her if she could drive us because Nancy was already driving Mike and the Byers, but she went home."

"Oh." Again, he tried, to no avail, to hide the disappointment in his voice. Eddie Munson was, by no means, a good actor. "Do you know what happened?"

The boy opened his mouth to answer, but Erica beat him to the punch. "You know, I think she could really use some company tonight. No one wants to be alone on Halloween night, don't you think?"

She pulled Dustin away and towards the front door, eyes wise beyond her years giving him one final look before disappearing inside. 

Eddie knew she couldn't hear him as he screamed "I owe you one, Sinclair!" and rushed to the end of the street where his old van was parked, a sliver of hope and renewed excitement rushing through him like a live wire.

Scratch about what he said about regretting leaving his house that night, he had forgotten all about that as he sped to your place, a heavy guitar riff thundering hot on his trail.

You heard him before you saw him.

There was a horror film playing in your television, a blonde teenager running from a serial killer rolling on the screen, her terrified shrieks and the crescendo of the soundtrack filling the living room — not that you've been paying attention, you haven't been paying attention since a little after the beginning of the movie. You were too busy drinking your usual, cheap red wine straight from the bottle and stuck in your own thoughts, lying on the couch with only a blanket and your cat for company.

It approached slowly, the sound of his van's stereo. Then, it grew and grew, Quiet Riot's "Metal Health" seeming to echo through the entire neighborhood. It made you tumble out of the couch, feeling the effects of the alcohol rush to your head all at once, and running to the nearest window. You're still a tiny bit dizzy when you see him, after he stopped the engine and the music stopped, skipping out of the van and towards your front door.

You'd barely caught a glimpse of Eddie before you ran from the window, afraid to get caught. A million questions surged in that moment, the seconds between recollecting yourself and answering the loud ring of your doorbell, knowing who was waiting for you outside. How did he know you were home? Wasn't he busy tonight? What made him want to come to your place of all places?

All thoughts were cut short when you opened the door and saw him.

Under your front porch light, stood Eddie Munson, looking like every wet dream you had ever had.

Dressed in a tight, black tank top, a latex corset wrapped around his slim wait, and even tighter leather pants. Pale chest bare, it was the first time you were seeing his tattoos after visiting him at the hospital, months ago. He leaned in your doorway as soon as you opened it, a gentle smile in his full lips, brown eyes lined with a smudged layer of dark eyeshadow. Your legs might have given out if you didn't hold on to the wall. 

"Hey, Eddie." A greeting comes out as a gasp, letting out the breath that was stuck inside your throat. You hoped he couldn't tell how flustered you were, but if he did, you would blame the wine. "Is everything okay? Are the kids okay?"

It dawned on you that that must have been the reason he came all the way over to your house. You tried to bury down the wave of sudden anxiety when you watched his face fall slightly, before he replied “No, no, everything is fine. Uh… I just wanted to check on you, actually.”

The expression on your face — eyebrows pinched together in confusion — must have said it all, because then, he explained himself. “The littlest Sinclair said you might be needing some company tonight, but didn’t say why. I figured that if none of them were staying with you, then I might, if that’s okay.”

Eddie’s demeanor was uncharacteristically shy. He avoided your gaze, looking at the floor while speaking, but that only made you fonder — even then, he was still as sincere as always. Your heart did a little flip in your chest, warming you from the inside out, as you opened the door enough to let him pass, silently welcoming him in.

“Erica said that?”

“Yeah. Got me worried there for a second.” He eyed you with mirth from under his wild bangs while he toed off his combat boots and left them beside the other shoes on the floor near the door. That sweet, domestic sight didn’t go unnoticed but you had other things occupying your mind, such as a reminder to thank Erica for meddling in your Halloween night plans.

“There’s nothing to worry about, I’m fine. Just not in the mood to party, that’s all.”

“See, that doesn’t sound like you, Y/N.”

“How do you know that?”

“I guess I just know more about you than you’d think.”

You were still both standing in the small hallway that led to your living room, now staring at each other. Eddie felt out of place, next to the cream and beige shades of the wallpaper your mom chose when you moved there, in his all black ensemble, all leather and spikes and wild hair, but at the same time, you felt like he could belong there, if he stayed long enough.

You wished he would.

“I don’t know about that,” you sighed, “but if you want to stay and watch some movies, that would be more than okay.”

He smiled and leaned back, looking taller and impossibly handsome, dark eyes shimmering. You almost melted on your spot, but again, you wanted to blame it on the wine. 

“Lead the way, babe.”

At some point during the night, between one gruesome film and another, and a couple of bottles of wine being passed back and forth, you had scooted closer and closer together on your couch, until you were almost pressed flush against each other. Eddie was afraid to move and break whatever spell you seemed to be under, because he hadn't felt comfortable like that in a long time.

It was easy being around you. It hadn't been easy for Eddie to be around a lot of people, not since Spring Break, but with you, it took absolutely no effort to just be. To let go, to let his mind rest, to just focus on how warm the skin of your thigh was under your sweatpants, almost touching his, to make you laugh with his witty commentary of the awful movies you'd chosen to watch, to watch how beautiful you looked under the blue light of the television whenever you looked away from him.

He had it bad, that much he knew. Been smitten for a long time, enamored with the girl just out of his reach, but close enough to admire without guilt, but he wasn't about to let his feelings be known quite yet. Not when you were so close, so perfect, so… approachable, for the first time ever.

Eddie had never liked your boyfriend, from the first time he met him — just another Hawkins rich boy, swim team star, on his way to some fancy college out of state, and worst of all, he got to call you his. Unlike Steve Harrington, who managed to sway his usually unshakable opinion, Andrew just proved him right every time he had the unfortunate opportunity to meet him.

The first time he saw him was right after the dust had settled. He had just walked out of the hospital as a free man, mysteriously forgiven by the law enforcement that just a few days earlier was set on kicking him while he was down, and was received by his friends back at his trailer, a small committee complete with a handmade "welcome back!" sign and a cake baked by you. 

You, who welcomed him back with open arms and never stopped fighting for him, even if you'd only officially met a week before.

You'd spent that afternoon in his bedroom, along with his friends and his uncle, all sitting around his bed and reminiscing, happy to be there, happy to be alive. Still recovering from your wounds, seen and unseen, leaning on each other like a lifeline. He remember holding your hand that day, acutely aware of the ring on your finger, but doing it anyway — your hold never faltered, instead, you ran your thumb across the skin of his hand and smiled.

Was that what bliss felt like?

Later that day, you were the first to leave. Andrew came to pick you up, Dustin announced as he was the one to answer the door. A frown made its way to your face, if only for a second, and that was enough to make Eddie decide he didn't like the guy. Not only that but he insisted on walking you to the door, ignoring the protests coming from all around the room.

Walking slowly, as much as his still fresh bite wounds would allow, he let you lead him to his front door, a gentle hand on his back, guiding him. He didn't let himself feel bad for using his battered state to let you touch him without guilt, he could do that later, after the comforting warmth of your touch had stopped branding his skin. 

When you opened the door, that's when Eddie saw him. He knew Andrew hadn't been there during Spring Break, away with his family to some tropical destination, far from the horror they, you, had to endure. Eddie could tell he didn't care much either, letting you tend to your also still fresh wounds, both physical and mental, by yourself most of the time after he got back, only calling you when he needed something.

