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gutsby · 6 months

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I’m a Good Girl, Officer!

Pairing: Reader x Detective Dixon x Officer Grimes x Officer Walsh

Summary: Apparently flashing your tits to truckers on the freeway is frowned upon in small towns like yours. When three familiar King County cops take charge of the case, you learn they punish bad girls a little differently.

Warnings: NSFW. Foursome! :-) Unprotected p-in-v, spitroast, double penetration, overstimulation, praise and degradation, bimbofication, throatfucking, painal, breeding kink, using c*m as lube, and a (consensual) strugglefuck. Elements of dubcon à la power imbalance and coercion. Age gap. Public indecency, evading arrest, assault on two cops, and general drunken stupidity.

“Goooooood morning, babycakes!”

Your best friend rolled the hem of her shirt over her chest and shimmied her shoulders at the big white semi truck about to pass under the bridge. The stranger at the wheel took one look at the woman’s tits and almost swerved across two lanes of traffic. The sight sent you and your drunken group howling with laughter, falling onto the ground as Maggie yanked her top back down.

It was five a.m. and freezing. The club where you’d been boozing all night had long since shuttered closed, and you and your closest friends from high school—home for the holidays and happily plastered—had gone wandering home in a daze. When one of the girls had stopped suddenly at the midsection of a bridge, you hadn’t been able to keep from sharing her smile the second she’d grinned and said, ‘For old time’s sake?’

In no time at all, you’d been lined up along the metal railing and ogling the unsuspecting drivers down below. The freeway was mostly empty at this hour, save for a couple tractor trailers and early morning commuters, but that didn’t matter.

Rosita was up next. You watched her eye an RV as it bumbled down the road and saw her take hold of her shirt just like Maggie had. Then, right when the camper got close enough, the brunette bent slightly at the waist, flipped her top up, and screamed at the top of her lungs:

“HEY BIG RED!”

A big, buff dude with a bright red handlebar mustache looked up from the passenger seat, as did the white-haired, bearded gentleman wearing a bucket hat beside him. The pair then watched your friend’s roadside spectacle with shared looks of wonder and awe, before passing under the bridge as slow as they possibly could. Rosita staggered off the ledge and reached for the flask in your hand, heedless of her breasts still hanging out.

“Your turn,” she chirped before taking a swig.

Your feet were already wobbling onto the concrete slab. From your vantage point, the outline of the sun was just then breaking out across the tops of the trees, casting the morning’s first rays across your bare skin. You stretched your arms out wide, Titanic-style, and basked in the warmth—likely looking drunk as all hell as you did.

“Ooo, this one, this one!” Maggie cut in presently.

You followed your friend’s gaze and caught sight of a sleek, glistening firetruck speeding down the road.

Perfect, you thought as your eyes soaked in the sight. You pictured the truck packed to the gills with hot and sweaty firemen inside, and your fingers itched at the bottom of your shirt. Curled under the fabric and ready to lift as soon as the time came. Even from a distance, you could make out a tiny cluster of uniformed men at the helm, each of their faces contorted with curiosity.

The truck sped up and drew closer. Maggie squeezed your hip, Rosita chewed her lip, and together, you all stared the firetruck down with bated breath until it was just about to go under the bridge.

In a blink, you flipped your shirt up and shook your tits back and forth for the men going by. Much to your surprise, the firefighter in the driver’s seat honked his horn a couple times, and another one, at the rear, stuck his grinning head out the window and waved.

You, Maggie, and Rosita waved right back, practically falling over each other in fits of laughter as you yelled,

“Call me, daddy!”

The three of you collapsed on the sidewalk in a heap of shitfaced hysterics. Rosita flung your flask to the side and smacked you playfully across your boobs—still out and proud and likely able to cut diamonds with how hard your nipples had gotten in the chilly morning air.

“Daddy?!” she wheezed, “You skank!”

You straightened up, partially splayed across Maggie’s lap, and wiggled your shoulders once more, feigning that high-pitched, ditzy voice you used whenever you were hammered,

“Daddy please fuck my titties, I’ve been such a bad girl!”

Then you gave the best porn star moan you could muster and started to pull your shirt the rest of the way off. Not thinking, you balled up the light pink fabric and threw it up in the air while Rosita cheered—‘Tits out for the girls!’—and Maggie almost pissed herself laughing. Really anything would’ve had your sides fit to split at this point, seeing how faded and adrenaline-drunk you were.

You reached up and waited for the top to fall back into your hand...until it didn’t. You cast a sweeping look across the three of you to see if your shirt had landed somewhere else, but the garment was nowhere in sight.

You turned and craned your neck to see over the railing.

“Shit!”

You scrambled to your feet and gripped the metal siding of the bridge, tits fully out and exposed to the world. You watched as an old Ford Ranger picked up speed and crushed the scrap of fabric under its tires, before the driver, in turn, gawked and honked his horn like a fool.

Just as you started to turn back to tell your friends the bad news—and beg them for a piece of spare clothing to cover you—a sound startled you all.

The short, sharp yelp of a siren straight ahead.

Your hands flew to cover your chest while Maggie and Rosita went floundering over each other trying to get up. A few yards away, a police cruiser had pulled up to the side of the bridge with its lights flashing bright red and blue.

Shit, again, seemed to be the resounding sentiment among you three as the car started inching closer.

“Stop right there!” a voice boomed over the PA system.

That only prompted your group to take off running.

You, cradling your tits in both hands, and Rosita and Maggie trying desperately not to trip over the curb, the wayside trash, or each other as they raced down the street.

Two car doors flew open. Then, the sound of that same voice, breaking out across the still morning air without the aid of the intercom and telling you to freeze right now, followed by the sound of footsteps. Boots thudded heavy on the ground below, moving fast and with purpose. Both pairs easily gained on your three retreating forms in a matter of seconds.

Maggie and Rosita were already leaps and bounds ahead of you. Too busy juggling your tits and struggling to breathe, you felt your heart sink.

Rosita shot a look over her shoulder and cried, ‘C’mon!’ as she eyed the cops coming closer.

I’m trying, you wanted to say, but couldn’t speak. Your chest was too tight, pupils blown wide with fear.

This was not the fucking time to be having a panic attack. But here you were.

Before you could stop yourself, you waved a frantic hand to your friends and somehow managed to scream, ‘Go!’

The girls slowed, tried to urge you forward, but, sensing that you weren’t keeping up and wanted them to go on without you, relented at last. They bounded off toward a side street and disappeared down an alley while you felt your legs start to falter beneath you.

“Freeze!” the voice bellowed again. Loud, gruff, and much closer to your ear than it had been before.

You did as he said, not because you wanted to, but because you had to, then, or your body would’ve given out. Still in the grips of terror and rampant intoxication, you stopped in your tracks, spun on your heels, and watched the two officers sprint toward you.

You started to raise your hands in surrender, but just when one of them approached—presumably to tackle you to the ground—your instincts took over. You scarcely knew what you were doing; you just felt your leg lift with the last bit of strength you had left, then, astonishingly, deliver a kick straight to the first man’s gut.

To the shock of you, the cop, and his partner, the man went tumbling backward. Fell straight on the pavement in almost comical fashion and grunted in pain.

“Rick!” the dark-haired one yelled reflexively.

His gaze darted back to you in an instant.

You knew you were capital F fucked. You didn’t bother trying to run and simply stared at the man left standing in a mixture of horror and dread as he charged straight at you.

Your flight response abandoned, you had only to fight. And, by the looks of your opponent, you sensed this motherfucker knew how to tussle.

Before you could even prime yourself for another kick, the cop had taken you down with one lunge. Pinned you flat on the asphalt and yelled right in your face,

“I said don’t move!”

You moved. You moved in his arms while he wrestled you to the sidewalk, snaked his hand around your front, pressed your back against his chest. You moved when he barked his orders once more, told you to get down now and stop resisting, and even wrapped his arm around your throat to force your compliance.

Chokehold’s illegal, asshole, you thought, fighting hard against his grasp. This cop played dirty, and appeared to give no fucks about who could see.

Just as his grip started to tighten around your neck, you heard the other officer back on his feet, talking sharply into his radio:

“Code 10-33. Requesting backup on Fayette Bridge.”

At the same time, the man above you was trying to shake his head, craning his neck to get his partner’s attention.

“Nah, nah, Rick, I got her!”

When ‘Rick’ didn’t seem to hear and kept shouting into the receiver, the burly cop turned his body to the side, squeezing your neck even tighter.

“Rick!” he called, “I got her right here, she’s— FUCK!”

Suddenly, the man’s voice broke off in a strangled yelp as you sank your teeth into the flesh of his arm. When he loosened his grip out of instinct, stinging with pain, you made a desperate attempt to slip from his grasp and get back on your hands and knees.

The freshly bitten cop just slammed you even harder on the ground, unleashing a string of expletives in your ear.

“Fuck you, pig!” you screamed back.

You weren’t sure what had come over you in the few short moments preceding this one—what had irked you so terribly to be inclined to kick one cop in the stomach and bite another on the arm like a feral cat—but there you went. Face down on the pavement with a set of handcuffs being clipped over your wrists.

You winced when you were jerked back onto your feet, the cop’s left hand on your shoulder and the other at your back. He shoved you to take your first steps forward, you instinctively told him to eat shit and die, and as a grim, unsavory unit, you walked toward the officer with his grip still fastened tight to his radio.

“You alright?” Rick asked, out of breath.

His gaze seared right through you to his partner—whose face, you could sense, was already beset with a scowl.

“Bitch bit me,” he spat.

You saw Rick’s expression change, watched his mouth move to speak again, when a sound crackled out of the receiver in his hand. A couple code words and street names you couldn’t make out.

“That’s— that’s alright, now, Officer Walsh has the subject restrained,” Rick returned hastily.

At present, Mr. Walsh had his thumb dug deep in your back, ostensibly holding tight to keep you subdued but more than likely just being an ass. He felt you flinch and gave you a fierce shake.

“Quit squirmin’, girl.”

“Quit pinchin’ me, pig!”

“You’d best watch that fuckin’ mouth’a yours.”

The voice above your ear had you easily outmatched in volume and tone, coarse as it was unkind.

You decided to try your luck anyway.

“Make me, pussy.”

The last thing you saw was the look of bewilderment leap to Rick’s face as Walsh thrust you forward, suddenly, and slammed you face-down on the hood of their car.

“What’d I say ‘bout that fuckin’ mouthin’ off?! Huh?”

“Shane—”

Rick grabbed this Shane’s shoulder in an effort to intervene. Tried prying him off before he could shove you down any harder, but his partner seemed adamant. Shane put his palm over the side of your head and knotted his fingers through your hair, quick to pull.

“Nah, man, I ain’t takin’ lip from some halfwit bimbo—”

“Hey!” you started, only to have your words muffled with your head forced back on the hood.

“Shane!” Rick snapped this time, taking a harder grip of his shirt and yanking him back. To your dismay, Shane kept a chunk of your hair clenched in his fist and probably dislodged a dozen or more strands when he was pulled away.

You let out a gentle groan as your head hit the car for a third time and the two officers broke off in a skirmish.

“You heard what Dixon said,” Rick hissed.

“Fuck what Dixon said!”

“You cain’t just— you got no right—”

“I got every right, man, lemme tell you sumn’—”

Before Shane could ‘tell you’ much of anything, though, the two were rendered silent by the sound of tires on pavement close by. A halt, a tense moment, a car door swinging open and closed, and a whisper passed quickly from Rick to Shane as the two exchanged a look,

“You fucked up.”

You tried tilting your head up toward the windshield to sneak a look in its reflection, maybe see who was coming. You couldn’t make out a thing.

Then, presently, the voice of a much more hushed, humbler Officer Walsh as he spoke,

“Detective Dixon, how’s it—”

“Six bucks.” Another man, presumably Dixon, cut in.

“Huh?”

“Six bucks fer this fuckin’ coffee. Tastes like dirt.”

Oh, uh, yeah, you could just sense Shane shifting uncomfortably on his feet as he searched for the right words to say, maybe scratched his head once or twice. Fortunately for him, Rick came to the rescue.

“Tried that new place on Main, huh?”

“Nic and Norman’s, yeah. Eggs were runny as shit an’ the waitress kept callin’ me ‘Dale’,” the man, now presumably Dixon but not Dale, said in a huff.

It was as if you weren’t lying flat on your tummy with your top off and your hands cuffed behind your back. You stupidly hoped the new man hadn’t noticed you.

“Well who’ve we got here?”

Shit.

You heard footsteps approach, but you didn’t turn your head. Your lungs expelled a small, shaky breath as this detective came by and stood inches from your bent form.

“She and her friends were flashing their tits to the cars passing under the bridge,” Shane declared, a touch too smug as he said it, “The others got away, but this one was sweet enough to grace us with her presence.”

“Kicked me in the stomach and knocked me on my ass,” Rick added.

“Bit me, too.”

You heard a low tsk-tsk as the detective clicked his tongue. Took another sip of his mud-flavored espresso and shook his head above you. Your skin burned with the imprint of his gaze.

“Spring break come a little late this year?” he teased.

“Fuck you,” you muttered.

The men let out a collective chuckle at your tart words. You could just picture the smirks and sly glances shared between them as they watched you writhe against the hood of the police cruiser and try not to give them the satisfaction of seeing your breasts splayed out underneath you.

You were ashamed, admittedly, unsure of how to proceed with three cops at your rear and few options at your disposal besides swearing up a storm. At last, you decided to shift your gaze in their direction and shoot them a glare—more of an empty threat than any real message, but you didn’t care.

You turned and immediately wished you hadn’t.

Your heart leapt into your throat.

“Daryl?!”

This time, Rick and Shane were the only ones to laugh out loud, before quickly stifling the sounds when they realized their superior hadn’t shown a hint of amusement.

Daryl Dixon, the detective, and your brother’s best friend from college, stared down at you with a look of horror.

“Y/N,” he stammered, in shock.

It was clear he was trying with every fiber of his being not to look down at your tits, but his resolve was only so strong. Finally, he settled on looking away, fast, and staring off in the distance while you readjusted yourself.

“Been a minute,” he said, trying for a curt, awkward nod.

And a minute it had been. The last time you’d laid eyes on the man had been at a Christmas party hosted by your brother and his husband four years ago. You’d exchanged all of ten words in polite, drunken pleasantries, and he’d stumbled off at the end of the night with a gorgeous redhead dressed as Mrs. Clause. You hadn’t heard hide nor hair of him since.

For a moment, Rick’s eyes danced indeterminately between you two. Shane’s remained fixed on your face.

“You know this little hellion, Detective?”

Daryl cleared his throat.

“Yeah, uh, that’s— that’s Aaron’s little sister.”

“No shit?”

The words came out faster than Shane could think to stop them. Your hometown was no great metropolis, and even he knew of your brother through a friend-of-a-friend and several cousins’ babysitter’s grandma’s Aunt Carol, or some similar relation. He and Rick had probably partied at your lake house a couple times in college.

“Uncuff her.” Daryl’s voice had already lowered some, pacing away to give you privacy.

Shane obliged and freed you from the handcuffs. When you turned around, only the back of Daryl’s body was visible to you as he ducked inside the backseat of his car.

He returned a few moments later with a blanket. Tried his damndest not to let his vision stray an inch from your face as he handed it to you. Then he beckoned Rick over, and the two exchanged a few quiet words by his sedan.

“You got rabies or anything?” Shane was eyeing the tiny crescent of teeth marks on his forearm.

You rolled your eyes.

“Worse. I’m one of those walkers.”

Shane gave you a look that conveyed he was just as annoyed but didn’t say anything more, even when you made a face at him. He just crossed his arms, leaned back against the squad car, and gritted his teeth. Before you knew it, Daryl and Rick were walking back.

“I’ll take her to the station,” Daryl said.

“Alri—”

“What?” you cried, “For what?!”

You knew for damn what. You just couldn’t believe your brother’s best friend wasn’t planning on giving you a family friend freebie of some kind.

Officer Walsh supplied an answer for you nonetheless, “Let’s see, now: public intoxication, public indecency, open container, and aggravated assault on two police officers. That clear things up, sweet cheeks?”

“You’ve gotta be shitting me.”

“Disorderly conduct, too,” Rick chimed in. Trying not to smile as he said it.

The only ones still not amused by anything this situation had to offer were you and Daryl. The detective looked positively pissed and ready to chuck his cup of coffee over the bridge, while you wanted nothing more than to disappear into the ether. The two of you exchanged a brief, uneasy look and quickly looked the other way.

Rick and Shane were already retreating to their cruiser. You just watched them, almost forlorn, and pretended not to see Daryl signaling for you to follow him.

“C’mon now,” he murmured.

“Can’t you just let me off with a warning?”

Daryl was treading closer to you now, hand outstretched in an almost gentle sort of gesture. Like he wasn’t about to cart you off to the slammer.

“Y’know I can’t do tha’,” he replied, “With all the fuss ya caused, Captain would have my head.”

