#it’s gonna be hell doing the gun metal

[hotrodpixkup]

[avocado-writing]

Hi Avo! Could you please consider writing a protective poly logan and wade x reader? Maybe something happens they weren’t there but when they show up deadpool is distracting/comforting the reader and logan is going ham on the enemy. ploy or separate is up to you!

Just a thought! Enjoying your work as always! ✨anon

deadpool: look how I spell it “grey” because the writer is english! Crazy logan: what?

It’s Logan who sweeps you up. You know it is, because he’s a solid wall of a man under your hands where you’ve buried into him. His chest is warm and reassuring; you focus on it, trying to ground yourself even though you can taste your pulse thrumming in terror.

“It’s okay, baby. We’ve got you,” he mutters under his breath, a growl in your ear, a tender little secret of his softness shared between the two of you. 

It had all been so sudden. You’d been taking the shortcut home after going shopping for tonight’s dinner when you’d felt someone grab you. Tomatoes had rolled across the ground, cans denting loudly as they fell, and you’d been dragged towards the back of the van as your captors loudly discussed if they had the right person. They said something about you fucking two mutants, and the bile with which they had spat it chilled you. 

You’d been certain you were going to die. Cold fear flooded you, your eyes squeezed closed tight. Please, don’t let Logan and Wade find my body. They won’t be able to take it. If these guys are gonna kill me, let me just disappear. 

Then again, that was before the claws came through the metal of the roof and all hell had broken loose. Guns went off and you screamed, unsure if they were Wade’s or not - but strong arms had picked you up and hauled you to safety. 

You feel yourself being passed to someone else, Logan pushing you into Wade’s grip and giving him strict instructions to look after you, then he’s gone. The sounds of violence continue and, without thinking, you turn to look. 

“Oh, no, honey, you don't need to see that. That’s just… plain disgusting,” says Wade, grimacing, “even looking at this mess is better than seeing what Peanut’s doing to those guys.”

Upon the word ‘mess’, he gestures to himself. Despite your heart hammering against your ribs, you reach up to press your hand against his cheek. 

“Don’t talk about yourself like that, Wade. You came to save me.”

A flit of confusion crosses his face, knocking his usual bravado. 

“You thought we’d just let them bundle you into their ‘not allowed within five hundred feet of schools’ van and disappear? Give us some credit. We’re not white knights, but we’re at least, y’know, morally grey knights.”

He says this to make you laugh, and it works. You’re distracted as the sounds of screams literally die out and Logan stalks back over. You see him removing his jacket to hide the blood on it from you. It’s still spread across his knuckles, though, a masterpiece of the revenge he just enacted. 

“Don’t worry about them. They won’t be bothering you again,” he says with an air of finality. His hand raises to cup your face, so gentle with you, such a contrast to moments before. His voice is laced with a tenderness when he asks, “you doing okay?”

You nod. Yeah. With them here, you are doing okay. 

“Thanks,” you manage, shakily, adrenaline leaving your body to give way to fat, rolling tears of relief. Not missing a beat, Wade looks Logan up and down. 

“Hey, there’s still some viscera on your shirt, Peanut. Maybe you should take that off, too?”

“Watch it, bub,” he growls, but you can tell his heart isn’t really in it. They’re both just thankful that you’re safe. 

Your heroes, both of them. Morally grey or otherwise.

[amyispxnk]

Grease and sweat

Summary - Another day, another venture out of the walls of the Boston QZ with Joel Miller. AKA, another day spent fantasizing about the burly man whom you spend most of your time with these days. When the two of you have to hole up for the night, things get a little heated, and you finally snap.

A/N: i started this oneshot like 6 months ago and finally found some random motivation today to finish it. and im not gonna spoil anything but like.. why has noone talked about this in a fic before? im literally salivating when he does this during the game and like.. yeah. idk. you’ll see.

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Word count: 3.5k

Warnings: SMUT!! (oral f!receiving, unprotected PiV sex - don’t do this, especially during an apocalypse!, mentions of masturbation, lewd thoughts), language, age gap (roughly 15 years), firearms, pet names, fluff, aftercare

DO NOT COPY THIS FIC IN ANY WAY PLS AND TY.

“The fuck’re you lookin’ at, kid?” Joel practically spat, having noticed the way you were eyeing him whilst he worked.

You scoffed, walking up to the workbench he was currently using. Kid. You weren’t a kid. Sure, you were almost 15 years younger than him, but you certainly weren’t a kid.

“I’m 34, Joel. Not a kid.” You argued, leaning on the wall and watching him work.