Eddie tells himself he would never let you out of his sight, if you were his girl, but there's also a lot of other things he likes to think about when he considers that scenario.

He watched you say goodbye, squeezing his shoulder before leaving and descending his trailer's stairs, down to your boyfriend's nice car and cold arms, leading you away from him, but not before leering him down at his own doorway, a condenscending, degrading look Eddie knew a little too well by now.

Not a word was spoken between the two, but there was no need, Eddie already made hating him into a new hobby.

With that sudden rememberance, your soft giggles bringing him back to the present, Eddie couldn't help but ask.

"What happened to your boyfriend?"

Without missing a beat, you chuckled, and responded without looking at him. "He dumped me."

"He what?" His question sounded a lot louder and high-pitched than he had intended. Eddie thought it would be easier for you to have dumped him other than the opposite.

Who would be stupid enough to let you go like that?

With a long sigh, you clicked the remote to pause the movie, and turned around to face him fully. He tried not to show how disappointed he was to lose the physical contact you had at that moment, but his hand clenched almost involuntarily, eager to reach out and pull you back. Where you belonged, his traitorous mind added.

"Dumped me, yeah." You sat with your legs crossed and he did the same, turning to hear you. "Last week. Unceremoniously, might I add, through the phone, even. I heard through the grapevine he's already dating someone else, but that might be just rumors, or maybe not, honestly I expect anything from him at this point."

Eddie's mind was reeling. "Was that why you didn't want to go out tonight?"

"That's part of the reason." You nod. "I just really don't wanna risk seeing him and Halloween is my favorite holiday, I don't want it more ruined than it already is."

The urge to punch the guy in the face was strong, stronger than it was when he was still recovering, when you were still together. It made him restless, fidgeting in his seat. The hand that lied limp at his side finally reached out, sitting on your knee and squeezing it only slightly. "I'm sorry. I know that it's not worth much, but I really am. You deserve better."

A weak smile formed on your lips, but it didn't reach your eyes. Eddie desperately wanted to make your face light up again. A brief idea struck him, then.

"Do you know where he might be tonight?"

"Benny's, probably. I don't know. I don't want to know." Despite your distress, you looked adorable with your nose scrunched and your head down, picking on your already chipped nail polish. Unable to help himself, Eddie finally reached out, his first unmistakably purposeful display of affection towards you — a little unsure, a little clumsy, but it still felt right — bringing his curled index finger below your chin, gently tipping your head up, making you meet his eyes.

"You might wanna know about what I'm thinking."

His voice was soft, but his dark eyes were full of mischief.

It was late when you got to Benny's. Not that anyone there would mind, the music inside was blasting loud enough that it could be heard for miles, and the people who were outside were all too intoxicated to mind your presence.

The basketball team, and seemingly every other jock affiliation at school, had a different party happening on Halloween night. They must have not gotten their big suburban house for themselves this year, Eddie thought. He would usually try to crash these parties, make some money out of the only few times these jocks didn't abhor his mere presence to his advantage, but things had changed for him, and for all it's worth, he had better things to do tonight.

Getting your ex-boyfriends back from what he did to you was his first priority. The second was making you forget all about him.

You and Eddie must have looked like quite a pair. He was still in his full costume, standing out from the more boring looking costumes the popular crowd opted for that evening, and you had put on the first outfit you saw after he'd told you his plan and whisked you away in his van. An old black sweater and ripped jeans, he saw your mismatched socks before you put on your boots, the ones that were already near the door. 

To him, you looked perfect, but he could tell how uncomfortable you were with all the people around you. Your ex's friends, he assumed. Eddie wondered if you were ever at these parties, and if Andrew even cared about how you felt about them. He doesn't want to think too much about it or he could feel himself get mad again.

"Hey," he brought a hand to your back, moving it up and down in a soothing manner, "we'll be in and out of here, 'kay?"

"Yeah, I know." Your smile was small, but Eddie was relieved to see it anyway. He promised himself he'd make convincing you to leave your house worth it, and he'll keep his promise.

"So… which one is his car?"

He watched you point to a tan-colored Jeep towards the end of the improvised parking lot. Silently, he grabbed your hand and led the way towards it. It wasn't a very well thought out plan, the one came up with whilst he seethed thinking about an asshole like that dumping a girl like you. It demanded serious action, in his humble opinion.

Property damage, more like it.

Eddie had been trying to stay out of trouble since the events of last March. He'd been officially cleared of all charges, something to do with the reappearance of Chief Hopper and his connections with the government. The details were foggy, he barely remembered signing all of those documents, still in his hospital bed and hazy from the medication. Wayne probably knew more than he did, but Eddie never asked too many questions.

He tried to go on as normally as he could, working odd jobs here and there as his body recovered, doing his best to heal his mind too. He stopped selling, graduated in May, spent more time with his new found friends — his new found family — and his old ones. Started dreaming about a girl who belonged to someone else, foolishly hoping that someday she would be his.

Not so foolish now, those dreams seemed.

Keeping out of trouble was surprisingly easy after you'd barely escaped life in prison, or worse — Eddie discovered there were far worse things than getting locked up, or living up to his family name. After all that, a minor misdemeanor was worth it if it was going to make you smile, at least in his eyes.

When you approached the Jeep, he could tell there was something going on in there. If he noticed, you noticed it as well, inching closer to it, slowly, trying to not get caught. The car was not empty, there were two people in front seats, making out — your ex and a girl Eddie did not recognize.

The first thing he felt was your grip on his hand tighten, and when he turned his body around to look at you, you looked away. Heartbroken, a dejected look on your pretty face, lips turned into a frown. It was almost like you didn't want to be seen at that moment, trying to hide, but Eddie couldn't let you. His own heart breaking for you, but willing to do whatever it took to mend it.

He took your face in both of his hands, urging you to look at him. "You don't need to get any closer, all right? Let me handle it, it was my idea. We won't spend more than five minutes here, I promise. Then I'll take you home, or we can go wherever you want. Far away from him, okay?"

"Okay. It's okay. I trust you, Eddie." 

The chill he's been feeling having foregone his jacket is readily forgotten as he takes in how sweet your eyes look in the low light of the street. He runs his thumb over your cheek just briefly before letting you go, going over to Andrew's car.

Thankfully for the height of the car, it was easy for Eddie to crouch and quickly grab the butterfly knife he usually kept on the inside pocket of his jacket — for safety measures, especially after being almost eaten alive, he didn't feel well without a weapon within close proximity. Call him crazy, but maybe there's always demobats to be fought, or asshole ex-boyfriends to screw over.

He cringed as he noticed the car starting to shake slightly, and prayed that you'd kept looking away. Eddie made a quick job of it — light on his feet, he slashed each of the four tires, and as he watched them slowly deflate, he ran towards you. You looked at him, covering your mouth to hide your nervous laughter, and he put his finger to his mouth, signaling you to keep quiet.

Together, you ran. Eddie didn't know who grabbed whose hand first, but when he came to himself you were running in the direction of his van, and you were giggling openly, making him smile until his cheeks hurt in turn. When you stopped, panting and still laughing, none of you let go.