When you wrenched your arm away from his grasp, you saw him frown.

“Hey,” Daryl said, a little more sternly now, “Don’t make this harder than it needs ta be.”

You watched him reach for you again.

Your first instinct was to shrug him off. Your second was to flee.

You weren’t sure why you even tried it—it just seemed like the right thing to do in the moment, like they did in the movies, to take off sprinting down the street. You gave it a shot.

Unfortunately for you, your feet didn’t carry you far, and Daryl had you snagged in his arms in about five seconds flat. You glanced to the first cop car and saw that Rick and Shane hadn’t even stirred from their seats. Just grinning and laughing at your attempted escape.

Detective Dixon had you by the bicep now, leading you toward his car with a little more force in his step. You were cursing, writhing, fighting every effort of his to corral you into the backseat, but, without much trouble, he pushed you in.

Rear doors locking automatically, you had little more to do than sit and pout and feel every bit the brat as Daryl buckled himself in and started the car.

“C’mon, Dar, this isn’t a joke. I could lose my job ‘cause of this,” you whined, threading your fingers through the wired metal barricade that separated you.

Daryl watched and waited for the other cruiser to fall behind him. Then he started off.

“Shoulda thought about tha’ before ya decided to show yer tits off ta the world, no?”

“Like four people saw us.”

In the rearview mirror, you could’ve sworn you saw a ghost of a smile cross Daryl’s lips.

“I got a pretty colorful phone call from a man named Eugene saying he saw three girls danglin’ half nekkid from a bridge tryin’ ta flag down a firetruck...Don’t sound all that discreet to me.” Daryl shrugged, pretending not to see you slump back in your seat.

“We were drunk!” you cried.

You threw your hands up and let them fall at your side, while Daryl made a wide left turn.

“So?”

“You’ve done plenty of dumb shit when you were drunk, Dixon. Don’t even start.” You raised your hand like you were talking to your mother as an angsty teen. The man in the driver’s seat hardly seemed fazed.

“Oh?”

You paused a beat, then jolted back up as an old memory stirred in your mind.

“Like— like the time you got so shitfaced on senior night that you stumbled into my room thinking it was the bathroom,” you said, hastily, “Pissed all over my floor.”

Daryl’s eyes darted up to meet yours in the mirror, sharing in that vague and ugly recollection from his college days.

“That was yer room?” he winced.

“I was twelve and terrified,” you said, hovering as close as the metal wall would allow you, “Didn’t even know what being piss-drunk meant until you decided to relieve yourself all over my Barbie rug.”

“Ah shit...I’m sorry, Y/N.”

“Let me out and we’ll call it even?” you ventured.

“Nuh-uh,” Daryl said, shaking his head, “Not how that works.”

You balled your hand in a fist and struck the wall between you, an exasperated sigh escaping your lips. Try as you might to fight it, you were still slightly buzzed and far more prone to anger than you normally would be. Daryl gave you a look.

“Pipe down, princess, ‘s’ain’t the end of the world.”

“And who the fuck are you to say?” you snapped, clenching your jaw.

Daryl pressed a bit harder on the brakes as he brought the car to a stop at a red light. Then he shot a look over his shoulder. His brow drew in just slightly.

“Yer a real brat, ya know that?”

“Really, pig?” you sneered.

“Yeah, slut.”

Your mouth fell open at the sound of Daryl’s first real insult. He’d been all placid smiles and gentle eyes, never lapsing in the civility of his rank or his respect for you, his close friend’s sister, until that point. You watched as his gaze visibly hardened and moved away from yours, foot hitting the gas when the light turned green.

“What did you just call me?”

“A fucking slut. ‘Cause tha’s what ya are,” Daryl answered, not missing a beat.

Had he lost his fucking mind? Who did he think he was? The man carried on, starting to increase the car’s speed,

“Nobody’s showin’ off a pair’a tits that damn pretty ‘less they’re a whore, ya know?”

You sat back in awe, hardly aware of the cruiser’s growing acceleration, or the fact that Daryl was just then starting to turn down a road you—and Rick and Shane—had never seen before. You were too offended. Flustered.

“Excuse m—”

“Yeah, I looked. You’ve got an incredible rack, really,” Daryl admitted as he cut you off, “Too bad it’s attached to such a worthless little slut.”

“Get fucked, Dixon,” you hissed, beating your fist against the divider once more.

“Oh, believe me, we will.”

Your blood likely would’ve run cold in your veins if you had the first clue what he was talking about. What did he mean by ‘we’? Why had he started smiling when he’d said that?

Presently, you looked out the window.

Where the everliving fuck had he taken you?

Instead of finding yourself parked outside the King County Sheriff’s Department, as expected, you cast a sidelong glance to the left and the right and saw nothing but trees. Wilderness. You were parked in a clearing, at what appeared to be a campground...in a quarry?

You turned back to Daryl, suddenly rigid with fear.

The driver’s side door was already slamming shut behind him. Instead of deigning so much as a glance at the back, he strode right past you and went over to the car that had just pulled up. Rick and Shane appeared just as confused as you were as they came to a stop.

You watched them, dumbstruck, pulse pounding in your ears as a hundred different thoughts danced in your mind and grew progressively darker the longer you stared. Were they going to torture you? Kill you? Cuff you to the car and kick the living shit out of you until you bled from the mouth and begged them for mercy?

There was no way the drunken fratboy of your youth, now a detective on the police force and your brother’s best friend, would do something so heinous, right?

You slinked back in your seat when you saw all three men turn and approach your car.

Now, more than ever, there was no place but the police car you wanted to be as Daryl flung the back door open and stuck his head inside.

“Hey,” he grinned, “Wanna talk?”

Before you knew it, your feet were planted on the rocky terrain directly in front of Daryl’s car, and your hands were clasped together. Not cuffed this time—just folded and trying to look as polite and unassuming as possible.

“We’ve got a proposition,” Daryl started, steady.

You watched him pace back and forth while the two other officers stood back in silence. Shane wore the faintest smirk.

“You don’t wanna go to jail, right?”

You shook your head no.

“Good, ‘cause we don’t really feel like bookin’ ya,” Daryl continued, “Too much paperwork an’ all tha’ bullshit.”

You nodded along, slowly. Relieved to hear you weren’t getting arrested but waiting to see what the ‘But…’ was.

“But, y’know— it wouldn’t be fair to let ya go that easy.”

You kept nodding. Now looking at Shane and Rick and finding both of them smiling.

“So I say we make ourselves a deal. That okay with you, sugar tits?” Daryl sneered.

You balked at the name but swallowed your pride and answered, ‘Uh huh’ in a small voice. Squeezed your hands even tighter together.

Daryl approached you for the first time. You stood there, trembling, still thinking there was a chance that the three of them might just beat the hell out of you right then and there—and you flinched when Daryl lifted his hand to your cheek.

He brushed a few loose hairs from your face.

“I think you need to start by saying sorry.” His voice was almost serene.

You blinked a couple times up at Daryl with wide, oblivious eyes, shaking your head when you didn’t understand what he meant.

“To Shane,” Daryl added.

Softly, he tilted your chin toward his friend, who was grinning even bigger now.

You struggled for a second, opening and closing your mouth a couple times before stammering:

“I-I’m sorry, Shane.”

Your voice barely reached them in a whisper. You were so confused.

And, just as you started to wonder if that was all they really wanted, or if there’d be some other catch, Daryl decided to supply you with a wordless answer before you could even ask. The “catch” caught you right on the backs of your legs as Daryl gave them a gentle kick, causing both to buckle underneath you. You fell to the ground on your hands and knees and straightened yourself up just in time to see Shane make his leisurely approach.

“I’m sorry, Shane,” you spluttered again, thinking he just wanted you to grovel there in front of him.

Daryl and Shane exchanged looks. Then they smirked at you.

“I think Shane would rather you show him how sorry you are,” Daryl said, suddenly leaning over to collect two handfuls of hair behind your head, “With your mouth.”

At any other time, such condescension dripping from a man’s tone would have turned you off—and pissed you off—immediately. With Daryl and Shane standing over you now, the former’s fingers slotting through your hair and the latter’s working to unzip his pants, you couldn’t imagine yourself being any more aroused.

It hit you like a ton of bricks, all at once.

They were there to fuck you, not fight you.

At least not in the way you’d imagined anyway. No doubt Shane was keen to get his fill, and might be a tad more aggressive than the others to get it, but Daryl would make sure he didn’t push too hard. He held your head in place while Shane pulled out his cock.

And, you hated to say it, but your mouth was salivating for a taste. You couldn’t be bothered to look up at either man now, just soaking in the sight of Shane’s thick, veiny member and feeling your face being moved closer to it. Not minding you were being manhandled as a gentle moan escaped your throat.

“Wanna show Shane how sorry ya are? Show him how good tha’ slutty little mouth’a yers can make him feel?” Daryl hummed.

“She’s droolin’, man,” Shane said, hardening at the sight.

You were. You couldn’t help it. You felt a thumb swipe at the spit that had just begun to trickle out of your mouth and sensed Rick at your side, enthralled as all the rest of them. Then that same finger drifted down to your tits, smearing the moisture all over one nipple before pinching the peak between two digits.

Your lips parted with another small whimper at the sensation, and Shane took that as his window to thrust his cock in your mouth. Caught off guard, you couldn’t help but gag when his tip hit the back of your throat, but Daryl steered your head back just in time so you weren’t choking on that first, single stroke.

“Easy, easy,” Daryl chided his friend as he watched your eyes water and your hand reach up to steady yourself against Shane’s thigh.

“You kiddin’? She fuckin’ loves it,” Shane grinned, “Don’t you, slut?”

You licked your lips and nodded. Didn’t bat an eye when Shane brought the head of his cock back down to your lips, and you quickly enveloped him in an open-mouthed kiss of sorts. Shane groaned at the sensation and couldn’t help but rut his hips.

“Such a fuckin’ whore,” he hissed through gritted teeth.

Daryl helped move your head up and down his length while you stared up at Shane with the prettiest, most fucked-out expression you could manage, and you felt his length twitch in your mouth. Daryl pulled you off.

“Now what do we say for kicking Officer Grimes, hm?”

Before you could answer, your face was tilted to the left, and you were met with the sight of Rick stroking his length at your side. A string of saliva still connecting your mouth to Shane’s cock, you looked up at the friendlier of the two officers and gave him a smile.

“I’m sorry, Officer Grimes.”

This time, Daryl let Rick take the reins, for a moment, and move your mouth over his shaft. You happily accepted him between your lips and started bobbing almost instantly. You relished the pleasure that flooded those soft blue eyes, the way they winced just a little when you took him to the back of your throat. Like he wanted to fuck your face but felt too overcome with some feeling or fear to give it a try.

You decided it was cruel to make a man so polite wait a second longer than he needed to. Presently, you pulled off Rick’s length with a gentle ‘pop’ and turned your head back over to Daryl.

“Can you please tell Officer Grimes to fuck my throat?”

All three of them froze for a second, taken back by the filth that had just come out of your mouth, still spoken so sweetly. You stroked Rick’s cock and pretended to be oblivious of what you saw. Deep down, you knew by the glint in their eyes they were yearning, lusting, fucking you in their minds with every innocent blink you made. You felt Daryl’s grip tighten in your hair.

“You heard the lady,” Shane said, words directed to Rick but gaze never leaving you.

Out of habit, his hand came to wrap around his own cock as he watched you take Rick’s. You glanced between the two of them, placed a quick kiss on the tip—first on Rick’s and then, to the men’s surprise, on Shane’s—and parted your lips when you moved back to Rick.

Officer Grimes didn’t hesitate this time. He leveled himself with your mouth and pushed all the way in. You started to moan, but the sound was audibly cut short by a spasm in your throat. Rick reached the back of your warm, wet orifice with ease and, going further than Shane ever went, actually slid down that space. Exactly how you wanted him. You bobbed your head and hummed to show your appreciation.

Encouraged by how eagerly you swallowed him and how quick your whimpers were to reverberate down his length, Rick moved his hips. Watched you gag once or twice and blink through a couple tears, before Daryl wiped the moisture away as Rick had done for your spit. You were every bit the pampered and primped fuckdoll in their hands, bobbing and licking and sucking him dry.

“Good girl,” Daryl murmured, massaging your scalp when you gagged again.

“Takin’ me so well,” Rick groaned as he fed you another inch.

Shane continued pumping his cock, grunting out expletives, and watching you all the while.

You pulled off of Rick for a moment. Whether it would piss them off or turn them on, you didn’t really care—but you reached up to Shane and replaced his hand with yours, before dropping a kiss over the head of his cock.

All three men seemed to love it. Especially Daryl.

Though he hadn’t made a move to get his own dick wet just yet, you got the sense the man loved to watch. Loved to see your mouth sliding up and down and swallowing more cock every time, thinking to himself what a nasty, filthy little whore you were and just waiting for the moment it would be his turn to claim your throat and the rest of your holes as his own. In the meantime, you wanted to give him a good show.

You jerked both Rick and Shane in either hand and chanced a look over at Daryl.

Locking eyes with him, you moved down over Rick and sucked half his length in your mouth. Then, just as quick, you took Shane between your lips and gave the tip a wet, spongy kiss before taking him to the back of your throat. The mound in Daryl’s pants grew even more pronounced.

“Hey,” Rick said, grazing your cheek with his knuckles, “Ain’t you gonna say sorry to Detective Dixon, too?”

You moaned against Shane’s throbbing length and made sure Daryl saw your tongue swirl over the tip. Teasing him now.

Presently, Shane pulled out of your mouth and grabbed hold of your hair.

“Gonna make him feel real good with that slutty little mouth’a yours, huh?” he growled.

You nodded and smiled. Wiped your mouth with the back of your hand and started crawling over to Daryl as soon as Shane let you go.

You couldn’t believe he’d waited this long—couldn’t believe you’d been sucking his friends dry all this time and hadn’t gotten so much as a glimpse at him. Daryl watched you with a comfortable, lopsided sort of smirk as you made your way over to him, clearly enjoying this view of you on all fours.

Not even a guillotine could take away the head you were about to give this man.

When you finally reached his knees and straightened up enough to reach for the zip of his brown slacks, you felt a hand catch you around the wrist. To your surprise, Daryl held you back and yanked you onto your feet.

“I wan’ my apology someplace else.”

That ‘place,’ you would come to learn, was simply on top of his car. Splayed out on the hood of his cruiser with your pants dragged all the way down to your ankles and kicked off at your feet. Daryl carried you there and stripped you down to your panties, leaving you all but naked and ogling him with keen, hungry eyes. Rick and Shane were quick to follow suit and seemed just as eager as you were to watch this scene unfold.

You reached for his clothed erection once more but found your hand swatted away.

“Nuh-uh,” Daryl shook his head.

You raised an eyebrow in question. You opened your mouth to speak but found yourself moaning instead when Daryl slipped a finger past your panties and between your folds. Somehow finding your clit quicker than you could even dream, he circled that tiny bundle of nerves with his thumb and teased the seal of your entrance with his middle and ring fingers.

You clawed at his wrist.

“But Dar— I-I wanna taste you so bad,” you pleaded.

Daryl grinned and plunged his two fingers deep inside you, holding your hip to the car to keep you from squirming. He nodded to Rick, who took that as his cue to press down on your other side. Together, they had you pinned to the hood and helpless under their touch.

Daryl curled his fingers up and caused you to moan.

“How bad?” he asked.

“So—” your voice broke off in a gasp when the pads of his fingers stroked your G spot, “So bad, Daryl, please.”

You could tell by the look in his eyes that he was savoring every second of this sight: you with your legs spread, begging and pathetic as he and Rick held you down. He probably would’ve liked to keep you there a little longer, maybe teased and fingerfucked you to the point of tears, but he got the sense that his friends weren’t possessed of quite the same patience. He’d just have to save the overstimulation for later.

Before you knew it, Daryl had given Rick another quick nod, released you from his hold, and pulled you off the car—before steadying you back on your feet, facing the vehicle.

Your hands flew out to catch yourself, but, before meeting metal, intercepted Daryl’s broad form instead. He took a seat on the front end of the car and caught you in both of his big, calloused palms.

“How ‘bout that taste, hm?” He was already starting to unbuckle his pants.

Finally. You promptly started to sink to your knees, when a light slap struck your cheek. You peeked up at its source and found Daryl shaking his head once more.

“Stay put,” he instructed as he started to pull his cock out of his boxers, “Rick’s gonna fuck tha’ slutty little cunt while ya suck me off, alright?”

It wasn’t so much a question as it was a signal—and an effective one at that—to get Rick off his ass and hurrying to get behind yours. In the next second, you felt a set of warm, calloused hands on your hips and a tender grip tugging you back to meet someone’s crotch.

Your pussy twitched with the realization of your current predicament: bent over between the two men, with Daryl’s cock mere inches from your face and Rick’s member throbbing above your heat. Never once had an image like this materialized in your mind’s wildest fantasies, but now that you were here, stuck between these two with Shane just then drawing closer, you found yourself turned on to no end.