He just grunted in response before resuming what he was doing before, starting with cleaning his pistol.

His fingers danced along the metal, digging into certain bits with the old rag he used to get any grime out, before he used the screwdriver to make a few adjustments to the handgun.

You never really understood how to do all the fancy things he did with his weapons, and you probably should considering how intently you watched him whenever the pair of you came across one of these old benches - but you couldn’t focus on the guns which were in his hands. His big, strong, rough hands. You’d trade places with those guns just to feel his hands on you like that. He took so much care of the damn things too, like they were the most precious things in his life. Always cleaning and repairing them like this, practically never letting you touch them.. What did those guns have that you didn’t? You thought to yourself as you watched him, gaze drifting to his fingers in particular. The ones you’d dreamt about far too many times, the ones you’d imagined inside of yourself rather than your own when you touched yourself. It was the way they moved, how thick they were, and how the veins in his hands and muscles flexed when he gripped his bow, and the way his arms would shine with his sweat as he worked. You’d lick the sweat off his body if he asked you to. Depraved as it sounds.

Not that you’d ever admit it.

Your absolutely maddening desire for and sickening crush on the man whom you knew close to nothing about. Just his name and a few things he revealed to you when the night was particularly long or the whisky he was having took a toll on his judgement, loosening him up for once. You knew where he was from, what his job was before, and you knew that he was basically just a grumpy old asshole who was only good for beating up guys when you went on supply runs.

He had never been overly kind to you, not that you needed it, had never asked you any questions, didn’t make small talk, and was a ruthless murderer.

You loved every single thing about him.

And you wanted to show him. You wanted him to love you back, no matter how he’d love you. You wouldn’t mind if he was a cold lover, a mean one - hell, he almost definitely was - you’d take him any way you could get him.

You looked back at his hands once more, subconsciously pulling your bottom lip between your teeth when he had to use his ring and middle fingers to clean out part of another gun, your thighs clenching together as you felt the all-too-familiar wetness start to form between them and making you groan when you realised you’d probably have to rub one out when you got back later. It was honestly annoying the amount of times you came by your own hand, his name on your lips, because you knew how much better it would feel if it was his thick fingers pushing into you, his big hands palming your breasts, his strong arms holding you down as he made you come over and over…

“Let’s get goin’.” He says suddenly, breaking you out of your thoughts as he tucks his gun away and slings his backpack on.

You push yourself off of the wall and follow him quickly, trying not to look flustered although you very much felt it.

He came to an abrupt stop when you reached your normal exit from this little pitstop en route to the guys who gave you weapons, and you almost walked face-first into his back.

“Joel? Wha-” you began, but he cut you off.

“This shouldn’t be closed.” He murmurs, like he’s talking to himself, not allowing you any time to respond before he’s going over to pull the chain which should open the garage door.

It doesn’t.

No matter how much he pulls on the metal, grunting and groaning and making your eyes flutter shut whilst you force your needy whimpers down with the noises he’s making, it barely opens, slamming shut every time he gets close to getting it open a quarter of the way.

“Fuck.” He grits, giving up and slamming his hand against the thing. It would be no use trying with that door anymore, the noise it was making was getting too loud anyway.

He stands there, clearly thinking hard about what to do. You can’t turn back because that would just lead you straight back to the QZ, which was useless to you right now, but you don’t have any other secured ways to get to your vendors - how could he have been so stupid to not plan ahead, he ridicules himself silently.

“Joel? What’s the plan?” You ask, getting slightly impatient with his constant silence. He may have been this hot brooding older man, but he could really leave you in the dark sometimes like this.

“Will you let me think, goddamnit?” He responds, clearly annoyed with your current predicament, scratching at his jaw before looking back up at you.

“Could try that window.” You suggest quietly, looking upwards. It was high and small, but you’d be able to get through it if he gave you a boost up.

He gave you a small nod before you both made your way up there and he got into position, hands outstretched and placed together as you got on and pushed yourself up. Normally, whenever he did this, you’d feel all dizzy afterwards from the proximity and his touch - but as soon as you looked out the window you were horrified. There were infected, just past the jammed door - and a whole lot of them. You weren’t getting past that. Forget the deal, you’d come back another day.

“Joel.” You say, not even realising you were whispering. He doesn’t answer.

“Joel! Joel, get me down.” You whisper-shout, and he furrows his brows.

“Why? What’s the matter?” He asks, and you have to fight against the urge to roll your eyes.

“Just get me down.” You say through clenched teeth, taking another look outside the window before he carefully lowers you. Of course, he boosts you up regularly, but he rarely ever tries to get you back down, so you stumble a bit and end up with your face against his chest as he falls back onto the wall slightly.