"I can't believe we did that."

"I did that. You just watched, sweetheart."

Rolling your eyes, you pulled him a little closer by the hand you were holding. "Still, you're my hero, Eddie Munson."

"Couldn't stand thinking about what that dick did to you. He never deserved you in the first place."

He thought he'd said something wrong when you didn't say anything right away, but he was pleasantly surprised when you finished closing the distance between you, capturing his bottom lip between yours in a delicate kiss. He stood there, shocked for a second, before bringing his hands to your waist, drawing you to his chest.

Your arms around his neck, his traveling to your back, the sound of the deep bass coming from the inside of Benny's drowning everything around you. You were all he could feel, your soft lips melding with his, taking in all the little noises you made when he touched you just right. Feeling you under his touch was kind of surreal, like he couldn't believe it was happening just yet.

He swallowed the sigh you let out, just before drawing away, looking for air. "What was that?"

"Just a thank you, for now." You pointed with another peck to his lips.

"For now? What's for later?"

"Take me home like you promised and you'll find out."

"Baby, you don't need to…," not even he expected the pet name, or what followed, "you know, thank me like that. Or at all! I wasn't expecting anything from you…"

Before he could say anymore, you silenced him with another kiss, this time sucking on his bottom lip and letting him deepen it, taking the opportunity to sneak his tongue into your mouth, getting lost in the taste of you. Eddie walked you back until you hit the side of his van, his hand covering the back of your head, softening the impact.

He couldn't bear to hold himself back any longer, and you didn't seem to want him to slow down either, pulling him impossibly closer by his hair, making him moan into your mouth.

"I know you weren't, but I've been wanting to do this for a long time."

"Yeah?" He tilted his head, running his hands under your sweater, feeling your warm skin under your shirt, "Not longer than me, I'm sure."

"Wanna bet?"

The rest of the night was a blur. When Eddie woke up the next morning, naked on your bed, all he could remember was spending through the streets, dividing his already thin attention between kissing you and the steering wheel, drinking wine on your couch until you started taking your clothes off, and stumbling up the stairs while he removed his.

You slept peacefully beside him, your hair like a halo around your head, faint purple hickies on your neck. Though his mind was foggy, and his head ached with a hangover he was sure to blame your cheap wine, he didn't regret a thing he did the night before.

Later, when you woke up, after he spent looking at your ceiling and wondering how did he get so lucky, you got under the sheets and thanked him some more.

[buttl0rd]

I'm watching like a hawk for that new kid 🤲 THE BABY

ALRIGHT HERE HE IS!! lemme introduce you to the new kid 👉👉

this is carroway - he's the best 😎👽

this is gonna be a long post cause i have so much art and content to gush about. i love this kid 👇

Some fun character details:

he was originally supposed to be like the 90's movie tough bully kid but he's ended up just being a stupid asshole. he probably likes to think he's really cool and tough 💪

has 3 younger sisters, hates being outnumbered by girls

huge foodie and finishes whatever you don't eat. not fussy at all

always leaving his mittens outside. they get all wet and gross in the snow

affectionately ripping on everyone he loves. he's a total asshole but most people know he doesn't mean half the shit he says. the real ones tolerate him 😔🤙

he doesn’t know he’s bisexual (don’t tell him, he’ll find out on his own)

Hobbies & Interests

Aliens. Carroway is a firm believer in alien life and has an immense interest in UFO sightings, alien communication and all things outer-space. He often brags to his classmates that he has been abducted and probed, and is friends with the Martians that visit South Park sometimes (do any of them believe him?). He has a telescope that he set up in his friend Dante’s treehouse which he uses to spot UFOs in the night.

FUN FACT: His probe is linked with Cartman's. It's the connection that makes it possible for OCs to exist in the same universe as canon characters.

Drums. He has a drum set in his garage on which he practices every day after school. He has exceptional rhythm and is very talented. He keeps drumsticks in his backpack just in case he encounters a drumset or anything he can make a beat with (tables, benches, trashcans, etc.) Neighbors complain to his parents about the noise, so his garage is sound-proofed to the best of Mr. Carroway’s ability. 

Snowboarding. Carroway goes snowboarding every few weeks. His family do snowboarding trips and he LOVES it. He also skateboards and rides his bike when he’s not up in the mountains, kid just likes to go fast. He dreams of being a professional snowboarder when he’s older.

TFBW: Boarderline

Boarder is a special flying support unit, part of Coon & Friends. He delivers high-impact quick attacks with his hoverboard and can heal/cure status conditions with his awesome space beams. As a speedster he utilizes the whole battlefield and is constantly moving, making him difficult to hit.

Origins:

He was a human that got abducted and genetically modified by Martians to serve and protect the alien race. After battling in many galactic wars he returned to his home in Colorado. His abilities were noticed by the superhero organization, Coon & Friends and Boarder was recruited to join their alliance. He provides support to Coon & Friends in battle.

Design:

Inspired by the gear he wears when he goes snowboarding.

His superhero costume consists of a white bodysuit with black tape accents and a big old metal zip. There's reflective blue strips on the gloves, boots and around the edge of his signature spaceboard. He's got these iconic space goggles that protect his face when he’s flying at the speed of light.

His name is a play on words - board (from his hoverboard) and borderline (being only just good enough for Coon & Friends). Allies call him Boarder for short.

SOT: Skullrogue

Skullrogue is Carroway’s Stick of Truth character.

He is a rogue-class unit and is quick and sneaky on the battlefield. He has a long black hooded cloak and a skull mask. His main weapon is a pair of daggers that are enchanted with flame magic. He cannot use magic himself but he is proficient with weapons, especially the daggers. He throws them and uses them to stab enemies in the back.

Skullrogue has an undisclosed edgy backstory, like any rogue player. He is mysterious and broody and so cool. He is loyal to the Wizard King and thinks Princess Kenny is hot.

Post-COVID

As a young adult, Carroway becomes a professional snowboarder and competes nationally in competitions. He becomes famous and earns a lot of money from his career, travelling the world for competitions. He makes it all the way to the Winter Olympics, representing the USA in the snowboarding category

After a career-ending injury in his mid-30's, he had to retire from snowboarding early and now lives off his sponsors and used-to-be-a-big-shot money. Despite being wealthy, he moved back to South Park and lives in a trailer (it’s easier than having a huge house). 

He sometimes needs a walking aid to get around and is medicated for chronic back pain.

He was too busy with his career to find love when he was younger, so he stays single and lonely in his 40s. He still goes out and does sport events, commentaries and sponsorships - he remains famous even though he cannot compete anymore. He’s like a living legend in the winter sports community. 

I'm still working on a PCOV design for him so stay tuned for that...

Anyway that's it for now!! I hope you love him 😘

[mxtantrights]

Can you write a Jason Todd x reader where they knew each other before he dies but then they reunite. Maybe they were robins at the same time. Y/n has element powers and their eyes change colors based on element currently using. They are afraid of having too much power. Established relationship please!!! I cannot handle slowburns

Broken Bird comes home

the night Jason died was the worst night of your life. The worst. No other night compares to it. Not the night after you spend in the fetal position and crying. Or the night after the funeral where there was no body. Or the night on the first anniversary of his death.