You parted your lips to allow Daryl entry when Rick teased the head of his cock up your slit. You took just the tip of Daryl, trying to stifle a moan, and the man behind you rubbed the length of himself up and down the seam of your cunt to collect all your juices. Another inch of Daryl in your mouth and you were whimpering with the feeblest look up at him, needing Rick inside you too.

Daryl held your gaze and ran a hand over your head.

“Little slut needs her pussy fucked, does she?”

You nodded, bobbing gently over Daryl’s member. You were just preparing to ease him in another inch or two when all of a sudden, the head of his cock jumped to the back of your throat as Rick thrusted into you.

It was far less gentle than you’d expected, sending you deep down Daryl’s length and causing you to gag. You hardly had time to adjust, or pull off of the man in front of you to catch your breath, when Rick started pounding you from behind. Rutting his hips, grunting in time with his thrusts, and slapping your ass in quick, ruthless hits. Daryl groaned above you as you had no choice but to deepthroat him again and again.

Shane, ever impatient, approached your free hand and guided it toward his erection. He wrapped your fingers around his cock and helped you stroke him quick, all while your mouth and pussy were presently occupied by Daryl and Rick’s sloppy thrusts.

“Ya like gettin’ spitroasted, huh? Like gettin’ fucked in two holes at once?” Shane sneered.

“Fuckin’ loves it,” Rick answered for you with a smirk, “Never seen a pussy this wet in my life.”

You imagined all of them could see and hear the arousal oozing from your freshly-fucked cunt, but you sensed no one liked it better than Daryl. The man was entranced with the sight of your form getting fucked from behind, sucking him deeper, looking up through your wet, tear-stained lashes as you let him fuck your face. That pure euphoric look in his eyes was almost like a drug—you wanted nothing more than to keep it there as long as you could.

Mere minutes later, Rick’s hips were stuttering against your own and his cum was spraying all over your insides. You didn’t stop sucking Daryl.

Shane gladly switched places with Rick and took a greedy handful of your hips before pumping his cock once or twice. You flattened your tongue against Daryl’s member and took him even further down your throat.

The man behind you was panting, right about to breach your folds when a sight below him held him in place.

Rick’s load was just then starting to dribble out of your pussy, leaving a long white trail of milky residue down your slit.

Shane clenched his jaw.

“Still hungry for more, slut?” he said through gritted teeth. To your surprise, you felt his fingertips trace the outline of your cunt and start moving up toward your other hole.

He was coating your asshole with Rick’s cum, grinning when you flinched.

“Think she’s ever been fucked in the ass before?” Shane asked the others. He slipped a digit inside your hole and watched you moan on Daryl’s dick.

Daryl pulled you off his cock and held you by your hair, your mouth saturated with strings of fresh saliva.

“Have you?”

You swallowed and shook your head. Daryl didn’t let his gaze linger on you another second. He signaled to Rick.

“Right there,” he pointed with his chin.

You hardly knew what was going on or where Rick had hastened off to. All you could comprehend was the gruff tone of Daryl’s voice telling you to get up, now, and the feel of Shane’s hands still holding you, guiding you back to your feet. When you didn’t move fast enough for his liking, Shane simply swept you up in his arms bridal-style and started carrying you himself.

Over his shoulder, you spied Daryl and Rick exchanging words and the latter placing the blanket you’d worn earlier on the ground. You almost felt tempted to ask Shane what they were planning to do, just starting to speak, when the man brought you over to the spot and set you right down.

The three of them had you circled in an instant.

Before the question could even form on your lips, you watched Daryl join you on the blanket. His smirk was evident.

He patted his lap for you to come straddle him.

When he started to lie down, your hands followed suit, eager to rest on either side of his chest, but another touch held you back. Behind you, Shane had grabbed hold of your hair and turned your head to face him.

“Spit,” he ordered, holding his hand under your chin.

You did as you were told and watched him rub your spit all over his shaft, before bringing his hand up to your face again and repeating his command.

At the same time, Daryl had lifted his hips and was guiding you closer to his cock. Your gaze moved down, then up, then over at Rick with a look of confusion, only to dart back to Daryl when you felt him split you open with a single thrust.

You had just been impaled on Daryl’s cock, mind reeling at the stretch and sensation, when you felt two fingers slip between your legs from behind. Daryl gripped your face and brought it down to his—wouldn’t let you look over your shoulder as the other man’s hand started to traverse the contour of your ass.

You were pulled in for a kiss as Daryl bottomed out inside you. Tongue hardly able to keep up with his as moans and whimpers went bubbling up in your throat, you just sat there, straddled him, and let him use your pussy any way he pleased. He snapped his hips and groaned your name between your lips, while the hand that was prodding you from behind finally reached its intended destination.

You yelped into Daryl’s mouth the second you felt a full, hefty finger slip inside your ass. Officer Walsh, no doubt.

The two men at your rear all but moaned as your tight little hole contracted around Shane’s finger and Daryl continued to pound you from below. It was odd, that sharp, disparate feeling of Daryl’s cock drilling your pussy while Shane’s digit pumped a much slower pace in your ass. Your senses had kicked into overdrive, and you couldn’t keep from showing your pleasure with every sound that you made.

Shane withdrew just long enough to add another finger, smearing a mixture of cum, spit, and your own juices all over your walls for lubrication. You sensed him moving closer, when Rick grabbed hold of his shoulder.

“Give her a minute,” he muttered.

Shane scoffed, shaking him off.

“Little whore looks plenty ready to me,” he retorted as he eyed your slick, sensitive hole.

Suddenly, your throat was clasped in Shane’s big hand and your head pulled tight against his chest. He had taken his cock in his other hand and was angling his length just right to press the head between your cheeks. Daryl had slowed almost completely.

“C’mere.” Daryl beckoned you closer with a tender look. When you leaned down to lay flat on his chest, he smiled, stroked your hair, “Jus’ hold on ta me, alright?”

Your walls were already squeezing his cock like a vice and your fingernails making white-hot crescents in his shoulders—you couldn’t hold him tighter if you tried—but you nodded. You let him kiss you again, felt a little more fit to take his tongue this time, and eased down along his shaft until you were filled to the brim with nothing but him.

That last part changed as soon as Shane thrust into your ass.

You jolted forward and instinctively tried to pull off his cock, but Daryl held you tight. Brushed a few stray strands of hair from your face and started peppering your skin with kisses the louder you whimpered.

“Doin’ so good for us, baby— takin’ our cocks so well,” he cooed in your ear.

You whined at the fierce burn between your legs as both Daryl and Shane pushed inside you. Rough fucking was one thing, but being penetrated in both holes simultaneously while sandwiched between two men just brought the sensations to entirely new heights. You clawed at Daryl’s shoulders and damn near sunk your teeth straight through your bottom lip.

“Good girl,” the man below you mumbled as he watched your face contort in a medley of pleasure and pain, “Tha’s my good girl.”

“Fuckin’ whore,” Shane spat, shoving his cock even deeper. Clearly not one for tender anal training.

Now it was Daryl going slow and sweet, just barely stirring his cock inside you while Shane slapped your ass and yanked your hips over his own. You saw Rick’s previously-deflated cock grow hard in his hands, and you proceeded to watch him watch you as he stroked himself a few feet away.

You needed another distraction. You caught Rick’s eye and simply licked your lips in silent invitation. He was filling your mouth in a matter of seconds.

With three cocks pumping in and out of you, you felt every bit the fucked-out brat you knew they’d wanted to claim. Your brain had all but melted to mush in their hands, your body manhandled and fucked every which way while your thoughts yielded, in turn, to pure anoesis.

There was something unusually freeing about being a living, breathing fuckdoll for these three King County cops. You couldn’t get enough.

Rick pulled his dick out of your mouth just long enough to slap you with it.

“This what ya needed?” he teased, tapping the head of his cock on your spit-painted cheeks, “A good fucking in all your holes to make you behave?”

You stuck out your tongue and tried to nod, your body still shaking with every thrust from Daryl and Shane. Instead of pushing back in, Rick simply rubbed his cock all over your face and shot you a look that was soaked to the core with condescension. Somewhere below, Daryl began toying with your clit.

You sucked in a breath between broken moans and clenched harder around both men inside you.

“Think she wants a switch,” Rick grinned.

In a minute, you felt yourself hoisted back up—Shane pulling out and Daryl rising swiftly to his feet. Two sets of hands helped maneuver your body to a position you’d never tried, never even seen before as your legs hooked over either one of Daryl’s arms and your ass was thrust back. Then, to your relief, it was Rick at your rear this time, rubbing his tip along your red and stretched out hole while your head came to rest on his shoulder.

You were pressed between the men once more and cradled comfortably in their arms. Daryl took care not to rut into you too hard while Rick was still coating your arousal across the hole Shane had just fucked raw.

“Shh, shh,” Rick’s lips dropped close to your ear while he pressed a wet finger inside, trying to relubricate the area.

You wiggled and squirmed, a bit too sensitive to keep still at this point, so Shane reached in and took you by the throat.

“Hold still,” he snapped. Stroking himself with his free hand.

You watched his eyes drift down to the spot where he’d just been, where Rick was trying to squeeze into, and felt the first real twinge of bliss when you felt the head of his cock tease your entrance. This was softer, even sweet. Paired with Daryl’s extra slow thrusts and the sounds all three were making as you spread your legs even wider, you first became aware of a knot in your tummy.

When the warmth of your ass enveloped just the tip of him, you felt it constrict even tighter.

Rick let out a groan and struggled to keep from thrusting too hard. Shane tightened his grip on your neck.

“C’mon now, sugar tits, don’t act like you ain’t just—”

“Shane,” Daryl growled.

Rick didn’t stop. You squeezed both cocks and moaned.

“I’m just sayin’ if the slut could fit my cock in and—”

“Fuck,” Rick hissed.

You were bouncing in between them now, head lolled back on Rick’s shoulder and hand pressed flush against Daryl’s chest. Steeped in pleasure as they stood and fucked you stupid.

Shane continued to tug his cock and stare you down with hungry, possessive eyes.

Daryl’s moans turned to shallow grunts while Rick’s breath fanned soft across your cheeks in ragged breaths. You writhed and you grinded between their two bodies, too lost in your own ascent to pleasure to sense anything else. Your skin was wet with a sheen of sweat and both holes all but soaked between the two men. Their cocks plunging in and out at a vicious pace until the coil in your stomach was nearly starting to ache.

“Feelin’ good?” Rick hummed in your ear.

“Gettin’ close?” Daryl joined.

Shane’s hand closed around your throat until your lungs could scarcely breathe and your vision blurred with stars. Making one last strangled moan, you rolled your hips and felt something taut and tight and blisteringly hot break loose across your abdomen—and not just the ropes of cum shooting deep inside you.

Alongside that tiny eruption came a blitz of pleasure unlike anything you’d ever felt before. Your body went haywire, every square inch of your skin alight with ecstasy and your mind going numb in a surge of bliss. You moaned and felt the walls of both holes spasm desperately over Daryl and Rick alike, and suddenly, something far beyond your control seemed ready to tear your body in two.

A beat of silence. Your consciousness gradually returned.

When you opened your eyes, the first thing to grace your sight was Daryl’s shining face, grinning ear to ear with the happiest expression.

You blinked and watched him closer.

As your vision adjusted and the world came clearer into view, you caught a glimpse of what seemed to have stretched Daryl’s smile so wide—and what had made his features so unusually luminous in this light.

Your eyes widened.

Daryl glanced to Rick, then Shane.

“Who knew she’d be a squirter?”

Presently, your juices were coating Daryl’s face and chest, having spurted straight from your cunt in the throes of climax and spraying all over his front.

Your pussy still clenched and convulsed as the cum from either man went seeping out of both holes.

Even Shane was left speechless, having just milked the last of his own release and watched you come undone in near-pornographic fashion. His chest was still heaving, blinking in disbelief and exchanging sly looks with Daryl and Rick every now and then. Rick pressed a kiss to your shoulder and smiled.

And, just when it seemed any one of you were liable to break that spell of silence with a laugh, the rattle of radio feedback startled you all.

Somewhere amidst the articles of clothing strewn around you, a walkie talkie clipped to one officer’s belt rang loud with the sound of a voice from a neighboring county’s dispatcher.

“All available units, high-speed pursuit in progress— Linden County units request local assistance. Highway 18 eastbound, GTA, ADW, 2-17, 2-4-3. Advise extreme caution.”

All three men stood to attention. Daryl and Rick lowered you quickly to the ground while Shane went scrambling for his clothes.

“Suspects are two male Caucasians. Be advised they have fired upon police officers. One Linden County officer is wounded.”

“Shit!” Rick hissed.

“Unit 1, unit 3, to eastbound Route 18. Two miles west of Interstate 85. Will patch in Linden County sheriff radio.”

“Is tha’—” Daryl started.

“We need to go,” Shane interrupted.

Another voice broke out over the line,

“Roger that. We’re five minutes south of the Route 18 intersection.”

Daryl tossed you what garments of yours he could find and snatched your arm in a breakneck haste. Before you could so much as slip your shirt over your head, though, you found yourself carted back over to his squad car and pushed toward an open door.

“What’s—”

“I’ll explain on the way.”

For reasons you couldn’t yet understand, you knew this call didn’t bode well for any of you. You took one last look at Officer Grimes and felt a twist in your stomach.

#daryl dixon #daryl dixon smut #daryl dixon one shot #daryl dixon imagine #daryl x reader #the walking dead #twd daryl #twd fanfiction #twd imagine #rick grimes smut #shane walsh smut #rickyl

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moondirti · 2 months

Note

(first time doing a ask bare with me)

pretty please a continue of the house distribution thing. the fic where she does military housing to afford rent. just a continuation please 🙏🏽

feel free to skip if your mind is just blank with ideas for it x

simon riley / afab! reader • part one cw: dubcon, intoxication, spanking, wedgies, degradation, dacryphilia, very mild puppy play (mostly just pet names)

"Well, aren' you a sight."

Much like the lamplight, his voice is low. Mocking, almost. You'd think he were amused if it weren't for the dangerous way his eyes assess your sorry state, raking the lines of your bare legs to the way your dress wraps tight around your chest. It almost escapes you that he's maskless at first, so entranced by the glint of his pupils, the shadowed irises that pinch a deep, very primal nerve in you.

His lips curl into an uneven sneer, scar dissecting the bottom and running down to his chin. You wipe your nose with the heel of your hand, giving your best attempt at an apathetic shrug.

"I had fun."

"Did'ya now?" He laughs humourlessly. "Mus' have different ideas of fun, me and you. Can' see the fun in getting pissed out'f my mind, worryin' the people in your life by stayin' out s'late."

Spite flares, fear slinking back your throat to make room for the petulance that froths on your tongue like venom. It completely poisons his admission to the fact that he'd been worried, turns it into something pathetic and hypocritical. You storm closer. Wild. Angry.

"That's fucking rich coming from you. What is your idea of fun, then, Lieutenant? Tormenting women who open up their home to you? Walking in on them in the bathroom, pissing all over the fucking seat? Does it grant you satisfaction to make people so uncomfortable that they'd rather be anywhere but with you?"

His jaw tenses, a "careful, pet." grunted under his breath, but he makes no move to stop you. Just continues sitting on your couch, legs spread, simmering. Waiting for you to tire out.

"Shut the fuck up. Oh my god. Oh my god. I can hardly be at bloody peace in my own house anymore! You're- You're... A fucking nightmare, Riley! So excuse me if I went out and enjoyed myself when I haven't been able to do so in weeks!"

By the end of your little tirade, you're an even worse mess than you had been before. Flyaways stick to your sweaty temple, mascara rims your blown eyes. Your panting does nothing to calm the frantic race of your heart, which beats at your ribcage like doldrums to war. You can feel the effects of it everywhere; your pulse, hot and quick, at your eyebrow, your wrists, the arch of your foot.

Riley stands. Your lip trembles.

You're so close now that your gaze is level with his chest. Tall. You'd forgotten how tall he was. Or how wide. Or dangerous. His biceps – bare given his tight-fitted t-shirt, tree-trunk large and enough to crush watermelons – tense, and all-too-suddenly, you find your jaw clutched in a bruising grip. He jerks your head up so your eyes meet his.

"Simon." He mutters. "But you don't get to call me tha', or anything at all but Sir."

"Letmegomff–" You're rendered mute when his thumb and forefinger press your cheeks together, but that certainly doesn't stop you from whining.

"Y'wanna know my idea of a good time?" Purely rhetorical, of course. Aside from not being able to answer him, it doesn't matter what you want. There's a clear direction this seems to be heading towards – someplace where the hand pawing your ass continues lower, or where the length in his pants fits down your throat. Someplace not unwelcome by you, despite the way you thrash and cry in his arms. "It's putting foul things like you in their place."