Night time is the worst for you. You just remember getting the calls from Bruce and your whole world shattering. Jason was more than your friend. He was your first crush, your first kiss, first relationship.

He used to do this thing when you two would hold hands on patrol. Your gloves covered your wrists so he would sneak his thumb inside of the leather and rub the inside of your wrist. Something about wanting to feel your pulse.

You had stopped being Robin about three months before you found out Jason died. You never really felt like you could be as good as Dick. And Jason was the only reason you stayed on as long as you did. But even that had it's caveats.

Bruce relied on you and your patience and understanding way more and tried to get Jason to model himself after you. Even though you tried to be more like him, less rule following and more march to your own beat and ask for forgiveness later.

But sometimes the two of them would put you in the middle of their endless tiffs. It drove you up the wall. And one night you just decided right then and there to stop being a Robin.

It's not until after the first year past Jason's death that you decide to go back on the streets to fight crime again. This time it's very different. You don't have anyone to answer to but yourself. And you have no one to look up to anymore.

You don't pull your punches. You don't think in black and white anymore. Everything is gray. And you operate in the areas that used to scare you.

It isn't long before Bruce reaches out, because he's been keeping tabs on you. He asks if you're sure about what you're doing. And he tells you that you're always welcome to come back, as yourself not as a Robin.

You respectfully decline his offer. You hated him the first eight or nine months after Jason's death. You hated how he wasn't there. You hated how that clown just walked free and continued terrorizing the citizens of Gotham.

You actually got to run into him once. Tracked him down, got him all by himself. And delivered a beating that brought him so close to the pits of hell that even you got scared. Bruce showed up then, told you it wasn't right. That you couldn't take justice into your own hands like that.

His words had no affect on you. You hated him for letting the clown go free like that. And you hated that he had a new Robin already.

It's probably not until the third year that you find your footing. You know how to operate as a vigilante. You don't get too mad when you see the new Robin anymore. And you talk to Bruce to check in and still decline his off to join his team.

In those two years you get better at controlling your powers. Yo hardly used them when you were Robin. And after Jason's death you over used them, packing a few punches that moved tectonic plates underneath your feet. This was a balanced way of using your powers. You were coming to understand them.

And then your world shatters again.

One night while on patrol, you notice your being followed. So you take a few turns to lose them. But they're pretty good. So you decide to corner them into an alley way. One where you can confront them.

In the dark you corner your tail. He stands a foot taller than you. All that you can really make out is that red helmet of his. Nothing else tells you about him. He's even using a voice modulator.

You ask him why he's following you. He doesn't answer. You tell him to back off. He doesn't answer. You, at your wits end, run ups o him and are about to deck him when he grabs a hold of your wrist.

You try to pull back but he holds you. It's not that tight. He's not hurting you, you realize. He's just holding you. When you look down at your wrist, you realize that he's touching you right where Jason did.

You wrench your wrist away from him and take a step back. You're about to haul off a bunch of curses at him when he starts speaking to you.

"You're pulse." he says.

Your spine goes straight at that. Jason used to say that, why is this guy saying that to you? You moves to take another step back but you don't. You look right at him.

"Jason?" you ask.

The man starts moving at light speed. All at once the helmet it coming off. You see a tuft of white hair amongst the black. And then he takes off his domino mask. You see it in his eyes. It's Jason, it's your Jason, but it's not.

"How is this possible?" you ask yourself, taking a few steps forward.

When the tip of your shoes meet his boots, and he doesn't move, you take it as a sign that he's okay with you being this close. You hesitantly reach up towards his face but you take your hand back. You don't notice the storm clouds you're forming. Not until the rain starts coming down.

"It's me." he says.

You can't help the tears that come out of your eyes. Or how you start sobbing uncontrollably. Jason wraps you up in his arms. You feel your whole body start to go slack in disbelief. He's real. He's alive, he's here.

"I'm sorry I made you wait." he says.

You wrap your arms around him tightly now, "You're back. You're really back."

You pull back from him a bit, he looks down at you. You can read the worry in his eyes. You reach up and cup his face. He lets out a strangled breath.

"I missed you so much."

a/n: I had to stop myself before it came a behemoth and I dragged you on for a slow burn. this was really fun to write. Especially the elemental part! thanks for sending this in !! <3333

[lethalchiralium]

High Water | Happiness Series

a/n: okay guys, I have ONE MONTH left of school for the semester, THEN I WILL HAVE TIME FOR THIS I PROMISE. a lot has happened since I last updated, this was all written over a six month period and of course finished three weeks after my major breakup w my bestie of 7 years LOL ENJOY

a/n 2: and thank you always to @as-is-above-so-below for not killing me over taking forever to update and for letting me fall down her stairs and (separate incident) get a splinter from her floor LOL

warnings: military talk. TW: TORTURE

summary: Price has to make a difficult decision.

PREVIOUS << | >> NEXT | SERIES MASTERLIST

Night vision, gloved finger tensed on the trigger of his rifle. The back alley was secured, Soap kept two feet behind him at all times as Price unlocked the side door of the “abandoned” factory warehouse. 

Four pairs of boots were muted against the cracked concrete, rifles pointed upwards and watching for any hostiles in their way. The mission was to collect intel and neutralize any threats - hopefully this would deliver them to the target. A man who was a ghost just like Simon Riley, but just… tied up in debts that span decades. Expendable men were set in the center of the warehouse, a table set up with chairs, chips and cards strewn about the wooden surface. Silence was a friend to the Russian men’s killers, but not to them. A small radio lowly played some sot of music, it was melancholy and heavy on the sax. Blues, Simon reflected, fitting.

One Russian - wearing a white shirt and black pants, a deep purple bruise on his fair face - pulled a chair from the table, setting down a laptop on a handful of worn cards.

“Boss has two targets with him, they’re to be sold by the end of the week.”

The man with a green jacket shrugged, as he sat down too; kicking his feet onto the table. “Not sure if there’s a big enough market for screaming babies, друг.”

“We’ll be getting a big payout if we get them to auction before their family finds out.” 

Simon’s stomach clenched, he almost shot them both right there if it wasn’t for Gaz grabbing his arm and squeezing it. He couldn’t imagine it being you and the girls, it wouldn’t be anyway. Calm down. He focused on slinging his rifle silently over his shoulder, taking hold of the corner of sturdy boxes, wrapped up in plastic film. He hauled himself up, keeping his balance and grip focused on climbing up since the crate was the height of his shoulders. He placed his right foot on the top, pushing himself up before repeating the action with the next and final crate. It was routine the way he retrieved his rifle from his back, laying prone on the hefty crate with his finger parallel to the trigger and his eye in the scope. He was swift, it was second nature; his breath didn’t falter when Gaz settled on his torso beside him with his tact scope in his grasp.

“Bravo 0-7, do you have sight on the target?”

Ghost’s eye closed, the other focusing through the scope of his rifle. 

“Affirmative.”

There was a loud screech of the door Gaz was watching, Ghost’s chest clenched with anticipation as he watched the intel walk in - wearing joggers and a long sleeve shirt, talking loudly on his phone in Russian. 

“Soap, detain the target as soon as he is within range. Gaz, Ghost, drop ‘em as soon as Soap is clear.”

There wasn’t a beat of silence after that, as everyone launched into action. Johnny was quick to tackle the man, the other two dropped dead within milliseconds. His gloved hand seemed to cover the man’s whole jaw, fingertips pressed uncomfortably into the man’s skin. Ghost had dropped from his position in seconds and across the room in a few strides.

“Where is yer boss?”

Gaz slid a chair behind the man, Soap shoved him into it. Struggling hands were strapped to it, the man with dark blond hair and joggers spat out vicious words towards the skull balaclava. He barely caught Price snatching the open laptop from the table before he looked back to Soap and the hostage, the Sergeant dug his nails into the Russian’s face. The Lieutenant pulled a rag from his vest, watching them intently. The 141 was a well oiled machine, oiled with the saccharine taste of blood. 

“Where the fuck is yer boss?”

“You’ll never find him-“ Ghost shoved the cloth into the man’s mouth before in a flash, his knife found its new home in the hostage’s knee. The screams muffled, he leaned closer. The words spoken were low, but enough to elicit a snarl from the hostage before another scream.

Price only gazed at Ghost for a moment before looking back at the laptop, checking through folders for measly information. Gaz was stood by the door, watching for any  intruders - hand on his rifle, ignoring the muffled screams of the last threat alive in the room. But he wouldn’t be alive much longer with Ghost’s knives sticking out of his body like decorations. Don’t ask for mercy, my hounds won’t give you any, he remarked.

He looked down at the dashboard, seeing a browser left open. He clicked on it, seeing an encrypted chat log with the target and his right hand man - the man screaming for his life in the chair. 

Don’t be late

The damn baby is losing it

If I have to hear another word from this girl I’m going to kill her

Price is a stoic man, one hardened by war - barely scared of anything; yet, Price wasn’t prepared when he scrolled up. His heart shot straight into his throat, eyes widened by a fraction, his hand gripping the table could’ve broken it in half. He blindly grabbed his phone, taking a picture of the screen before slamming the laptop closed. It was secured between his arm and chest in three seconds, tapping a number on the screen of his phone before he walked past Gaz and out of the room. The building was secured, he knew that - yet, he felt the fear that he may be watched. The secure line droned on for only a moment before there was an answer.

“John?”

“Laswell. What the fuck happened?”

There’s crying in the background, he could recognize Winnie’s voice anywhere. They’ve been gone for three days. Nothing was supposed to get to Simon’s second chance, John thought he was sure of it. No, he was sure of it. He cased the house himself, did all the work to make sure one of their strongest and toughest allies would stay and protect them. What the fuck happened?

There’s a breath. “König’s been shot. Someone took Mellie and Y/N.”

“And the other one?” 

John’s stomach settled like concrete, weighing him down and making him sick. 

“She’s okay. She’s with us at the hospital. We took her to the park like her mother asked and when we came back, the door was kicked in, König was unconscious and bleeding out, and Mellie and Y/N weren’t there.” There was a pause. “There was a fight down here. König killed seven of them before going down.”

Okay. At least they could ID the bodies, link them to the mob - or at least, former associates of the mob. Any lead he could get.

If he could run his hand through his beard, he would’ve. It was a comfort, especially now that he has never felt this stressed in his life. Simon cannot know. Simon will destroy everything we’ve worked for to save them. 

“It has to do with the target.” 

John’s eyebrows furrowed. “Their intel is here. I am holding their intel.”

“John, these men are Russian. They are escaped convicts in the mob, known associates of the target.” There’s a pause, a short yell from Winnie, and Laswell sighing. “König left one unconscious. Roach is interrogating him now on base.”

“How long ago were they attacked?”

“Yesterday.” Another pause, soft words from Laswell to who he assumed was Winnie. “Listen, I’m working on this, but I need you. We need Ghost to run the rest of the operation, and we can’t do that if you tell him about this.”

There’s shouting behind the door, screaming from the victim that Ghost was torturing. John looked down the empty corridor, knowing he has to go to keep his friend safe. 

“Because if they came after the girls, that means they’re coming after him. And they need him alive.”

His hand could have snapped that laptop in half. “He needs them alive.”

“I know, John.” 

There’s more shouting in Russian, a loud thud and more incessant screaming. 

“Keep this on the down low. I only need you. Make sure Ghost knows how to proceed.”

“With caution and safety off.” John murmured, muscles clenching in his chest. This is not going to end well. 

“Get back to Manchester immediately. I’ll call if we’ve found something.” The line goes dead, Captain Price slipped the phone into his pocket before taking a deep breath. 

He opened the door back to the room, being submersed in the victim’s screaming as Ghost’s black blade dragged into the muscles of his leg. Price shut the door, standing tall with worry on his mind. Gaz nodded to him, hands out for the laptop - John shook his head. 

“Lieutenant.” 

The skull mask didn’t look away from his target, the one screaming Russian that he didn’t know anything, stop, you’re hurting me, go to fucking Hell- Soap took the man by his throat, forcing his head back before spitting some choice words at his face. Eyebrows furrowed, Price tried again.

“Mactavish, take over for the Lieutenant.” 

The Scot nodded, hand ripping Ghost’s knife out of the man’s thigh - all that filled the room were screams. Ghost finally looked to Price, an enraged look in his eye as he stood and walked towards him. 

“What the fuck-”

“I’ve been reassigned.” The Captain spoke with an even tone. Nothing is wrong. Believe me, Simon, believe me. “You will be running this operation until I get this assignment under control.”

It seemed that anger swelled throughout the Lieutenant like a poison, invading every space of the menacing man. “What the fuck did you get reassigned for?”

“Diplomat’s wife and daughter have been kidnapped.” The lie slid off of the tongue like butter, smooth as easy to go down for some people. For others… it’s unsettling. Price was a good liar, it came easy, but his lieutenant was always able to tell. Not always immediately, but he will know sooner or later. “I have to run this. Are you okay doing this assignment-“

Ghost patted his Captain’s shoulder. “Got it under control.”

Price smiled, strained. “Knew I could count on you.” He glanced to the man in the chair; blood poured down his face. He then looked back to his Lieutenant, his right hand man with as straight of face he could muster. “We need to hurry this up. Only 10 minutes remaining.”

“Rog.”

•••

The front door was covered in a tarp, the front porch light on and curtains drawn. John Price felt the cold sickle of Death slide down his spine as he could see blood splatter on a home he once considered sacred. Simon’s home, your home, was under red tape, unknown to anyone the military who wasn’t close to Ghost. Simon created a home from nothing for his child, then opened it for you, then his new little one - God, was John proud of him. Creating a life more than worth living, in a quaint house that should have never been found - even when it was hidden in plain sight. Even the most holy grounds have had blood shed upon them. 

Kate knew he was walking up the steps, she always knew, so she opened the door enough for him to slip through. Instantly, he’s met with the remnants of the carnage of your entrance way. Bullet holes and stains of blood decorated the walls and floors, even when they had been mopped and wiped clean. Dents in the walls, the floor - John imagined the beast that was König wrestling some of those fucks to the ground, snapping their necks with the twitch of his wrist. He couldn’t imagine your screams, couldn’t think of little Mellie wailing in terror. 