He shucks your dress over your ass, the fabric bunching around your waist, and hooks a fist in the waistline of your soaked panties. Your mind is so foggy, influenced by shitty tequila and the subspace Simon bullies you into embracing, that you don't process the cause of your pain immediately. Don't correlate it to the way he pulls upward, your underwear bunching into a tight line that cleaves between your ass-cheeks and rubs abrasively against your poor clit. Don't– can't confront it until the force literally picks you up off the floor, toes barely touching the ground, held up by a wedgie and the grip around your jaw alone.

Tears spring to your lash line, tracing miserable treks down your cheeks. His thumb swipes what it can away, pushing the salty water into your mouth, and stays there while you lap at his calloused fingertips.

"There we go. Look at you, brainless mutt. Jus' need something on your cunt and something in your mouth to keep you quiet, hm? Happy to hang li'e this for hours, I bet."

Your muffled yell is met with another laugh, thumb pushing deeper into your mouth to shut you up.

"Shh, I know. Still need'ta be taught a lesson. I haven' forgotten." The stitches on your panties begin to tear, the rips loud and relieving, especially when you start to sag back down to the floor. Simon doesn't take it with any kind of urgency, though he cocks his head at the way you blink up at him, lashes fanning in rapid succession. An unspoken, desperate plea. "Was gonna hold out, get you sobered up for your punishment. But you're practically itchin' for it, aren' you?"

He puppets your head into an enthusiastic nod, which he meets with a faux huff.

"Course you are." The forbearing quality of his tone is promptly betrayed by the way you're manhandled over his lap. Pivoting one hand opposite to the other, he's able to sit on the couch and get you thrown over his thighs in a mere matter of seconds. "Normally I'd make y'count, but I figure you're too far gone for that. Jus' try to keep your wailing quiet."

Your underwear gives in with a final tug, ripping from the soaked gusset to become nothing but a flimsy piece of fabric around your hips. Simon swipes the tattered remains off your raised bottom, taking longer than necessary to smooth over the area. It's all the indication you need to what's coming – his rough palm teases the nerve endings below your softer skin, bringing them to frenzied life. Preparing them to hurt.

When he breaks away, you hold your breath.

The air behind you whistles as his hand comes down.

A sharp, resounding crack fractures the baited silence of the room. Your mouth flies open. Searing pain roars across your backside like wildfire, worsening every second it's exposed to open elements. Your scream is belated, thunder to the lightening, tearing from your throat only after the initial shock subsides.

A series of lighter blows land on alternating cheeks, two fingers returning to gag you through the onslaught. Unlike his thumb, these reach the very back of your tonsils, prompting wet gags as they fondle with your throat. Drool dribbles from the corners of your lips, slicking your chin with lipstick-tinted fluid.

"Fuckin' beautiful when you're not givin' an attitude, puppy. All stupid and submissive, cunt droolin' on my lap."

You groan, choke, then cry some more when his spanks grow incrementally harsher again. Gratefully, they're never in the same place twice. He beats the top of your thighs, your lower back, the sides of your hips. Your cheeks especially, which start to emit a steady kind of heat the longer he keeps it up.

Eventually, as a matter of coping, your brain starts to consider the cruel sting as pleasurable instead, sending little bolts of pleasure directly to your clit every time his hand comes down on your ass. It swells, fattening up with blood, pressing tighter against the steady mass of his thigh. Inadvertently, you start rutting against it to find more of the same relief, humping his leg like the dog he's making you out to be.

It doesn't escape his notice, of course.

His foot pushes one of your flailing ankles outward so that your legs are spread, pussy made vulnerable to his scrutiny. The next slap is thus aimed straight at your fluttering hole, slick doing nothing to affect his deadly precision. When it lands, it lands exactly where he meant for it to, and introduces you to a whole other degree of pain that has you seeing stars. You're openly bawling around his fingers now, vision so cloudy you can't tell light from dark.

"Didn' like tha', did you?"

"Nngh– nmmph!"

"There's more where it came from, pup. Best listen to everythin' I say from now on, then, 'less you wan' your little hole beat black 'n' blue."

Simon stresses his point by tracing the seam of your cunt, collecting the lubrication there to smear across the hotspot at the top. Presses into it. Grants you a little gratification, as if to say: and here's what you can have if you behave.

"You gonna be a good pet?"

This time, he withdraws his fingers from your maw. Expects a response, even though it takes you ages to recover from the lack of oxygen. You swallow the saliva pooling behind your teeth, inhaling ragged gasps that make your lungs ache.

He pinches your clit when you take too long. Lightly, but it's enough.

"Yes! Yes, s-sir. I'll be good."

[next]

#please no one mention this degenerate piece of writing to me ever again #simon 'ghost' riley x reader #tw dubcon #༄dee answers #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #simon 'ghost' riley #simon riley #ghost #x afab reader #call of duty #cod

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hairmetal666 · 1 month

Text

Everyone in the league knows about Eddie Munson. He has the makings of a great pitcher, except for the fact that his slider has a 75% chance of sliding too high and his fastballs mostly end up in the dirt. His technique is wild, flailing, unrestrained. Which is why Steve is beside himself when he learns about the trade.

The owners, they think that Steve being the best catcher in the league means he can work with Eddie, settle him, make him a real prospect. Steve's input isn't needed with the decision already made, but Munson--with all his tattoos piercings and leather--looks like he'd rather hock a loogie at Steve than take directions from him.

And Steve is the best in the league, the glue that keeps the team together. They're a well-oiled machine, and Eddie is--Eddie is a squeaky wheel.

They meet for the first time, briefly, in the locker room. He's seen the guy before, of course, but now, like this, he can't help but be intrigued by his pale skin and long curls and brown doe-eyes, his lightly muscled frame. And they're in the locker room, Eddie with just a towel around his waist, exposing his toned chest and stomach and the black swirl of his tattoos.

"Steve Harrington!" Eddie reaches out a hand. "Great to meet you, man."

"You too. Excited to have you with us." The handshake is quick and firm and Steve is trying not to be surprised about how excited and genuine the guy sounds, keep his mind away from thinking of how Eddie is naked aside from the towel.

With only a few weeks until the start of the regular season, Eddie starts pitching to Steve. And Steve, he so expects Eddie to fight and grumble and refuse, that his head sort of spins when, on the first day, Eddie claps him on the back with his glove, says, "where do you want me, cap?" and that's that.

He wants to say that they dislike each other, that they're a bad fit, that Eddie is full himself and refuses constructive criticism.

Instead.

Instead it's easy.

Eddie doesn't complain, doesn't argue, just watches Steve, learns him, takes his advice and notes and implements them as much as he can. They like each other, have an easy rapport, get each other. He's tight with all the pitchers, but Eddie is different. They settle each other.

They're best friends. They hangout constantly. And he doesn't have a crush; he doesn't. It would be unprofessional. They're best friends.

But sometimes, sometimes he thinks he catches Eddie looking at him. It's impossible. Of course it's impossible. Eddie couldn't be into the guy Sports Illustrated called "baseball's Ralph Lauren model" in the intro to Steve's Body Issue photo spread. And it doesn't matter one way or the other because Steve won't make a move. He won't jeopardize the team like that.

They don't touch. He touches everyone on the team, often, and Eddie particularly is a physical guy, but aside from that first handshake, he keeps his distance. Steve's afraid--even though it's silly, he's afraid--that once they start touching, he won't be able to stop, and he can't let that happen.

The team is good, competing for first place in the National League. Eddie's success has made everyone else better.

It's late July, they're in first place in the league, and Eddie's pitching a perfect game. There's only been 24 perfect games thrown in the history of Major League Baseball, but it's the eighth inning and Eddie's doing it.

A pitch goes wild, veers high over the umpire's head. Eddie's shaken, Steve can tell with how his fist tightens compulsively around the ball. The next pitch swings wide, towards the batter's knees.

The count is at 2 balls, no strikes, and he can see, even from behind home plate Steve can see, that Eddie's losing it. He heads for the mound, refuses to let it end like this. He closes the distance between them, has a quick internal debate before he puts his hand on Eddie's lower back. They've never touched, this is it, this is--warmth bleeds from Eddie's skin, through the fabric of his jersey, goes straight to Steve's head.

Eddie frowns. "I don't think I--"

"You're going to do it, Ed. I know. I can feel it." He pats his chest, over his heart. "It's gonna happen."

Eddie's breathing settles and it's only then that Steve realizes he's rubbing circles into Eddie's back with his thumb. He's not sure when he started, doesn't want to stop, loves being able to feel.

"Okay," Eddie says.

"Okay."

Steve removes his hand, heads back to home, still tingling with the warmth of Eddie's body even as he crouches behind the plate.

He closes out the inning with three definitive strike outs. The crowd goes wild.

They take the field for the top of the 9th, the crowd is screaming, ready for this, the energy zipping through every player on the field.

It goes by in a blur. Nine pitches. Eddie's perfect game is wrapped up in nine phenomenal pitches.

As the ump calls the last out, there's a moment of complete and utter quiet in the stadium, Steve's heart a pounding hum in his ears, before pandemonium breaks loose. There's screaming, fireworks, someone is crying--

All he can see is Eddie. Eddie's who's thrown his glove to the dirt, is barreling towards him with a triumphant smile bright on his face. Steve stands, runs to close the distance. He sees the moment that Eddie decides to jump into his arms, catches him easily--will always catch him--but his legs are tired and the momentum gets him, sends them tumbling back into the grass.

They're both yelling, laughing, smiling hard enough to hurt. Eddie's hair has fallen out if its tie, tumbling around his shoulders, and Steve gazes at him, can't help it, in this moment can admit that he's so, so astronomically in love.

It's only then Steve realizes that the laughter's stopped, that Eddie's gazing back. Brown eyes shining bright with happiness, cheeks flushed pink, lips parted. Thoughtless, he reaches up to caress Eddie's cheek.

The team reaches them, streaming around them, yanking Eddie and Steve to their feet. The celebration stretches around them, the moment slipping away. He wants to finish what they started but there are interviews, champagne showers, congratulations, that keep them apart. Sometimes, from across the room, their eyes meet, and there's heat there that's new, that sparks something low in Steve's gut.

Hours pass, and finally he finds himself alone in the locker room. He's just pulled on his t-shirt when the door shuts behind him. He spins, finds Eddie, waiting, watching.

He crosses the room without a word, can't not, not now, not after everything. They grapple for a second, the wanting so strong that it takes a second to settle, to find each other. They kiss hard, desperate, seething with desire.

Steve hopes it never ends and it doesn't, just tapers into soft kisses, gentle nips. He can't bring himself to step away.

"Is this for real ?" Eddie whispers.

"I've been insane about you since the trade."

Eddie's smile is blinding. "I used to have those pictures of you--the ones with the little red shorts?--in my locker in the minors. Feel like I'm living in a dream right now."

It lights him up inside, knowing that Eddie wants him, has wanted him. "Let me take you home and show you just how real it is?"

He snorts, but his dimples deepen, eyes shining. "What a line, sweetheart."

"Yeah well, the baseball field isn't the only place where I hit home runs."

#steddie #steve x eddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #baseball au #teammates to lovers #ficlet #fluff #first kiss #feelings confession #steve thinks he'll hate eddie but he just falls in love with him instead #pitcher eddie munson #catcher steve harrington #i had this idea a month ago and forgot about it #dom/sub undertones in the way that what if steve gently doms eddie into pitching better #what if steve modeled for SI's body issue and what if eddie is obsessed with him the whole time #really playing fast and loose with how major league baseball works

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midascrow · 3 months

Text

Alastor x Reader

————

Favoritism Pt.2(1.5)

Part 1

———————————-||————||

Synopsis: Alastor finds himself wondering why exactly he favors you so much

a/n: this is more of a part 1.5 really, as it’s mostly just Alastair’s perspective of what’s going on, but I figured you guys would enjoy this 🍓

———————-<>—————————-<>———-

Fluffy red ears twitched back and fourth, listening to the idle and mindless chatter of the hotel inhabitants.

Alastor couldn’t help but feel a certain sense of mirth at the topic of discussion. While he made no attempts to hide his blatant bias, he hadn’t thought he was quite that obvious.

Though a tiny part of him felt a bit smug, especially at the claim of that empty headed serpent. A kiss?

The idea wasn’t unpleasant but he was unfortunately mistaken.

The two of you had never shared such an intimate gesture, much less in the company of others.

No-, he supposed the closest you had ever gotten was a small bump of the nose to one another’s. It wasn’t an inherently romantic gesture on the radio demons part, more instinctual than anything, but he could suppose there had been a certain layer of affection lined in the action nonetheless.

“What do you suppose they’re talking about Al..?”

His ears twitched forward to fully take in the sound of your candied voice.

Alastor didn’t consider himself a fan of sweet things like candy and cakes. But he always seemed to make an exception when it came to you.

“Hm..~ Seems our dear friends are under the impression that you and I are…an item of sorts.” His smile twitched, inching upwards with amusement when he saw the way your eyes widened, a warmth on your cheeks that roused a small huff of pride from his nose.

“Oh…well that doesn’t..upset you?…right?” Your concern is down right precious. So bothered with his comfort that it makes the fabric of his tail coat shift, just briefly.

“Hmm~…perhaps if it were another sinner who they believed I had such relations with. However because it’s you my dear, I can’t seem to find myself bothered by the idea.”

You were far too naive. (Cute). Your sparkly gaze almost made him angry. Like he wanted to squeeze you till it eased the tight sensation in his chest. Though he wouldn’t dare to act on such an impulse. For fear of losing such pleasant company of course.

But he couldn’t stop himself from teasing you. Just a little. “Infact…I’d say I’m rather flattered by the notion~. To think they see me a fit partner for a gem like you.”

That feeling got subsequently stronger as he watched you bury your face into the crook of your shoulder, a shy, perhaps embarrassed smile painting your lips and making a that shifting of his tail coat return. Like those aforementioned sweets had found their way into his system and subsequently thrown him into a vicious sugar rush. His heart was practically bouncing off the walls of his ribcage, though he hadn't the faintest idea why.

“Alastor…” His name was a garbled whine, swatting at him playfully as you returned to dusting the bannister, distracting yourself as he sidled beside you still, ever attendant while his shadow fluttered around, moving glasses and nicknacks for you to dust off. “Are you going to tell them then..?”

“What ever do you mean?”

Your eyes glanced back, lips pursed. “Well…you are going to tell them we’re not together right?”

Well that sounded unpleasant, and his immediate thought had been an internal grimace. But he pondered the thought for a moment, mindful of the eyes on both your backs as he stepped around the side of you, clawed hands dancing across your shoulder and arm thoughtfully.

“Hmm…~..No.”

He paused, ears twitched backwards as his lips connected gently with the skin of your nose, sweet and lingering as he failed to ignore the twitch of his grin at the gasps that echoed behind.

“No fucking way.”

“I say let them wonder..~”

……

Alastor could admit, even by his standards this was a bit mean.

His “loving” gestures had amped up quite a bit the following week at the hotel.

Lingering touches, thoughtful hand placements, small gestures and sweet words. Nothing explicitly romantic…but there was always something implied in his gaze that perhaps even he himself wasn't aware of.

It wasn’t in an intentional effort to lead you on. He was hardly that cruel. But some part of him…found deep satisfaction in watching your eyes shine and your cheeks darken and become hot.

And that itch had only gotten worse too.

Sometimes it was small. An urge to pinch your cheek which he acted on, mindful of his claws in doing so. His ears always twitched at your disgruntled whines, always tuned to your words and noises. Even unintentionally.

There had been one moment when, your silly little self had gotten caught on that same rug, again. Alastor had been on the other side of the room, but the moment your squeak reached his ears, they swiveled back, and a mass of tentacles lurched up from the ground, gently rolling you onto you greet before disappearing like they had never existed.

And Alastor hadn’t even turned around, still idly chatting with the stunned princess who barely hid her ever widening smile.

Husker seemed the most displeased with his current antics. Always preaching to the others that this was a trick. That he was playing with you. Toying with you.

The radio demon wished that was the case now.

Frankly, he wasn’t sure why he was doing it. He knew he favored you above the others. That was natural. Instinctual. Obvious. And while the others reactions, especially those of the spear wielding ex angel and the gambler were fairly amusing, if that had been the soul purpose it was likely he would’ve grown bored by now. And he would’ve stopped.

But it wasn’t. And he hadn’t.

And it was all becoming a bit overwhelming.

Yet you didn’t question it. Sometimes your brow would raise, at a particularly bold gesture or comment sent your way, and yes your eyes would dart around as if to see who was watching. But you never complained. And if he didn’t know any better, he’d say you were enjoying yourself, if the sweetheart smile that graced your lips after each instance was anything to go off.

So Alastor didn’t feel the need to label what he was experiencing or truly ponder why. He was enjoying himself, as were you. To him, nothing needed to be said.

“So are you two bangin or nah?”

Though he supposed not everyone felt the same.