Did you scream? Did they drug you? Hurt you? Did they dare to touch the baby? God, Simon is going to burn the world.

He looked to Kate, there’s a hardened glint in her eye. He handed her the laptop, which hadn’t been scanned yet - it would take too much time, they both knew that. She took it without a word, turning back into the front room. John strode forwards, stepping over the baby gate that was recently put there. He assumed it was to keep Winnie out of the carnage that was the front entrance, he continued on to the living room where he could see Alex sitting on the couch. A little head peered over the side of the couch and as soon as her eyes saw John, she stood at full height with tears instantly pouring down her face. 

“Unc’John!” 

His heart felt bruised then, the beat of it aching with every stride he took to her. He instantly plucked her from the couch, holding her to his chest as she loudly cried. “Winnie, sweetheart, it’s alright.”

“Where-Where’s Mummy and Mellie?”

John could only bear to mutter a soft, “We’re finding them, sweetheart.” He couldn’t bring himself to say that the bad guys got them, that her daddy couldn’t be the hero she knows she wants him to be because of John’s decision. He was quick to bring her to the kitchen - which seemed untouched compared to the adjacent entryway - and settled her on the countertop, right beside the sink. He grabbed a glass from the cabinet to the right, filling it with water before handing it to Winnie. The five year old took greedy sips, breathing through her nose as tears raced down her face. “Put the water down, love, you need to take some deep breaths.”

He took the glass back, only for her to reach for his hand - he took it, giving it a small squeeze. God, he can’t even remember the last time he had seen his niece cry, let alone sob. Had it been that long since she had gone without you? 

“Are you hungry? Tired?” He set the glass on the counter, seeing her hiccup as she tried to catch her breath. He squeezed her hand again, all Winnie could do was let more tears fall down her face. 

“Where’s Mummy?” She begged, John’s tongue felt dry. He hated lying to her, he hated not knowing anything, he hated seeing her bawl her eyes out. She didn’t witness anything, thank God, but going without you after not having to for years is terrifying to a little girl. “N’Daddy? Why-Why isn’t Daddy home?” Her hand squeezed back, much harder than she did before. “M’scared.”

“I know, Winnie.” His throat began to itch, he wanted to desperately tell her that everything would be alright - that today was just a bad dream she’ll wake up from tomorrow, that her parents will be here in the morning with her baby sister. He also wanted to scream at God and tell him that it was fucked forcing him into sacrificing Simon’s family for a stupid fucking lead, even if it did lead back to you and Mellie. He didn’t want to have the possibility of telling his niece that neither of her parents were coming home, instead of the off chance of one; he hated delivering condolences, but he wasn’t sure he could do it to a five year old girl who he has watched grow up. “I think we need to go sit down again.” A little nod and she was scooped up into his arms again, held tight as he walked back into the couch; Alex nowhere to be seen, which was fine with John. He took his normal seat at the end of the couch, resting little Winnie on his chest and pulling the blanket from the back of the couch to lay on her. He tucked it in around her stomach, making sure to cover her socked feet before gently petting her hair. 

His eyes wandered to the TV, to the stupid blue dog show that she seemed to love - yet she held no interest right now. His eyes darted across the floor, seeing little firetrucks and airplanes and dolls scattered across the floor; then to the little mesh play pen that sat underneath the window, the blinds pulled up enough to where Mellie couldn’t reach, the strings tied up even higher. Soft toys and colorful blocks scattered inside of it, not to mention a few blankets and a pillow or two. Winnie’s been sleeping down here. She’s petrified. 

His gaze moved to the ceiling, hand gently patting her head with a calm rhythm. He’d lay here all night, way past when his back would get sore, way past when his legs would cramp, just to give Winnie some sort of stability. He refused to think about the possibility that he may have to follow through with his promise of being her godfather - he just never imagined that it might possibly be just Winnie, not Winnie and Mellie. The thought stirred nausea in his stomach, more than any whiplash, concussion, or shitty helicopter ride could give him. He had already made the silent promise to find you and Mellie, but just for tonight, his whole goal was to make sure Winnie isn’t more scared out of her mind than she already is. 

“Unc’John.”

He hummed at that, looking back down her. “Yes, sweetheart.”

Her little chin swiveled to rest on his chest to look up at him, her sweet brown eyes full of tears as she whispered, “I don’t wanna visit my Mummy at-at the cemetery like Mum G-Grace.”

I don’t want to visit my Mummy at the cemetery like Mum Grace.

I don’t want to visit my Mummy at the cemetery like Mum Grace. 

The words that leave his mouth are soft, spoken like a twisted prayer. “This isn’t like your Mum Grace.” His eyebrows furrowed, petting her hair back with a gentle touch. “I swear it.”

The five year old’s lip quivered, “Promise?”

John doesn’t promise anything, he never makes a promise he wouldn’t be able to keep. He never dared enter the realm of uncertainty, knowing he could fail and hurt someone he cared about. Hell, he rarely makes promises on equipment orders for his men. He doesn’t even promise his mother anything, not since he promised he wouldn’t go into the military and did it anyway. But as he watched his friend’s daughter, his niece and goddaughter, sob quietly on his chest, he felt he had no choice but to nod. “Promise.”

At that, Winnie’s head finally fell to rest on John’s chest, he watched her eyes close as it was evident she had only held out to hear his promise. She had stayed awake to see and hear someone she trusted and knew well, she waited to close her eyes until she knew he would find you, even if she didn’t directly ask him to. 

John felt obligated to keep Simon’s family alive since he knew just how much the deaths of his mother, brother, sister-in-law, and nephew nearly killed him, how the death of Grace and embracing fatherhood almost drowned him, and just how much his daughters and wife saved him from saying “Fuck it.” and stepping into enemy fire. Not only that, he felt obligated to you - to find you and Mellie, bring you home, keep Winnie safe too. You had many years left with Simon, John could see it. You couldn’t possibly leave Simon now, not when he needs you the most. 

John’s eyes blinked slowly, looking down to the dozing Winnie on his chest and holding her closer, reminiscent of when she was a small toddler sleeping on his chest when he babysat. Fatigue was catching up to him, the hours in the early morning were spent combing through data for the prisoner the 141 now in had in possession, and now - your kidnapping. Simon is a dear friend, John knew him too well to say otherwise. And he also knew that you, Winnie, and Mellie were his whole world - the monster Simon was, the one John had nurtured and cared for to create a weapon, was sitting dormant in the man’s ribcage because of the unconditional love he had received. John could never argue that Simon had “gone soft” because of it, Simon had weeping and infected wounds healed by the soft touch of his wife. The Captain’s previously abused and petrified weapon was now perfect, he was the epitome of the perfect soldier. But with the knowledge of his wife and child’s safety at risk, John knew what the military didn’t. 

“Captain.” 

There’s a reason your husband wasn’t alerted of your abduction. John Price knew the second he said that you and Melody were missing, Simon would rip his ribcage from his chest with the force of a thousand men to expose the monster underneath. The one you only hear about in movies, the one that is passed down through tongues to generations, the one you fear will come from the shadows to eat you alive. Simon Riley is what the Captain likes to call, the Monster Under Your Bed. 

“Captain.”

He grunted a little, looking over his shoulder to a stoic Alex Keller. “She’s almost asleep, Alex-“

“We might have a location.”

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[wrioelise]

⋆୨୧ ₊ﾟ mornings with him ⊹ɞ ↴

⤷ wriothesley x gn! reader

wc: 634

a/n: just a little scenario i thought of while trying to fall asleep! i'm like pretty sure this might be ooc but I can't help but imagine this after seeing the 4.1 trailer!

It’s early in the morning and you’re still dozing off in bed, the warm feeling the comforter provided and the pillows and the bed beneath you felt so soft and comfortable, the white noise that the ac provided, it all felt nice, especially when you’re engulfed in Wriothesley’s embrace.

As much as your lovely boyfriend would love to have a late and lazy morning with you, he really can’t. He needs to be at the Fortress of Meropide early in the morning. Apparently today ought to be busier than most (not like the other days weren’t). 

Wriothesley wasn’t in the best of moods, it’s not everyday he gets to spend most mornings with you and every time he thinks he can finally get to do so, it gets stripped away before him. He already has to leave early mornings but he despises it even more when he has to go much earlier, so he couldn’t really help but to get in a foul mood.

He didn’t think it could get any more worse than having to get up early, yet he was in for quite a ride. First, it seems like the shower is much more cold than usual just to spite him, the coffee maker in your shared apartment wouldn’t work properly, he can’t figure out where he placed his other pair of fingerless gloves, there was a small tear in his cape, his hair would not cooperate,  and for some reason he couldn’t tie his damned tie.

He sits down on the bed, a scowl visible on his features and he lets out a frustrated sigh as he undoes his tie for what seemed like the millionth time. And like magic you suddenly woke from your comfortable sleep, like you sensed his frustration or something.

You rub your eyes in an attempt to eliminate your drowsiness, you look out the window before looking back at your boyfriend who’s back is facing you.  You crawl out of bed and make your way to stand in front of him. You greet him in a soft tone, “Hi there darling.. Want some help hmm?”

He looks up at you and a small smile grazes his face, “ ‘m sorry, didn’t mean to wake you up love, but that would be really nice to get a hand..”

You kiss his forehead before fixing his collar and you do his tie. While you’re doing his tie he can’t help but admire the way you look, you look so ethereal even though it’s early in the morning, he also can’t help but think that  the way your morning voice sounds is so hot. He’s too busy admiring the beauty in front of him he hasn’t noticed you’re done, until you kiss him once more. 

“There you go darling, all done” you say as you fix his top and you smile at him.

He takes both of your hands in his own and he kisses it, “Thank you so much love..”

You steal another kiss from him before saying, “It’s no biggie, need help with anything else?”

“No no it’s fine love I can handle myself”

“Hmm you also said that last night and look who’s frustrated just a few minutes ago, so lemme come and help, I don’t leave for work until later today anyways.”

He felt so lucky to have someone like you, your mere presence alone calms him down. He stands up and he holds your hand and you help him with the things he stressed on about.

Later that day he bought flowers and had them delivered to your workplace and it has a note which read: Thank you for today, yesterday, and every other day that was and will come.I love you darling.

He’s down bad for you just as you are for him!

a friendly reminder to check out my other blogs, it's in my pinned post hehe (such a shameless plug HAHAHA)

૮₍ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ₎ა thank you for taking time out of your day to read my works, I really appreciate it and I hope you have a great rest of your day/evening/night! ♡

© 𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐉𝐔𝐍𝐎 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟐— do not plagiarize, repost or translate any works onto other sites.

[bunnysbrainrot]

Easy Access

Relationship: Negan x fem!Reader

Content: free use kink, fingering, p in v, dom/sub dynamic, overall dirty talk, breeding kink

Summary: After becoming one of Negan’s wives, you soon come to find out exactly why he prefers you all in dresses. One day, when Negan instructs you to wear less than normal, you discover something that riles him up more than anything.

A/N: This is my first Negan story, and although it’s just a oneshot, I hope you all enjoy!

The last few months had become a blur. One day, you were captured by the Saviors from your small community, seemingly the next Negan was scouting you out to be his new wife. Originally opposed to the idea, worries of feeling like a prize than a person, Negan had shown you that he gives each of the wives individual attention. After surviving in the post-apocalypse world, wearing dresses again was foreign. Something about the outfit reminded you of your safety - that would wouldn’t have to run to live anymore, that you could finally focus on your looks again.

Your ‘job’, if you could call it that, was to be beautiful and obedient, though the obedience part was sometimes difficult. But, you had proven yourself to your leader and remained faithful to him. He delivered above and beyond any sexual experience you had before him, leaving you absolutely starstruck and hungry for more when you had time together.

Yesterday Negan had instructed you to ‘forget the panties’ today, so all that was left what your elegant black sundress, a bra, and your heels. The feeling of the occasional breeze up your bare legs was odd, but something tightened in your stomach when Negan saw you in the afternoon, when the wives met with him to relax together.

Though the room was full of other gorgeous women, Negan could tear his eyes away from you, slowly trailing down your bare legs crossed in front of you. Goosebumps rose on your skin, an anticipation of what could happen if his hands wandered over you. As the wives talked to one another, you sipped a glass of white wine as you made eye contact with Negan. He gave you a lazy grin, to which you met it with a polite smile. His gloved hand pointed to his lap, a silent command to join him which you would happily oblige to.

You slowly walked over, swaying your hips in your new dress that hugged every curve in a way that made Negan drool over you. He greeted you with open arms as you settled onto him, resting his broad hands on your hips. As he gave idle small talk to the other wives his fingers teasingly moved across the fabric of your dress.

“So,” his husky whisper reached your ears, “you have anything on under this?”

You turned your head to him and shook it, eliciting a devilish grin from your husband. One of Negan’s fingers hooked at the hem of your dress tauntingly. Red painted your cheeks in a way that made Negan roll his hips up into yours, his hardened erection pressing against your ass.

“Ladies, I appreciate you taking the time to come here today. But, I do have some business to discuss with this one here,” he patted your leg, “This evening, I’m planning on hosting a dinner for all of you lovely wives, but in the meantime I’m gonna have to ask you all to head to your rooms.”

A few of the wives glanced your way in confusion, but your expression showed them that you had no clue what was going on either. Dutifully they left the room, leaving you and your husband to yourselves.

Silence fell in the room until Negan spoke again, making sure anyone else was out of earshot.

“Do you know why I asked you to ditch those panties for me?”

Your breath hitched slightly at his question, to which you shook your head, “No, sir.”

“Well, you see, my dear wife, I will let you know that it does happen to be a quite selfish reason,” he drawled on as a hand tugged at your dress. Negan hooked his fingers underneath and lifted the fabric until it rested at your hips.

With your thighs completely bare you shivered against the chill of the room.

“You’re shaking. You cold, sweetness?” You nodded to his question.

“Don’t you worry that pretty little head of yours, I’m gonna find a way to warm you up pretty soon,” he muttered against your ear. The warmth of his breath across your skin left you with your head rolling back to his shoulder as your legs spread for his touch.

Negan let out a low chuckle while his hands wandered upward toward the apex of your thighs. What your husband didn’t know was that ever since he eyed you in the meeting, the heat in your abdomen had left you soaked for him. Your slick covered your inner thighs, inviting him in to let his greedy fingers to take over your senses. Dipping a single finger between your folds, Negan let out a low growl of approval.