Taglist: @preciousbabypeter @ouroborostheunholy @chirimeimei @shanksstrawhat @for-hearthand-home @random-3455 @ittoehurt @salutations-demonsanddappers

(Anyone who wanted to be tagged and wasn’t, for whatever reason your blogs weren’t showing up,🍓)

#x reader #hazbin x reader #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor x reader #alastor

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kombuuuu · 1 year

Note

Can I request Miles 42 bullies you at school and is always bothering you but he gets mad and tries to fight someone else who is bullying you because he’s the only one who can be mean to you😩😩‼️

Deflecting.

Earth42!Miles x Fem!Reader

“I would get your hands off her if I were you, homeboy.”

This one is kiiiinda violent, not by Miles mostly be warned C:

PART TWO !!

such a cute wife (throw me on an island to live in my delusions)

You were quiet, silent most days. Not stepping out of the very thick circle you’d made for yourself consisting of just you.

And yet, still.

Still, the mere thought of keeping to yourself as a permanent transfer student would make even the most daft of people scoff.

You weren’t anything special, you were void of attention, and happy that way. Acted appropriately and left anger at the door. Had nothing and no one to complain to, so why make problems for yourself?

You’re entire life was just floating along your schooling and waiting patiently for the day you left. Even if you were the rare case of “Got transferred half way through the year because the school saw potential!” girl, you’d just wanted to be left to yourself.

But even the premise of that seemed almost impossible now.

Because ever since you were pushed by some rushing kid straight into Miles Morales, tripping him over with you. Him and his asshole friends had made it their life mission to bother you.

“The cute new girl?”

“Yeah, the one that—,” The first boy glanced at Miles. “,—tripped on.”

“Oooh, shit—, She’s fucked.” The other man whispered back, laughing under his breath. You could feel his taunting stare at the back of your head, and when you checked your peripherals, Miles was sending a sickening glare your way.

You sighed.

—

The ache in your head was probably the only thing keeping you awake.

The day dragging longer than usual had you right about ready to get home and knock yourself out within a minute of being in your bed. Your hand slowly dragged down your face, taking a deep breath and stuffing your jacket somewhere in your locker. The heat of the school mingling with the temperatures the Summer was providing and then adding on the rain from the prior day? You cursed Brooklyn and its humidity. Reaching to close your locker, you finally fit the jacket in the already cramped space. A little piece of the fabric poked out, and you pushed it in while simultaneously trying to keep everything else in too. Pulling a face before you finally managed to get it shut, and slip your finger out before it can get trapped. You turned the key into the dumb metal and scowled at it before pocketing the key and turning to leave.

Being so engrossed in your feud with the locker, you had failed to realise the very man who’d given you this headache, leering over your frame. Turning straight into his chest and reacting in a pained groan, gripping your forehead in displeasure and glaring up at whomever was standing so close to you.

Which happened to be Miles Morales. Staring down at you with cold, dulled eyes.

“What the fuck are you doing, man?” The simmering anger in your voice was made known, and also promptly ignored. He tilted his head down at you, braids shifting with the movement, his expression barely changing. If only he had a conscience. Then maybe you could read his expression, the emotions on his face —, but in this universe? The thought seemed laughable.

He stepped forward, sending you staggering closer against your locker.

“Back off—,” You’re voice shook a little as you swore. Dropping his eyelids into a glare, he spoke, “You keep talkin’ to me like that, and we gon’ have a problem.”

“You keep creeping up on me like a fuckin’—,”

“Like a what?” Miles’s bored, taunting voice grated against your eardrums.

You let out a shaky breath, chest heaving, and clenched your jaw. Shaking out the annoyance in your bones, you kept your calm.

“Don’t get shy on me now.”

A surge of anger rose through you, before you willed it away.

He was antagonising you.

You tried not to instigate him. If you didn’t encourage it, maybe he’d go away.

“Never mind. Whatever, Why—,”

“Miles, my man.” A different man clapped him on the shoulder, giving you the chance to step back and away from him. The other man was tall and lanky, spindly in the way where he looked out of place for a high school. His blue eyes caught sight of you, smirk contorting the bridge of his nose and baring his teeth. “Fuck you doin’ with this thing?”

“What d’you want.” Miles diverted attention from you quick, his companion not getting the hint.

“Fuck, nevermind man,” The man sent a sleezy smile at you, looking you up and down slowly, a short whistle under his breath.

“Shut the fuck up, James.”

You glared are the taller man, something like bile clawing at your throat. The way he was talking about you was sickening, nothing more than a bothersome rodent.

Miles glanced at you, raising a brow, he wanted to see how long it would take before you’d finally fight back. Through the months you’d been at this school, not once had you actually lost your nerve.

On worse days, like this one, you gave him attitude. Snapping at him the moment he showed up, knowing if you didn’t, he’d take the chance too first. He looked forward to those days, where you would engage him. It sent some sick thrill through him. Watching the way your eyes unfocused, urging yourself not to roll them. How your composure surely chipped but never cracked, fingernails digging prints of a fine line when dug into your palms.

He watched your breathing stutter and counted your breaths with you, he’d basically memorised the pattern.

10 beats in, hold for 8, and 12 beats out.

Though, this was only on a good (bad?) day. Other days you just stood and took it. Letting him say whatever he wanted to you, talk shit right to your face. Spread rumours without repercussions and mess with you just because he had the urge.

And just like always. Through the heat of Summer and the full ache in your head, you managed to do nothing.

Just stand and stare as James acted like you were less to a piece of meat.

Miles scowled, dropping his shoulder and causing the man to fall from leaning on him. “Omf— Hey! What the fuck, dude.”

“Let’s go.”

James scoffed, rolling his eyes but following behind nonetheless.

“Miles, what was that shit about?”

“None of your fucking business, homeboy.”

Their voices faded as they walked away, the white noise of chattering people swallowing the scraping of James’s voice.

You wondered what Miles had really wanted this time, as he hadn’t gotten the chance to say anything with James showing up. You hate to thank him, but god. You might’ve lost your mind.

—

Four months in and you were losing your mind. Miles hadn’t stopped, neither had his determination. He seemed so eager to piss you off and do nothing but stare coldly as you composed yourself every time.

Just as that thought brimmed in your head, something kicked out in front of you, sending you flat on your stomach. Hands pressed into the hardwood of the gym below. You groaned, knees being knocked straight to the ground, landing with your arms outstretched in front of you. At least it wasn’t your face.

A voice was heard behind you and you froze, unsure what to do at that moment.

“Get up, [Name].”

James.

“Yeah, I’m—“ You shuffled back onto your feet. Standing up cautiously and checking your uniform was in place.

“Shut the fuck up.” He interrupted you, and you turned around slowly to face him. “Ever since I made it clear how little you were fucking worth, that dipshit Miles has been a fuckin’ dog to me.” He spat at you, the anger rising in his voice, he gripped the polo shirt you wore, dragging your limp upper half closer to his.

You shivered at his breath on your face, wanting to gag.

“Sorry.”

“You’re a fucking freak—.” His group of even more childish people were standing behind him like some sort of team work movement.

“Please let go.”

“I’ll fucking gut you. I needed that motherfucker—,” “Woah.” “,—He’s lucky I don’t beat his ass for ditching me.” Seems like attachment issues. “And you too, cunt. I’ll end your fucking life.”

He pulled you ever closer, using his height to intimidate you, six foot four of an angry man standing over you, no thanks.

A whistle was heard from the main room of the Gym, prompting James to let go of you.

“You’re lucky you’re a looker, call it pretty privilege.”

“..”

“Next time I’ll fucking kill you.”

You dropped from where you had been dragged onto your toes, stumbling a little as James’s group snickered when they walked past, bumping your shoulder and wolf whistling.

—

The lesson ended, and you rushed to get out of there. Making your way to the locker room, and being the first in there, also the first to leave. Changing from your sports uniform and rushing out of the Gym.

You kept looking over your shoulder, Knowing that James wasn’t lying. He probably would kill you, or, objectively worse.

You tripped over your feet before righting yourself again. People around sent curious looks to you which you ignored easily.

Getting to the front of the school, glass double doors shut with a “locked” sign on it, you continued to shoulder forward. Ignoring the shout of the office lady, you pushed against the metal bar and opened the door. You’d already known about the doors being unlocked constantly, having seen many times teachers trying to check no one was watching before slyly slipping out. So when the door opened for you with no trouble, you breathed out quick, and booked it.

You praised yourself for the amount of cardio you could do, the school was three stories for goodness sake, the amount of stairs you needed to climb was insane.

You slid to the side, dodging the occasional pedestrian and making it to the main gate, another shout was heard from the front of the school and you slipped out the gate just as it opened for another teacher, thanking them as you passed.

“Thank you!” You shouted as you ran.

“You’re welcome?— Oh..”

“Kid, Get back here!”

The office lady watched you hit the end of the street and turn, no longer in her sight. She threw her hands in the air and sighed.

“I’m going to get fired.”

“No, Marlene. I’ll cover you.”

“Thanks, John.”

“Why were they running, anyway?”

“Dunno, maybe AP exam.”

—

Miles watched as James was escorted back inside the building. His scowl etched onto his hideous face. Two of their shared buddies trailed behind him, rolling their eyes at the teachers questioning them.

One of the girls in his group was pressing against him, Miles getting more agitated by the minute. His disinterest in her only seemed to fuel her infatuation more, and it was getting annoying.

The guys at his table were all laughing at some—, probably sexist joke one of them made, the ladies giggling along with them, feeding their toxic lovers the attention they so desperately want. It’s not like Miles thought he was above these people. He just was. They were scum, but the only friends he could keep. Hurt people hurt people, and all that sappy shit. So when you hurt so much, only a small portion of people can stand you, and you them.

But when your name was mentioned, he perked up significantly — his ears fine tuning to the conversation. Completely forgetting about the raven-haired girl pressing against him, and focusing on the words spat by James and his two huevos.

“She’s hot though—,”

“Fuckin’ cares ‘f she is? Woulda beat her ass.”

“[Name]?”

“Yeah, [Name]. Miles got all fuckin’ sissy I thought she was hot, and now we don’t talk.”

“So?”

“So—!? Now I lost my chance with Imogen, she’s all fuckin’ over him cause I’m gone.”

Right, Imogen was her name.

“You want to beat her up over you losing a bitch? Just bag her instead?”

James rolled his eyes, debating it. Miles tensed, his relaxed posture straightened quickly, causing him to almost knock Imogen in the face. Too which she squealed at. An awful noise, really.

He quickly stood, chair falling behind him with a loud clang, and strode out of the hall, Glaring at James the entire time. His two friends laughed James’s sudden hesitance to respond, knowing how piss scared he was of Miles.

James stayed silent until the doors to the cafeteria closed, and the whispers started up. Then told his buddies off in a harsh tone.

No one had ever seen Miles do anything too bad. But with the amount of times he’s shown up to school with a busted nose and smug aura, you could tell—, whatever fight he’d had.

He’d won.

—

To say that Miles wanted to have the day away from school, probably wasn’t true. With the stuff he’d heard James and his dogs speil, he’d rather you not be alone.

He was—, worried.

But when his Uncle Aaron called him in for something urgent right at 4 AM, telling his Ma it was a work emergency, he couldn’t refuse his Uncle. He fit his mask onto him, faceplates slotting closed. Claws being turned and clicked into place, he flexed his hands, dragging the window of his room open in the early morning, and left with his Momma sound asleep.

—

The peace and quiet of the day had been rather disturbing. Not having Miles or any of his groupies bother you—. Was off, not unwelcome, but odd.

So when the bell rang for your fourth class, everyone heading from their lunch break back to their assigned classes, it was only by nature you’d be pulled into deserted corner of the school by some unknown figure. A hand placed over your mouth and the other gripping your wrist, pulling you back.

You struggled against the mystery person, a sickeningly familiar voice croaking in your ear.

“Be—,” You kicked your head back, knocking his jaw. “,—Fuckin’ bitch, be quiet.”

Your foot slipped under you, bringing him more leverage to haul you further from the light of the main hall.

You screamed through his hand, tears building behind your eyes when you heard a door unlock.

“Get in.”

“Fuckin—, Open it wider, dipshit.”

“Fuck off.”

James ripped his hand off your mouth before you could realise, pushing the middle of your back so you were forced into a dark, cold classroom.

You fell to your knees, a sense of déjà vu kicking in as you braced yourself with your hands.

Your chest heaved, James slamming the door shut.

“Keith, close those blinds.”

“Fuck are you gon’ do?”

“Beat the fuck outta her.”

—

Miles stuffed his claws somewhere in his locker, uncaring for secrecy. No one was there now, everyone having gone to class. He’d arrived fairly late, not an unusual occurrence considering his occupation, though. So the office ladies didn’t mind.

He slammed his locker shut, an image of you doing the same with a pout on your lips coming to mind. He had class with you now, sat right next to you, actually.

So he made his way towards the back block of the school, where you’d be.

—

A hit straight to your cheek sent you flying to the floor again, Mathew letting go of where he was holding you up.

“Dude your grip is shit.”

“Nod off.”

Keith muttered something about “Fucking brit..” from his seat on the prior teachers desk.

You groaned internally, eyes lolling to the closed curtains, the broken glass of the window letting in a sweet breeze. The only reprise from this entire ordeal was a broken window.

There’s some poetry in that, or something.

Blood dripped from your nose and lip. A cut on your cheek now present too. James, the creep, had rings on his thin fingers that, when used, hurt to no end.

You were picked back up by under your arms, closing your eyes in pain and hissing. You opened your eyes in time to see the small glint of metal in James’ pocket, and the wince on Keith’s face before another fist connected to your temple.

—

You weren’t there.

You had shown up to school, evident by your paper on the lecturers desk, but hadn’t shown up for the period.

And by the empty seats of James, Keith and Mathew. He could only guess what was happening right now.

Miles slammed the door to the class shut, ignoring the panicked yells of his teacher and started towards the darker parts of the school. Where no one used, a chemistry accident setting the safety board director deep in debt and a block of the school unusable.

He flung open his locker when close enough, snatching the prototype version of his claws from the locker. Small, sharp finger coverings that were something close to the claws he had for his Prowler suit. The knuckles were brassed and the wrist latch clasped easily to his skin. He slammed it shut again, not bothering with the lock, and honed in his hearing.

The walls were thin enough.

—

“Don’t you think this is a little too far?”

“Shut the fuck up, Keith.”

“Fuck you gonna do if she snitches—?”

He gripped James’s wrist, holding the knife away from both you and himself.

“—You gon’ ruin your life for this shit, man?”

“She’s been playing my fuckin’ nerves—, yeah.”

Keith gave him a bewildered look while Mathew stared on in disinterest, still holding you at a position you couldn’t right yourself.

The blood had stained your shirt now, bruising littering your face and body.

James had taken to ditching the knife.

“Fuckin—, Whatever man.”

It clattered to the ground with a large clang, the tiled floors of the science room made the echo ring in your head like the growing migraine.

“Drop ‘er.”

Keith glanced down at you, then backed off. An odd look on his face while he kicked the knife away from James, unintentionally pushing it closer to you.

He walked back to his seat.

Mathew let go, watching as you dropped to the ground and started coughing.

Choking on your own blood before you spat it out.

“You know how long i’ve been wantin’ to fucking do this?”

He raised his leg, tilting your chin up with his boot, how demeaning.

He swung back and kicked your ribs, sending you into another coughing fit while you fought the urge to throw up, tears streaming the blood dripping down your chin.

“Your family ruined my fucking life.” Another kick to your stomach, you gagged.

“Taking my dad, then my fucking girl too?”

What is this guy on about.

“Your fucking daddy couldn’t just mind his own business. Had to get involved, then you.”

A harder kick to your stomach, you clenched your abs and covered your head.

A sudden shock ran over you, a familiarity that always sat with James clicking in your mind.

James Ohnn, son of Jonathon Ohnn, a man who had a hand in the collapse of a still-in-construction Kaleidoscope that was said to bring revolutionary science to the new world. It’s framing shattered while the workers on it all went with it.

His father was the lead scientist of that Kaleidoscope, and by turn in of your dad, was promptly arrested.

“I didn’t do shit—,”

“Shut your fucking mouth.”

He kicked your ribs again, and you swore you could feel them crack.

“I’ll kill you, you fucking ruined me.”

He swiped the knife again, Keith shouting something you couldn’t hear amongst the ringing in your ears.

You shut your eyes, crowding your head with your arms.

A slam broke through the muffles of your mind. Panicked voices and accusations being thrown around before a thick accent curled around your head.

Miles Morales.

“I’d get your hands off her if I were you, Homeboy.”

Miles approached slowly, checking your face while keeping his eyes on the three men.

“Fuck off, Miles.”

“No.” His head cocked to the side, eyes slanting while he assessed the situation.

“What, you gonna fight us?”

James’s voice was shaking. He’d never seen Miles looks o absolutely pissed before.

“Don’t think I can, asshole?”

“It’s three against one.”

“Realmente piensas—, sabes que, no importa.”

Miles lunged at him, Keith and Mathew shouting in tandem while you struggled to keep your eyes open. The pain working its way past your adrenaline and into your bones.