“And look at that,” he cooed, “you’re just dripping for me, ain’t you, sweet girl?”

Your hips bucked at his touch, a silent plead for more of his skilled fingers. Negan ran slow circles over your swollen clit, helping you ride through the pleasure as your breaths came out in shaky spurts.

“I thought having your pussy bare to the world could give me some excitement, but I think it may have done that to you, too, angel,” he breathed against your neck, “But you see, my dear wife, the reason I asked you to do that was so we wouldn’t have so many damn clothes in the way.”

You gripped his hand with your own, tugging at it lower to slide his digits to your entrance. Unfortunately this isn’t what Negan had in mind. He urged your hands away that brought a whine from your throat.

“Can’t having you getting handsy, darlin’,” breathed Negan, “‘cause right now, this pussy doesn’t belong to you. And I want you to take a wild guess as to who owns it.”

You hated when he made you use your words, but it gave Negan a thrill when you spoke up in a pleading voice, “You do.”

“I’m sorry, what was that, sugar?”

“It’s… yours.”

“And what is ‘it’, my love?” He demanded softly, tugging your arms back. Negan shifted to create space between you and pinned your arms against his torso, keeping you from breaking free and exposing your aching cunt to him.

“My… my pussy. It’s yours, sir,” that had satisfied him, erupting a groan against your beck. Negan left warm, sloppy kisses along your skin until he reached your ear.

“Now,” he softly spoke, “I’m gonna use this pretty little pussy until I’m drained. That cunt of yours is gonna take my cock and milk it dry. You understand?”

You desperately nodded, arching your back in reply. Negan brought one hand to your chest while the other remained trained on your pussy. The hand on your chest pulled at the straps of your sundress over your shoulders to expose your chest, covered by your bra. Negan’s fingers idly played with your clit as he unhooked your bra. The two of you wiggled you out of it, and now fully bare under your dress, Negan let the straps fall, your breasts laid out for his pleasure.

Two fingers took a nipple and gently twisted, drawing out a sharp moan from you. Negan’s fingers teased the entrance of your drenched cunt, inviting him inside.

“You see how much easier this is, sweetheart? We don’t have all of those pesky underthings in the way of me using you,” he explained in a husky voice. He pulled his hands away without warning. You let out a soft gasp in protest, but he was already freeing your arms from behind your back.

“Stand up for me, baby girl,” commanded Negan, to which you obliged. You stood with shaking knees between his legs, his large erection rock hard in his jeans. Your husband eyed you carefully, “Let’s see you take that dress off. I need to see my beautiful wife in all of that glory.”

You heeded his instruction and lifted the dress over your head, falling to the floor beneath you. Negan beckoned you over with a finger before removing his pants and boxers, springing his cock free to rest against his stomach. At the sight, you could’ve sworn your mouth began to water, eager for him in any way he pleasured you.

“I’m not using that beautiful mouth today. Right now, I need that tight pussy swallowing my cock into you.”

He coaxed you into his lap, his hard length pressing against your soaked folds. Negan took your hips in his hands, dragging you back and forth along his member. Your knees had become weak, slumping against Negan as the pleasure came over you. His hands cupped your ass and lifted you above his length, lining the thick head with your entrance.

“Go on, baby, I wanna see you take me in,” muttered Negan. Your hips lowered onto him, filling your aching heat with his thick girth. As you settled down, and your moans evened out, Negan took your arms into his hands, placing them behind your back with his fingers wrapped around your wrist.

“Now we’re getting somewhere,” he whispered as you rode him gently.

“Get nice and settled for me, babydoll. I’m gonna take care of you, ‘kay?” His voice filled your senses completely, your mouth agape in ecstasy. Negan braced his feet on the floor to buck his hips upward, sending his cock deeper into your pussy. He groaned at the sensation, the mix of your noises creating a harmony of lust.

The strokes started out at an excruciatingly slow pace; eventually Negan began to pick up speed, the head of his cock crashing against your cervix. You weren’t sure how much of this you could take, though your moans fully took you over, carrying out throughout the room.

“I know, sweetheart,” he said sweetly, “I know it feels good, being stuffed with cock all nice and full. How about you cum for me, can you do that, darlin’?”

Almost at the very command, you tightened around his length, drawing out a groan from you husband while his cock bruised your cunt. The thrusts became harsher, striking in deep spots you couldn’t have imagined. Small cries fell past your lips: his name, pleads for more, pleads for him to use you as he saw fit.

“Damn, you’re just about fucked dumb, aren’t ya, sweetheart? Ain’t much else in there except wanting to be a cock sleeve,” Negan growled into your ear. “And might I say, you might just milk my cock for all its worth, the way you’re getting tight for me.”

Something taught in your abdomen snapped at his words, your pleasure erupting wildly around his cock. His thrusts remained as powerful as before, fucking you senselessly through your orgasm. You shook around him, arching your back as you fell quickly into another. The way his cock hit every inch of you sent shockwaves through your nerves, the climaxes hitting you in quick succession. Each time you fell apart for him, Negan seemed to unravel just as much, the only sounds in the room being the occasional growl from him, and the slapping of his skin against your drenched thighs.

Negan brought his mouth to your neck, mumuring sweet nothings until he reached your ear, whispering something that tightened your pussy around him yet again.

“I’ve got one rule, sweet thing,” he began, “I’m about to fill you up into next week, and I don’t want you to waste a single drop of it.”

You hoped that your body could do that. Not out of concern of a punishment, but in hopes to follow his every command perfectly. Negan’s thrusts became more erratic before he let out a rough grunt, his cock throbbing inside of your cunt as he spilled his warm load into you. You clenched around his length to keep his cum inside as he commanded.

“Attagirl,” he breathed heavily, “now, I’m gonna lift you up, and we’ll both watch all of the cum drip right outta you.” Your breath hitched at this, lifting your shaking hips up until his length left you feeling hollow. Warmth dripped past from pussy, to which Negan roughly opened up your legs further to give you both a good show. White ropes of cum dripped from you and onto his length, twitching against his abdomen.

“Now that’s a pretty sight. Look at how much you took, babydoll,” he praised, bringing a finger to your slick, bringing a shudder from you on your sensitive clit.

“You’re far prettier with my cum spilling outta you. All nice and filled up.”

Your breaths remained heavy as you watched the amount that leaked from your folds, over his fingers and onto his palm.

“Say, we should make a day of this,” he proposed. You looked at him in slight confusion while he slipped a finger into your soaked pussy, curling inside of you to strike your g-spot.

“I want… to set aside a day, just the two of us, for somethin’ special.” Negan pumped his fingers in and out of you slowly, “I want to see how much of me you can take in a day. We’ll see just how much cum this pussy can hold.”

The idea shattered you around him, clenching around his fingers as your orgasm soaked his hands.

“Oh, you like the idea of that.” He questioned, “What do you say, wanna be a cock sleeve for a day?”

You dumbly nodded, to which Negan smiled.

“Don’t you worry. This was just a practice round.”

Thank you all for reading! I definitely have plans to expand upon this, so be prepared.