He grabbed James by the wrist, twisting it back and listening to the sickening crunch of his Lunate bone in curious satisfaction. James screamed, trying to tear his hand away from Miles. Even with his right hand pulling too, he wouldn’t budge. The metal clicked together every time James shifted, and Miles gave an extra squeeze before letting go. The force James was pulling sending him flying back, he stumbled and tripped over your feet, falling back and smashing his head on the tiles.

The other two boys scrambled for the door, running out the hallway and whining like dogs.

James groaned, rolling onto his stomach, Miles deadpanned down at him. You watched through blurry vision as Miles picked his up, sat him against the teachers desk, almost slumped against it. Grabbed his hair by his crown, slowly bringing his head forward, bending him at the waist. Before slamming his head back against the wood with a dull thud. He repeated this sick, prolonged process until James had fallen unconscious. Standing over him, then going to grab the knife laid a bit from you. You looked at him from your position, not unthankful, but still—, he was evidently a contributor.

“Don’t move.”

“Wha— Why? I have to get home.”

Miles scoffed, crouching down next to you, knife in hand. His limp wrists resting on his bent knees.

“You gonna’ go home with a cracked rib and busted face? Nah, Chiquita. Vente conmigo, yo te arreglo.”

He stuffed the pocket knife down the side of his Nikes and took off his claws, putting them in the pocket of his jacket.

He hooked his arm under your knees and upper back, cradling you bridal style before standing to his full height.

You panicked a little— “Wha—, No. Miles, put me down.”

“No.”

“Hh— Whatdyu’ mean ‘No’!?”

You hooked your hands over his shoulders and gripped him as he made his way through the back exit of the school.

“I said, I’m taking you home.”

—

You groaned in pain, shirt lifted to just under your bra line as Miles assessed the damage.

He had been joking when he said cracked rib, but there was an underlying sense of real possibility. According to him though, nothing had been enough to seriously injure you. Except the disgusting looking bruises littering yourself.

You tried to focus away from the pain. Or Miles in general, he was very distracting, the lingering attraction you had when you met thought to be squished, was bubbling up again.

He had an ice pack pressed to your skin, and if you were a tad less conscious, maybe you would’ve made a joke of how cold his hands already were. The sweltering heat doing nothing to soothe the bruising.

“Keep this here.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Watch the attitude.”

You huffed a breath, laugh being painful.

“Yeah, whatever.”

You shifted yourself to alleviate some pain, and took his place holding the pack on your stomach.

He grabbed an anti-septic from the small kit he had for first aid. When he’d pulled it out earlier, you’d questioned it.

“You get injured women on your room often, Miles?”

“Nah, Just you. Usually they can take care of ‘emselves.”

You’d giggled at that, not entirely offended but more so amused he’d decided not to take offence at your jab.

His hands reaching for your face brought you back to the present. Flinching back in surprise, you watched him watch for a moment. “Chill, ma. Just gon’ put this on your cuts. Needa’ touch your face for that.”

You cringed, the twisting of your lip having you suck in a harsh breath. “Yeah—, yeah, okay. Thanks.”

“Mhmm.”

The callouses in his hands were made known the moment he touched you, spreading the cream along the cut on your brow, cheekbone and lip.

His hands were a nice contrast compared to the heat of your cheeks, and the gentleness at which he was using.

When Miles touched your face, leaning his body closer to yours, he wanted to savour the feeling. The softness of your flesh against his own, how he could trace the contour of your cheek without it being awkward. His thumb rubbed a small amount of cream onto your lip and he couldn’t look away. The sight of your blood stained skin under his blemished hands had him stuck in the moment. Unable to answer her last question.

“Miles?”

The way her lips formed around his name sent a burning heat throughout his body.

“Yeah—.”

“Is my lip okay? ‘M I gonna need stitches?”

You poured up at him and he shook his head. “No.”

“Mmh— Okay.”

You looked to the side, addressing his room and Miles watched the way your eyelashes brushed along your cheeks when you blinked.

“Okay, just this left. Gonna be a little cold.”

“Thank you.”

“No stress, Chiquita.”

He grabbed some petroleum jelly, spreading it along the cuts on your face and moisturising the wound.

He then placed adhesive bandages along the places necessary, and placed everything back into his first aid.

“Miles.”

“Yeah, Mami?”

You paused at the name, he’d been using those a lot lately.

“How’d you know to find me?”

He looked down, shuffling up next to you against the headboard. You gazed out the window, ignoring the tension that was eating at the both of you. He did too.

“Gut feeling.”

—

DAMN BABY THIS ONE GOT WILD

tags :3 @gemma42 , @denuparxoume

my gorgeous translator @kissmxcheek !!

#earth 42 miles morales x reader #earth 42 miles morales #miles morales x reader #across the spiderverse #spiderman across the spiderverse #miles morales #spiderverse x reader #miles x reader #miles morales x you #Miles 42 #earth42!miles x reader #earth 42 #earth42!miles

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heizlut · 3 months

Note

corrupted creampie with Cyno mmgh-

when will it be my turn😩 i love cyno, i can do so much for this so here goes:

Best Friends

cw: manipulation, corruption, creampie, dubcon, kinda dark

tags: sub fem! reader, scummy dom!cyno, mostly proofread

nsfw under the cut

m!list here

⌁₊˚⊹ ⌁₊˚⊹ ⌁₊˚⊹ ⌁₊˚⊹ ⌁₊˚⊹

You had always been such a studious girl, having graduated at the top of your darshan in the Akademiya. You naturally became close with Cyno during your time spent there as he loved the way you stuck to the rules, unafraid of making reports to the Matra when you took note of people who broke them. You were so proud of him when he told you he was taking over as General Mahamatra, giving him endless praises and support.

Cyno wasn't one to show much emotion, keeping his expressions neutral and his voice monotone. But when it came to you, something inside him stirred to life. Something that shouldn't be there that twisted his thoughts and brought heat to his loins. Cyno wanted to ruin you.

A knock sounds on Cyno's door and his sharp gaze shoots to the source. His tense body relaxes when he hears the sound of your voice coming from the other side, "Cyno! Hurry and let me in, I'm soaked!" His lips twitch at the thought of you being soaked, wishing you were saying such a thing in sexual desperation for him rather than literally being drenched by the pouring rain outside. "Coming", his usual tone of voice as he pads over to the front door. He opens the door to see you completely wet from the rain and moves to the side, letting you in.

You shiver as you step in and smile gratefully at him, giving your thanks. Cyno hums in acknowledgement, not trusting his own voice at the moment as his cock comes to life in his pants. Thank the archons for that slip of purple cloth that hid his bulge in his shorts... Your sweet laugh breaks his thoughts and he looks to you as you smile at him, "Sorry for making your floors wet. I didn't realize it was going to rain or else I would've asked to see you another time." Fuck, you were too innocent. The fabric of your clothes clung to your body, emphasizing each curve, the roundness of your breasts, and the curve of your ass.

You tilt your head slightly with mild concern, "Cyno? Are you okay?" Cyno blinks and tries so very hard not to let his eyes wander, "Mhm. How about you take a hot bath and I'll let you borrow something of mine to wear?" You smile, but shake your head, "You can just give me a towel. I don't want to impose or cross a line with you." Cyno frowns a little. You always stuck to rules, never one to even toe the line. He used to love that about you and he absolutely should still love that about you considering his position in Sumeru, but now... Now he wanted to send you careening over that line.

"I don't want you to get sick. I'll start the bath and leave out some clothes for you to wear when you're done", he says cooly, trying to remain indifferent as always. You begin to protest, but one pointed look with his scarlet eyes made you snap your mouth shut. A hint of a smile plays on Cyno's lips at your compliance and he leaves the room to fill the bath with hot water for you. You follow him almost like a lost puppy, dripping water falling from your body to the floors. Cyno digs through his clothes and pulls out a simple white t-shirt and looks to you with an unreadable expression, "This is the only thing that might fit you. I would give you pants, but they would be too big." He holds the shirt up to your shivering body, "The shirt looks like it'll be big enough to keep you covered."

Your cheeks flush the prettiest shade of red at the idea of only wearing your best friend's shirt and nothing else. The blush of your cheeks doesn't go unnoticed by Cyno who feels immense satisfaction. He folds up the shirt and hands it to you, his hands grazing yours as he does so, "The bath should be ready now." You look at him with such a cute expression that makes that sick feeling in him grow. Cyno shouldn't want to corrupt you, but he so desperately wanted to see you writhe underneath him. What expressions would you make then...?

You clear your throat awkwardly to bring Cyno back from his thoughts. He startles slightly and immediately lets go of your hands that held his shirt, "Sorry...", he mutters. You just give a small smile, feeling more concerned about why he was spacing out so much today. You knew your best friend would tell you if he felt inclined to, so you didn't push. You turn and head into the bathroom, shutting the door. You peel your wet clothes from your body, leaving them in a little pile on the floor as you step into the steaming bath.

Cyno paces in his room trying to will away his boner, trying to keep his dark and lustful thoughts at bay. HIs head snaps up when he hears the bathroom door open. You peek your head out from behind the door and look at him, flushed with embarrassment, "I...I'm coming out now." You were so fucking cute and his cock throbs for you under his clothes when you step out timidly, pulling at the hem of his shirt that fell right below the curve of your ass. Cyno fights the groan that is clawing at his throat.

You can't even look at him when you make your way to him, too embarrassed about the whole situation and the shirt that truly didn't leave much to the imagination. This was so inappropriate in your mind and you fumble over your words, "S-sorry again for inconveniencing you and getting your.. floors all wet...and-" You're cut off when Cyno reached forward and twisted a lock of your wet hair around his finger. Your eyes meet his and he speaks gruffly, "Don't apologize." He lets the strand of your hair fall back into place, "Should we continue with our original plans?"

You just gawk at him for a moment, trying to process your thoughts and feelings, "Hmm? O-oh, yeah, let's do that." You lead the way back to the main room of him home and seat yourself on the plush green chair, pulling at the hem of the shirt once more. Cyno sits across from you, almost studying you as you fidgeted. He lets out a sigh, "Let's have a drink. You clearly need one." You laugh a little, "It seems that way doesn't it..."

Cyno moves to the cabinets, taking out a bottle of snake wine he had been saving and pours it into two glasses. He hands you one, to which you thank him politely and he moves back to his seat. You take a tentative sip, your eyes widening at the taste. A ghost of a smirk on Cyno's lips as he watches you take a longer drink. By the time you'd finished your glass, the strong wine was messing with your senses and it felt...good. You felt more relaxed despite the fact that you were sitting across from your best friend wearing his shirt that hardly covered you. The same best friend who protected you always, but now wanted to feel your tight walls strangle his cock.

You fake a pout at Cyno, "I need more, 's empty..." You tilt and shake your glass to display just how empty it was. He chuckles softly at your cute mannerisms and hold his untouched glass of snake wine out towards you, "Here, have mine and I'll refill the empty glass." Your eyes light up like you were a child in a candy store, reaching out to take the full glass from him as you speak in a sing-song tone, "My best friend, always taking care of me~" Cyno's eyes hold a glint of something dark and lustful as you take the glass and sip from it; looking especially cute and naive.

His scarlet eyes linger on your body then make their way back to your eyes, "Come sit with me. You're far away." His voice was monotone and collected as usual as he speaks to you. You tilt your head so cutely at his words, "But there's no room in your chair?" Cyno felt so fucking dangerous, wanting to split you apart on his cock right here, right now. But he didn't want to scare you. He wanted this to work. He pats his thigh, "Come here. There's room." Your lips form a little smile as your eyebrows raise, "Is that okay with you?" He gives you an incredulous look, "I wouldn't have suggested it if I wasn't okay with it. Now come here."

You chew at your lip as you rise from you seat, glass of wine in hand, and you make your way to him. A groan nearly slips from him when you settle into his lap. Cyno snakes an arm around your waist, keeping you close to him, doing his best not to rut up into you. You wiggle against his bulge as you make yourself more comfortable and you suck in a breath, eyes wide as you look up at him, "There's something..." Cyno shushes you, "Don't pay me any mind. I'm fine." Oh, he was so far from fine right now... Your bare pussy was pressed against his hardened cock and you were too dumb to realize what you were doing to him.

He does his best to control himself as you sip your wine and chatter on about your day. You eye flit to his hand that was now slowly making its way up you thigh and closer to the hem of your shirt, "Cyno?" He shushes you again as his fingers trace little shapes against you skin, steadily moving under you shirt now. Your cheeks heat up again, unable to tear your eyes away from the outline of his hand making its way up to your breasts. You let out a little squeal when Cyno squeezes one of your breasts, "What're you doing?!"

Cyno takes a deep breath as his hips begin to rock underneath you, his hand massaging your breast and toying with your nipple, "Shh, let your best friend decompress, yeah?" "F-friends don't do this...", you say softly as your breathing begins to pick up and your arousal starts to make a mess on his pants. Cyno pinches and rolls your nipple between his fingers, "Friends might not. But best friends do..." Your mouth forms a little "O" as your drunken mind decides that what he's saying must be true. He was always brutally honest, so why would he lie now...right?

He moves his hand back out and takes your glass from you, setting it on the table in front of the two of you. Cyno's hot breath fans against your ear as he speaks, "Arms up." Your hesitantly raise your arms and Cyno drags the shirt over your head and tosses it to the floor, leaving you completely naked in his lap. You felt so exposed, but your thoughts melt away when he brings you closer, pressing little kisses against your shoulder and neck as your naked back meets his bare, tanned chest.

As he continues leaving kisses along your skin, Cyno's hands spread your thighs apart, "Always such a good girl following all the rules... Never bending or breaking them..." He trails off for moment as his teeth sink into your skin, making you gasp. He licks at the mark and chuckles, "You'll follow all my rules, won't you?" You turn your head a little to look at him nervously, "Your rules?" Cyno gives a slight smirk, "Mhm. You wouldn't dare break the rules that come from the General Mahamatra himself, right?"

You take too long to answer and slaps your sticky cunt, "Answer me." Your breathless as you nod, your voice coming out shaky from both nerves and arousal, "I-I wouldn't break them... That would be... wrong." Cyno practically purrs at your answer. You were too naive and too much of a good girl to ever dare to break a rule and he would use this to his advantage exponentially. He brings two fingers to your lips, "Open." Your lips part for him and he pushes the fingers inside. You instinctively begin to suck on them, wetting them with your saliva.

Cyno hums in satisfaction and pulls them out, watching as they glisten in the light, "Let me play with you." Before you can ask what he means, his wet fingers push into your tight pussy, making you moan as your head falls back against his shoulder. He slowly pumps his fingers in and out, then scissors them to stretch you out. The slick sound coming from between your legs made you dizzy and he presses upwards to your g-spot. A pretty whine falls from your lips as your eyes flutter shut. Cyno removes his fingers from inside of you to play with you little clit, circling it with the pads of his sticky, wet digits, "Your pussy is so good for me. Have to get it nice and ready for my cock..."

You whine pathetically when he stops and holds the same two fingers to your lips again, "Clean them. Want you to taste how sweet you are." You take his fingers into your mouth, swirling your tongue around his fingers as the taste of your own arousal fills your senses. Cyno takes them out and begins to pull his leaking fat cock from out of his pants. You're in a daze when he pats your ass and gives you another command, "Turn around and face me." Without a second thought, you turn so that you straddle him. His cock throbbing in anticipation against his abdomen. Cyno takes your hand and places it on his length, "This is what you do to me. Take responsibility."

Your pussy clenches around nothing at his words as you wrap your hand around his lightly tanned cock and pump it languidly, mesmerized by the way the pre cum leaks from his flushed tip, "Do best friends do this too?" You asked to shyly that it makes him twitch in your hand, "Yes, and they do so much more." You lock eyes for a moment, the heat of his gaze is so intense and you can't help but want more. Wanting to make Cyno happy and not wanting to go against his commands.

Cyno grips your hips, "Lift up and put my cock in." You obey, of course, lifting yourself up just enough to position yourself over his length. He raises an eyebrow when you hesitate, hovering over him. The look alone made you feel like you were guilty of doing something wrong so you immediately sink down onto him. Cyno's head falls back against the cushion of his chair as your tight, wet walls engulf his cock. "'S too big, Cyno", you whine as your face twists in pleasure. "You can take it", he growls as he thrusts up into you, making you cry out.

The grip he has on your hips tightens as he fucks up into you cute little cunt. His balls slap against your ass as he hits the deepest parts inside of you. Slapping skin, slick squelching, and grunts and moans fill the space as he fills you, "Look at you taking your best friends cock so well. Gonna let me fuck you all the time, right? Wouldn't want to disappoint me or break a rule, right? You're too good for that." "Uh-huh... I'll always be good! Don't wanna get in troubleeee", you cry as he pistons his cock in your cunt.

Cyno lands a smack on your ass and you clench hard around him, creaming on his cock. He growls at the sight of your white cream making a sticky mess at the base of his cock and dripping between his thighs. It's enough for him to be catapulted to his own end as a deep moan comes from his throat, "Take it. Be a good girl and take it all." His cock throbs wildly as his thick ropes of cum fill your sweet pussy. You wrap your arms around him, burying your face in his neck as his forehead rests against your shoulder.

His cock twitches a few more times before it finally settles. You both are breathless and sweaty, neither of you wanting to move from your position. You look into Cyno's scarlet eyes, face flushed from everything that happened. Cyno looks at you lips then back to your gaze, "Can I kiss you?" You blink in confusion. He had just fucked you and he was asking if he could kiss you? "Do best friends do that?", was your cute reply, genuinely wanting to know so you didn’t break any rules. He chuckles at your naivety, "Yeah, best friends do that too."

⌁₊˚⊹ ⌁₊˚⊹ ⌁₊˚⊹ ⌁₊˚⊹ ⌁₊˚⊹

a/n: somethin about scummy cyno really does it for me…

#cyno smut #cyno x reader smut #genshin smut #genshin impact smut #cyno x reader #genshin cyno #genshin impact cyno

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meiieiri · 3 months

Text

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐡 𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐞 [gojo satoru]

synopsis: in every other universe and lifetime he has yet to lead, megumi will always cherish the painfully brief time he felt the warmth of a proper family and would have gladly referred to himself as the son of the strongest.

pairing: gojo satoru x f!reader | song inspo: chemtrails over the country club, scott street | visuals: megumi’s jacket

warnings: angst-ish, canon-compliant violence (mostly caused by our pookie wookie megumi who doesn’t tolerate scumbag bullies), mentions of bullying, and possible (bc i’m delulu) character death. | a/n: i just want megumi to have one last moment with his dad please, gege, i’m on my knees here. also hehe, get the title? ya’ll get it? someone please shove that arctic-haired freak to the NORTH! 🥹

Nobara Kugisaki is the classic definition of an Instagram girlie with a passion for fashion.

Honestly, she could appropriately appraise clothes without a second glance, and she could differentiate big fashion brands just by the fabric and silhouette alone even without a brand logo.

It happened on a Monday afternoon while she and Yuji were having a quick coffee in the lounge. Yuji is currently playing one of his Nintendo Switch MMORPG games that he bought from the mall last Saturday while Nobara was scrolling through her phone, swiping left as she watches her mutuals’ Instagram stories. The trio is incomplete today since Megumi mentioned he’ll be running some errands with you and Satoru today.

After positively getting envious of Mei Mei’s supposed extravagant shopping trip in Ginza today, Kugisaki promptly mutes any stories from her for a full twenty four hours. Then, as she swipes left yet again, she nearly drops her phone on the ground which would pretty much set her off on a rampage because she just got its LCD screen fixed. But luckily, she holds onto it.

“Fushiguro has an Instagram account?!”

Yuji himself hits pause on the game he’s playing and leans over the table to see what Kugisaki is talking about. No way. Fushiguro? That sulky, couldn’t-be-bothered-to-care-but-I-actually-do-care embodiment of teenage angst having an Instagram handle? What would he even post on there?

Their questions are answered as Fushiguro’s feed pops up, and it’s filled with his pictures, but that’s not the issue. The two dunderheads didn’t seem to mind that in every photo, Megumi looked like a magazine cover boy, what caught their attention is the apparel he��s wearing.

“What the hell?! He’s wearing Arc’teryx?” Kugisaki couldn’t believe it. She zooms in on the candid shot of Megumi in what looks to be a ski resort and an audible gasp escapes her throat. No way. No frigging way. She does a quick image search and sure enough, she is redirected to Arc’teryx’s official website. See? Kugisaki never misses when it comes to fashion.

Yuji’s eyes nearly pop out of their sockets when he sees the price tag. “One thousand five hundred US dollars?!”

“And look at this! He’s literally tagged in Gojo and Y/N-sensei’s stories.”

Sure enough, the first they see is Satoru’s story which has a video of you picking out new clothes from the rack for Megumi to try on in the fitting room. You looked so cute and teeny tiny next to the teenager and Kugisaki giggles at the thought you walking around with two literal giants in the mall, one of them being your ward and the other, your arctic-haired husband of three years.

“There’s another one!” Itadori says excitedly. The next is a story you took, it’s a photo of Megumi and Gojo, their backs turned and their hands fully occupied by shopping bags, seemingly unaware of the camera. In the photo, they’re checking out new sneakers in Onitsuka Tiger’s storefront window. In a flash, Kugisaki switches off her phone, and immediately begins to head out the door. “Hey, where’re you going?”

Nobara knows that particular galleria, it should be in Tokyo Midtown. “Out, maybe I could borrow Gojo-sensei’s or Y/N-sensei’s credit card!”

“Are you sure you don’t need me to come along?”

Gojo chuckles under his breath. It’s honestly amusing how you won’t normally ask that, given his newfound title as the strongest Jujutsu sorcerer of this generation. A skirmish with a grade two cursed spirit? Pfft. That’s practically child’s play to your white-haired boyfriend. A rogue grade one cursed spirit that turned out to be a special grade? Maybe you’ll sneak some bandages in his bag just in case. Bottom line is you wholeheartedly trust Satoru will always make it out of a mission in one piece.

But here you were seemingly more tense than usual which is incomprehensible because today’s hardly dangerous mission is simple.

Track down the son of Toji Fushiguro.

“I think I got it, babe.” Satoru leans his head in through the rolled down car window to plant a kiss on your forehead. He pats your cheek lovingly, setting off in the direction of the house after taking one last confirmatory look at the address written down in the file sheet. “Well, let’s hope he’s nothing like his dad. Promise you’ll check on me if I don’t come back in an hour?” he teases.

You lightly slap his wrist. Sometimes you wonder how you fell in love with this literal man-child. He’s just so insufferable. Gorgeous in every way but insufferable all the same. “I’m pretty sure a six-year-old boy isn’t gonna try to murder you. If he does, let the record show that I sympathize with him completely.”

“You meanie!”

Sticking his tongue out at you when you blow him a kiss, he disappears into the small street adjacent to the neighborhood’s main road. Coming here, Satoru was uncharacteristically nervous. At the rest stop earlier, you watched the scene tensely from the convenience store window. For once, the obnoxiously loud sorcerer was quiet, hands in his uniform pockets, his cerulean orbs trained on the pavement, his foot kicking the asphalt pebbles on the ground, deep in thought.

To be honest, he had no obligation to make the journey here even if this entire affair was born from Toji Fushiguro’s final words that sounded almost like a desperate plea. “In two or three years, my kid will be sold off to the Zenin clan. Do whatever you will with that.” Satoru doesn’t know why — he’s not exactly the brightest when it comes to his interpersonal relationship skills so he could be wrong about this — but those twenty one words sounded more like four simple words: “Please save my son.”

And so, in a matter of only thirty minutes, you spot Satoru from afar, his hand protectively around his would have been assassin’s six-year-old son as they walk back to the car. Looks like the little boy had made his choice.

And you could see with the way Satoru protectively held Megumi back from crossing the street on a green light that he has also made his choice. Just thirty minutes ago, you were bantering with the version of Satoru that would be reluctant to go out of his way to help someone, now, you were face to face with someone new, someone who has been changed almost in a blink of an eye.

Stepping out of the car, you make your way towards the pair, a faint smile on your lips at the sight of Megumi’s tiny backpack slung over Satoru’s shoulder. Your boyfriend gently nudges Megumi over in your direction, introducing him and you crouch down to meet the little boy’s hesitant eyes. “Hi there, Megumi.” Your voice is as carefully gentle as a psalm, you didn’t want to overwhelm him more than he probably already is. “I’m Y/N.”

“Hello.”

“Ice cold,” Satoru whistles, ruffling Megumi’s hair. But you figured that would be the case. A quiet breath of laughter comes from Satoru when you smile endearingly at the kid’s curtness.

As the three of you settle into the backseat, you and Satoru share a fond look when Megumi who has acted all guarded and silent the entire ride home from Chiba begins to drift off to sleep, his arms hugging his backpack but he was dangerously teetering off the seat, so Satoru gently picks him up, allowing him to lay his tiny head on his shoulder.

“He’s gonna stick around with us for a long time, huh?” you whispered, rubbing Megumi’s back as he slept soundly in Satoru’s arms, the three of yu blissfully unaware of just how much your life has changed. You came to Chiba and there was only you and Satoru, now, you were three. And though you know Satoru doesn’t intend to step in as a guardian, you could tell he was slowly settling into the inevitability of that fact. This boy needed a new start, a home, and people to guide him as he grew.

“…Yeah, he will,” Satoru answers, his eyes filled with wonder himself. Earlier when he first met Megumi, he told him to become strong enough to keep up with him.

But for now, maybe this was enough.

For the most part, Megumi is a good kid.

He diligently helps you with the housework without needing to be told twice the same way he diligently trains under Gojo’s tutelage. He studies hard despite only being in primary school, and he’s well-mannered in every way…at least to you, the kid won’t pass up the opportunity to scowl and call Satoru a lanky freak when he’s being pestered by him.

Because he’s so young to be sleeping in Tokyo Jujutsu High’s dormitories, you and Satoru settled into the idea of renting an apartment near the campus premises. Since you and Satoru are eighteen years old now, it was high time that the two of you start growing into your roles as functional adults which means leasing an apartment, paying the bills, growing your careers and taking your relationship to the next level.

Of course, you and Satoru both piled in cash when it comes to raising Megumi. Satoru mostly shouldered rent, monthly utilities and Megumi’s tuition, being a rich guy like him, those were practically small beans to him. You, on the other hand, shouldered the groceries, Megumi’s clothes and other needs.

One day, while on your way to pick up Megumi, you pass by the trendy Daikanyama district due to a road closure leading to the Ebisu district where Megumi’s primary school is. The inconvenience is nothing short of serendipitous as you and your boyfriend really did need a quick breather and some time for yourselves.

“I feel like I’m gonna turn into a wine dad very soon. Who would have known enrolling a kid would be that tough?” Satoru huffs, his hand protectively around your waist as you walked past boutique after boutique. “Like how am I supposed to know what his blood type is for the school clinic record?”

You hummed, sneakily stealing a kiss from him to which he responds to by pulling you closer, and pretending to bite off your ear. “For all the school knew, Megumi is ours. That would explain why they felt a little icky towards us when they saw how young we are back in that parent-teacher meeting.”

“Mmph, fair point. A cute son will come from a handsome father after all—“

“—Oh please. You’re okay at best.”

“You didn’t say that last night when I had you all folde—“

“—Please do not finish that sentence in public.”

Digressing, Satoru sighs, planting a contrite kiss on your warm cheek as the two of you leisurely walk down the picturesque lane of Tokyo’s very own version of Soho. Once you reach the main road, a certain outerwear apparel store catches your eye. You stop in front of the store window, looking curiously at the displayed winter items. “Megumi’s birthday is coming up soon, no? We should get him something nice.”

“Hmm? Oh right, the 22nd is coming up,” Satoru hums thoughtfully, leading you inside the store. There, the two of you split up to look for a nice gift for Megumi. There, he is approached by a staff member who asks if he’s looking for anything in particular. Satoru clears his throat, nodding. “I’m looking to buy a gift for my son.”

Somehow, you heard that from across the store and you shoot Satoru an amused look when he refers to Megumi as ‘his son’.

“Right, and how old might he be? We have a batch of new arrivals that came in today. They’re perfect for kids aged four and above.” At that, you rejoin Satoru and the sales staff leads you to check out the items at the front of the store. You and Satoru sort through the rack and find one that the two of you agree on: a fleece two-toned gravel winter jacket.

After paying for it, the two of you rush to get to Ebisu elementary school. Making your way to the gate, Megumi instantly spots you and Satoru, the latter being very difficult to miss since he pretty much towered over everyone else.

“Hi, kid, d’you have fun today?” you crouch down to give Megumi a hug. Between you and Satoru, you were the more clingy one towards Megumi, there’s hardly any hesitation in your heart when you pull him in for a warm embrace or carry him in your arms. Luckily, he didn’t seem to mind one bit, but if Satoru did any of the those things to him, he’ll probably headbut him.

“It was fine,” Megumi says shyly once you pull away. “Oh and I got a hundred on the math homework you helped me with.”

“You did?” you smiled. “I’m so proud of you, Megumi.” Satoru smiles, going to ruffle Megumi’s hair only for the little boy to duck away from his hand and hide behind you.

Chuckling at the kid’s antics, Satoru concedes, putting up his free hand in surrender while his other one held onto the gift bag you got. Megumi reads the name of the store: “The North Face”. Following Megumi’s gaze, Satoru grins, handing Megumi the bag. “Here, we got you something. Call it an advanced birthday gift.”

Megumi’s expression screamed: “You didn’t have to.” but you don’t miss the look of surprise and gratitude that shined through his features. You gently nudge him to open it and his breath hitches in his throat when he sees the gift you got him — the first gift he’s ever received.

“Happy birthday, Megumi,” you and Satoru greet the little boy, with Satoru helping Megumi to try it on.

That was the first time Megumi initiated a heartfelt hug and the first time he ever included Satoru, his little arms trying their hardest to include the two of you, so you decide to help him out, and your and Satoru’s arms engulf the little one.

“Thank you.”

“I don’t know what happened, but I’m headed there now. Alright, see you soon. I love you.”

Everything happened so quickly. One minute you were in Tokyo Jujutsu High’s teacher lounge organizing the first years’ missions for the next few days when you receive a call from Ebisu elementary school, informing you that Megumi got into a horrible fight and was now in the school clinic ready to be picked up, the next you were dashing out the door hurrying over to the school with your heart pounding in your chest.

There, you are the quintessential picture of a frazzled mother looking for her son in the school clinic.

“Y/N!”

“Megumi,” you breathed, your eyebrows knitting together in worry. Gathering him into your arms, you sit on the tiny hospital bed. “What happened? They said you got into a fight? And where’s your jacket?” He was wearing the jacket you got for him this morning when you and Satoru dropped him off, actually, he’s been wearing it a lot, indicating it’s one of, if not his favorite jacket.

Before Megumi could even speak, it looks like the kid that he got into a tussle with had already tattled on him to his mother and now said mother is furiously berating you and Megumi, not caring if anyone else in the clinic could overhear the scandalous remarks she’s throwing your way.

“I want full disciplinary action against this boy!” the middle aged woman all but screeches to the school’s principal, pointing an accusatory finger at Megumi who doesn’t flinch but you hear him sniffle. He’s never been yelled at like that before.

“Ma’am, please, let’s settle this like two rational adults—“

“—Oh I will, I can’t say the same about you! Are you not the least bit ashamed that you couldn’t teach your son good morals?” She then theatrically goes to place her hands on her son’s shoulders. And you have to be honest, with that bruised lip of his alongside his bleeding nose, Megumi had done some serious damage to the boy.

“I — Megumi is a good kid, not once, have we ever seen him hit someone for no reason—“

“—So you’re saying it’s my son’s fault yours is emotionally unstable? This boy doesn’t need a good talking to, what he needs is psychological intervention!”

“Alright, can everyone just please calm down?” The principal, too, seems visibly uncomfortable with the vile words the other parent was spewing at you like machine gun fire. “We’re all here to fix the problem, not make it worse.”

Pinching the bridge of your nose, you could tell this conversation has reached an impasse. Clearly, there’s no way you could reach a mutual understanding of what should be done to resolve the issue.

The older woman looks at you in disdain, grumbling under her breath at the humiliation of being scolded, “What should I even expect from an irresponsible woman who got knocked up before she was even an adult?”

“Don’t you dare talk about my wife or my son that way.”

Megumi looks up, tears in his eyes when Satoru strides in, his normally shining blue eyes dark with a fury that cannot be quelled. You can’t even feel the butterflies that went wild in your stomach when he accidentally referred to you as ‘his wife’ without so much as a stutter because you’re honestly this close to chewing the vile woman out. It didn’t matter if she insulted you, but if she does so much as insult and make your boy cry, you and Satoru will give the weasel a matching patch on her scalp where there should have been hair had you not ripped it out.

But now was not the time to prove her right.

People have always judged you and Satoru for being acting parents at such a young age, often giving you rude stares when you’re out and about doing the most menial of things like shopping at the supermarket or spending some time in the kōen, people found your current situation disgusting, borderline immoral, which is why you initially had trouble looking for an elementary school that would properly entertain you, Satoru and Megumi and not dismiss you three as a bunch of kids playing house.

“Satoru…” you rub your boyfriend’s arm soothingly.

“Babe, she insulted you and ‘Gumi,” Satoru whispers sadly. “I can’t just let her do that.”

All of a sudden, Megumi’s voice cuts through the tension in the room. “Daisuke was being mean. He ruined Hana-chan’s project and made her cry.” At that, the kid named Daisuke bites his lip, his skin turning pallid at the revelation. “And when I told him to apologize, he and Kaito…” Megumi whimpers, trailing off. He averts his gaze from your and Satoru’s, feeling guilty.

And right then and there, the story becomes even clearer when an unexpected witness comes to Megumi’s defense.

“Megumi-kun? We found your jacket, it’s not too damaged, but you may want to have your mama and papa wash it when you get home.” The school nurse walks in and hands you the ruined jacket, it had been cut all over but since it’s fleece, the damage isn’t too bad, not only that, it had crayon marks all over it and it smelled of the dumpster.

“…Daisuke and Kaito ruined my jacket and I punched him,” Megumi sniffles. “I’m sorry.” He wasn’t apologizing for punching Daisuke, that much you could tell, he was apologizing to you and Gojo for supposedly not taking care of the gift you two got him just last week.

The vile mother scoffs at your son’s apology. “Save your breath, you little liar—“

“—He wasn’t talking to you,” Satoru glares at the woman, effectively shutting her up. “Come on, we’re going home.” With that, Satoru, being careful with him given his sprained wrist, carries Megumi out the clinic. You offer the principal a polite nod, indicating that you’ll cooperate with any sanction she seems fit for Megumi, Kaito and Daisuke, before following Satoru and Megumi to the parking lot. A melancholic smile appears on your lips when you hear Satoru reassuring Megumi that you’ll just wash and mend the jacket once you get home to which, Megumi only buries his face in the crook of his father figure’s neck.

If there is one good thing that happened today, it’s the fact that you proved to yourself and to each other that, no one in this world is allowed to hurt or insult your family.

Satoru wakes up to an empty bed and he doesn’t pretend to wonder where you are. He stays like that for a full minute, simply staring at the ceiling while your side of the bed slowly loses its warmth. He knows you’re hurting, and he knows just how much this entire ordeal has taken from you. First, you had to deal with him being sealed in the Prison Realm, now this…

You really just couldn’t catch a break, could you?

Slowly, Satoru gets up and pads across the hallway, entering a painfully familiar room. The owner of the room has only since recently moved out, but for ten years, this room is one he normally frequented with you, whether it be on Christmas mornings to greet the little prince that occupied such a special place in your heart or on nights when the three of you just simply needed to hold each other, searching for comfort, while you slept.

The door creaks open and Satoru’s eyes well up with tears, his heart plagued by the same emotional turmoil that was haunting you day in and day out. “I just want our boy to come home…I want our son back,” you cried as you held the jacket Megumi had outgrown, the same one he wore almost everyday that winter when he first came to live with you and Satoru.

Instantly, Satoru sits next to you on Megumi’s bed, hushing your cries, kissing away each agonizing tear that slipped from the confines of your sorrowful orbs.

“He must be so scared,” you sniffled, picturing Megumi in the darkest crevices of Sukuna’s soul, trapped and alone. “I don’t even know if he’s alright, if he’s even slept at all or if he’s being tormented by Sukuna day in and day out. What if he’s in pain? What if he’s cold?” you sobbed into your husband’s chest, your cries growing more desperate with each hour Megumi isn’t home safe.

“Shh, shh…I know, sweetheart…I’ll get him back, I promise I’ll bring him home.”

Or he’ll die trying.

Somewhere in the void, Megumi Fushiguro is in a state of catatonic stasis. Is this what limbo feels like? He just wants to sleep, to give in and let Sukuna’s soul consume him.

It’s so cold…so…cold.

No! He can’t give up, more than his desire to tap out and just live and let die…he wants to go home where he belongs.

You and Satoru must be so worried about him and he was worried too, what if something had happened out there while he was here? What if…something happened to the two of you when he hasn’t even done a thing to thank you both for all the love you’ve given him throughout these years? So with his last inch of consciousness remaining, he spends it on a silent plea.

“Mom…dad…please come find me.”

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whytheylosttheirminds · 1 month

Text

I Remember Everything - Rafe Cameron (Chapter 3)

Summary: You left the island two years ago, leaving the love of your life a shattered man in your wake. Now, when you return, you find the sweet boy you once loved has transformed into a monster of a man. How can you detangle the real Rafe from the terrible things he's done?

Timeline: begins toward the end of obx season 3 and is mostly canon.

Content: this story contains sexual content, alcohol and drug abuse, and brief mentions of violence. All chapters are 18+, minors do not interact!

(Prologue and Ch. 1) // (Ch. 2)

“I like the lilac, but I just wonder if the lavender would’ve gone better with your complexion,” your mom said as she eyed you critically. You were standing on a pedestal in the middle of Sally’s Dress Shop, trying on the bridesmaids dress your mom had picked out for you to wear to her wedding. The dress was far too frilly and pastel for your taste, but if wearing it would please your mom and make this week move faster, it was worth it.

“I think this is fine, mom,” you were trying your hardest to keep your tone polite, determined to keep this outing from turning into a fight. After all, it was your mom’s wedding week, and despite all of the history between you, you really did want her to be happy.

By the time you had returned to the table last night, your mom had already paid the bill. The three of you drove home in silence, your mom giving you her patented silent treatment. This morning when you came downstairs dressed and ready for your fitting, she simply started talking about the flower arrangements for the reception, like the night before had never happened.

“I think you chose well,” you said before your mom could change her mind on the dress again. You’re lying through your teeth, you think this dress might be one of the worst choices she's ever made, but the satisfied smile on her face makes your discomfort worth it.

“Do a spin for me,” she asks for the tenth time today. When you roll your eyes she pouts and says, “please?”

You smile and twirl for her again, giggling when you nearly lose your footing and fall off the pedestal, grabbing your mom’s shoulder for support. Your mom laughed too, and you realized you couldn’t remember the last time the two of you laughed together. It was nice.

Rafe has been avoiding going downtown as much as possible these days, keeping his outings to the Island Club and having his friends come to him if they want to party. Even though his dad had officially taken the fall for everything, he knew people still whispered about him as he walked by. I heard he was there. I heard he did it. They say his fingerprints were on the bullets.

Today, however, he had a meeting with a potential buyer of some of the melted gold, a jeweler on main street. He slid on his sunglasses and locked his car, trying desperately to act like today was just business as usual, like he hadn’t just put a hit on his own father.

He walked quickly from his truck toward the jeweler’s store front, but stopped in his tracks as he passed Sally’s. There you were, behind the glass, spinning in a puffy purple dress, before nearly falling on your ass. He cursed himself for the way he flinched, as if he could reach out and catch you through the window. Why was it still his instinct to catch you?

Two Years Earlier…

“Rafe!” You squealed as he pulled you through the side door of the ballroom into the dimly lit alley. “They were playing my song!”

“That’s why I had to get you outta there,” he leans over you, backing you slowly up against the wall. “You looked way too fucking good dancing to that song.”

Rafe started rifling through the layers of your prom dress impatiently, trying to get his hands on you.

“What are you doing?” You playfully swatted his arm, thinking he must be teasing you.

“I need you,” he growled.

“Right here? In the middle of this gross alley?” You started to think he might not be kidding.

He finally gets his hands under the heavy fabric of your gown and begins kneading the flesh of your ass, making you gasp. His open mouth found yours, and you can immediately taste the alcohol on his tongue. You pull back from him and reach up to grab both sides of his face, hoping your touch would ground him a bit. He looked at you frenzied, his pupils shrinking to pinpoints.

“Baby, are you drunk already?” You said as gently as possible.

“Just on you, baby,” he slurred, attempting to dive back in for a kiss.

“Wait,” you turned your head, causing his mouth to miss yours and land sloppily on your ear.

“What the hell?” He backed away from you in frustration. His chest was rising and falling quickly, nostrils flaring, and you wondered if he was also high. He’d only done coke once before, as far as you knew, but you remembered how panicked he was after, his heart pounding violently as you tried to calm him down.

“It’s okay,” you assured him. “We just need to slow down a bit.”

You approached him with your hand outstretched, like he was a stray dog you were trying not to scare off. He didn’t look at you, but allowed you to slip your fingers into his, squeezing gently.

“I just wanna dance with you,” you whispered softly. Je just glared back at you, so you pouted your lips, knowing he found it irresistibly cute when you did that. He couldn’t hide the crooked smirk growing on his lips, and his breath steadied.

“We can party hard later,” you promised. “But I wanna remember this part, with you.”

He looked down at your hand in his and ran his thumb over the promise ring he had given you just a few weeks ago. You lifted his hand to your lips and kissed it softly.

As you swayed softly to the next slow song, he bent down and laid a kiss on your bare shoulder. For a moment, you thought you were successful in bringing him back down to Earth. You were full of pride, truly believing that you, and only you, would always be able to fix him when he was broken.

Now…

Rafe stood frozen at the dress shop window, just watching you. When you tucked your hair behind your ears, it was like he could still smell your pretty coconut shampoo. When you smoothed down your dress, it was like he could still feel your soft hands on his bare skin. When you said something to your mom, it was like he could still hear your voice whispering in his ear I will love you forever, Rafe Cameron.

But you hadn’t meant it, had you? You couldn’t have, or you would’ve stayed. And if you had stayed, maybe he wouldn’t be where he was now. Maybe he would’ve married you, taken you away from this island like the two of you used to dream about. Maybe he wouldn’t be a thief, a liar, a killer.

It was too late now, too late to undo it. Too late to get back to who he was before you left. But there was something about the sight of you, the presence of you, even through the tinted window glass, that made him want to try.

Decisively, he turned back toward his car, feverishly dialing Barry’s number. Praying to whatever God was good enough to create the girl in the window that it wasn’t too late.

Looking back at yourself in the mirror, you stopped short when you saw the reflection of a figure in the window. By the time you turned around, it was gone, and you were the one left wondering if you were imagining things.

Two Years Ago…

“Ma’am can you tell us what happened here tonight?” The cop questioned you.

Rafe looked up at you with pleading eyes. White button up stained with blood, eyes glassy and red. His suit jacket, the one you had picked out together to match your dress, had been ripped to shreds.

“I don’t know,” you said to the cop, not removing your disappointed eyes from Rafe, his bloodied face illuminated in the blue-red light of the sirens.

“We’re going to need you to give a statement, ma’am,” the officer clarified, “for the record.”

“For the record…” you shook your head at the boy on the curb, arms held behind him in handcuffs. Arms that used to hold you every night, arms you didn’t know if you could trust anymore, “...I don’t know him.”

With that, you walked away, the shattered glass from your car window crunching under your heels with each step. Rafe had no choice but to sit there and watch you go, aching with something completely unrelated to the accident.

“Y/N!” He yelled after you, unable to suppress the pain in his voice.

You just kept walking.

Now…

You woke up with a start, clutching your bedsheets. Sighing, you tapped your phone screen and it lit up in the darkness. 5:53am.

You weren’t surprised, you hadn’t gotten a full night’s sleep in two years. You knew how this would go, once your brain was awake there would be no turning it back off. You sighed and threw the covers off, your old childhood bed creaking loudly as you stood up. You winced at the noise, your mother was a light sleeper, a lesson you’d learned the hard way too many times.

You pulled on an old pair of leggings and a hoodie, and slowly crept down the stairs. Once out the door, you found your old bike in the shed in the backyard and rode off into the soft morning light. No clear destination in mind, you rode around the neighborhood, down to the beach. You watched the waves crash as you passed them. It had been two years since you’d seen the ocean, and you had nearly succeeded in convincing yourself you were okay with that. But now, the sun rising over the sea, salty air consuming your senses, all the hard work you did to delude yourself unraveled.

Without really meaning to, you ended up at the cemetery. You parked your bike and let your memory lead you right to your dad’s plot.

His grave clearly hadn’t seen visitors in a while. You made a weak effort to brush the dirt off of his headstone, before smiling and choosing to leave it as is. “God made dirt, dirt don’t hurt” your dad would’ve said.

For a while you just sat there, fingers combing through the grass as you listened to the birds chirp loudly in the trees above.

“That ever get annoying?” You asked your dad in jest. You smile to yourself, knowing your dad wouldn’t have minded. He was too easy going, the calm current that kept you and your mom afloat. Suddenly hit with a pang of longing to see your father again, you wished that you had something to leave here for him. You noticed a grave a few plots over, completely covered in fresh blooming flowers.

“Somebody was popular,” you say to your dad’s headstone. “I’m sure they won’t miss one flower right?”

You stand and approach the grave, wondering who it was that inspired such an outpouring of love.

“Sheriff Susan Peterkin” 1977-2020

You frowned. She must’ve died recently, then. Strange that your mom hadn’t said anything, surely Chip had known her, being on the force. You remembered Peterkin, she came to your school every year when you were growing up. Back then, she was just a beat cop who pulled the short straw and had to give the anti-bullying presentation, but you remember her being very nice.

You plucked a tulip from one of her many bouquets and felt like you should say something.

“Um, hi. I don’t know if you knew my dad, but I think you would’ve liked him. I’m sorry for whatever happened, but thanks for always being so cool.”

As you walked away from her grave, you noticed another newly dug plot a few yards away. The plot was small, if something was buried here, it wasn’t a body. Still, there was a small plaque over the fresh dirt. You approached, having to get pretty close before you could make out the name…

“Ward Cameron.”

Your knees buckled beneath you, the tulip you were holding slipping from your grasp. This grave couldn’t have been here for more than what, a few weeks? The grass had barely begun to grow. Maybe your mom could have just forgotten to tell you about Sheriff Peterkin, but surely the very recent death of Ward Cameron hadn’t just slipped her mind. Clearly, something bigger was going on.

And Rafe…Rafe.

You regained your footing and started running, past Sheriff Peterkin’s grave, past your father’s, blowing him a quick kiss.

You found your bike and started pedaling as fast as you could. Not even pausing to think through what you’d say when you got there, just knowing you needed to see him, to be with him. Suddenly, it made more sense. He was grieving. Their relationship was complicated, but even when he was pissed at him, Rafe still worshiped his father.

You pulled up to Tannyhill, but the gate was closed. You tried some of the gate codes you remembered the Camerons used to rotate through, but none of them worked. After your fifth attempt, the system locked you out. You rang the bell, not sure if he would even let you in when he realized it was you, but you had to try. No answer, he must not have been home.

You sat by the wall for a few hours, waiting for him to get home. Eventually, your stomach ached with hunger, and you really had to pee. You decided to go home, collect yourself, and come back later.

By the time you arrived home on your bike, it was almost noon. Chip was just walking in the front door, home from work. He had been pulling double overnight shifts to pay for the wedding and he looked exhausted. Luckily for both of you, the wedding was just a few days away now, and all of this would be behind you soon.

When you walked in the living room, he was mid-conversation with your mother, who quickly shushed him at the sight of you. He looked at her in confusion, clearly not reading the silent message she was trying to send with her eyes.

“What’s going on?” You asked, feeling just as lost as Chip.

“Just telling your mom how we brought in that Cameron boy again last night-” your mother cut him off with a harsh, “Chip!” and he threw his hands up in surrender.

You and your mother looked at each other for a long moment, saying nothing, and at the same time, everything.

“Don’t,” she pleaded quietly.

You turned fast and ran toward the door, grabbing her car keys and your purse off the dining room table as you passed.

“Y/N, do not do this,” your mom was up from the couch, running after you as you headed for the front door. “Tonight is my bachelorette party and tomorrow we have the rehearsal!”

“I’ll be back in time, I just have to-”

“No you don’t! You don’t have to!” She yelled, trying to grab the handle of the door before you could get to it, but you beat her to it and threw open the door.

“I’m sorry,” you called behind you as you ran to her car in the driveway. “I’ll be back soon.”

“Don’t bother,” she yelled from the front steps.

You stopped in your tracks, hands pausing on the handle of her car door as you whipped your head towards her in surprise.

“If you leave right now,” she said, eerily composed, “If you go to him, I don’t want you at my wedding. If you do this, y/n…I don’t ever want to see you again”

Your mother had said many harsh words to you in moments of frustration that she tried to take back later, but the way she was talking to you now, her tone so even and her words so carefully selected, you wondered if she’d practiced this speech. Then it dawned on you, she knew you would do this. She knew if you found out about Ward, that you’d run to Rafe’s side. And she was fully prepared to cut you out.

You opened the car door and got in, not looking back at your mom as you peeled out of the driveway.

Twelve Years Earlier…

“No, Rafe,” you scolded, hands on your hips. “You’re the cop, and I’m the robber!”

“Well too bad. I wanna be a robber, too,” he said, taking off the plastic sherriff's badge you had given him and throwing it in the playground dirt.

“We can’t both be robbers, that doesn’t make any sense,” you told him.

The rules of make-believe were very clear, and you’d always been a rule follower. That is, until you started spending your recesses playing with Rafe Cameron. He was always in trouble.

“Sure we can, we’ll be like Bonnie and Clyde!” He encouraged, handing you his plastic toy gun.

“Bonnie and Clyde,” you agreed with a smile, taking the gun.

Suddenly, you didn’t care so much about breaking the rules. Not if it meant you got to keep playing with him.

(chapter 4)

a/n: y'all are blowing me away with all your kindness about this story!! I hope you keep loving it!!! Lots more to come (including some smut if you're patient🤫) 🫶

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