“Jesus, woman!” He grunts, but you don’t even try to move, you just look up at him with those fucking doe eyes of yours and it takes everything in him to not groan at the sight of you. God knows how many times he’s imagined you looking up at him whilst you sucked his cock, knelt on the floor with tears in your eyes and your hair all messy for him with your big eyes staring into his.

You open your mouth to speak, before realising the position you’re in and quickly standing up.

“I- there were infected outside, Joel.” You explain after a moment.

“So?” He questions you, squinting in confusion slightly. You’ve taken down infected before, no problem. What’s the issue today?

“No, like- I swear it looked like there were a hundred of them. Just this big fucking horde, right outside the garage door.” You gestured back towards the exit.

He clenched his jaw. Yeah, okay, you could take down some infected, not a hundred.

“Y’sure?”

“I’m fucking sure, Joel!” You almost yelled, way too many emotions going on in your body for you to act normal right now.

“Alright, alright, calm down.” He looked back outside. It was almost dark, there was no way you could get back to Boston in time now. It just wasn’t safe to go that far so late, and there was no point since you’d have to sneak by all the guards - who hopefully wouldn’t notice if you were gone for one night - to get back in.

“Go check all the doors, lock ‘em and then barricade ‘em. We’re gonna have to hold up here for tonight, then go back at dawn.” He decides, and you gape at him like a fish.

“We’re staying here?! Joel, what about curfew and the- the fucking infected right outside-” you start, but he silences you once again.

“We’re gonna be fine. When have things ever gone wrong for us since you started comin’ out with me?” He questions sternly, and you ponder it.

Never, really. He always saved you, and you’d save him when he needed it - even though it was only a handful of times he did.

“‘Kay, fine. Whatever.” You mumble stubbornly before turning round to go secure the doors leading to the small mechanic store you’d be staying in.

He looks around himself for any openings and closes them up before you both end up back in the main room.

It’s mostly silent as you look around at different things, poking at the ruined cars and whatnot whilst he sits on a crate and watches you as discreetly as possible.

“I have a question.” You say, turning to face him and making him snap his head away from you before you notice he was looking at you already.

He grunts to tell you to continue speaking, looking back at you when you do.

“Could you like.. show me how to fix up my guns and stuff? ‘Cause you always do it for me and I just thought it was.. Cool.” you murmur, trailing off at the end.

He actually lets out a small laugh at that. Not in a mean way, necessarily, just kind of teasingly.

“Cool?” He repeats with raised eyebrows.

“Yeah, cool. It just- with all the attachments and shit. And I can never clean them properly.” You sigh, walking up closer to him. “Please? We’ve got nothing else to do.”

The sound of you saying please for him in that small voice wins him over. “Fine.” He gets up off the crate, walking back over to the workbench and flicking the light on before taking your gun from you. He talks you through it, shows you a little how to clean it before letting you try it yourself, and then he shows you how to add a scope to it. You can’t quite grasp it though, not being strong and precise enough to attach it properly, so he places his hands on top of yours and helps you screw it on.

The contact makes you shudder so violently that he definitely felt it, and you want to crumple into the ground.

“What was that for?” He murmurs, and you almost jump at how close he is now, voice loud and breath hot on the side of your face as he leans over your shoulder to look at the gun whilst he tries to help you.

“No-nothing.” You squeak, breathing at least ten times faster now.

He feels it. He knows. He has to know, you’d been so stupid and revealed it all now. Joel Miller was not an idiot and he knew how you felt and he’d hate you for it. Your thoughts spiralled.

“Nothin’, huh?” He taunts, a smirk pulling at his lips as he watches you slowly crumble. To make it worse, he turns you in his hold, so you’re pinned with your back to the desk and his hands on either side of you.

“Y’alright, darlin’? You look awfully hot. Don’t got a fever or nothin’?” He mumbles, seeing how far he can push you as he leans in closer.

“I-I’m fine.” You say quietly, mesmerised by the sight of his face so close as you notice little details you’d never noticed before, barely even realising his lips are so close to your own until he’s pressing them to yours.

You make a slight noise of surprise before you get lost in it. The feeling of his lips against yours was something you’d dreamed about for so long, and now it was finally happening.

Your hands come up and around his neck, pulling him closer towards you as he deepens the kiss, forcing his tongue inside your mouth and overpowering you immediately as he pushes you back onto the workbench, sitting you on top of it and already working open the buttons of your jeans.

He kisses you one more time before getting to his knees and pulling your pants completely off, eyeing your panties, a dark patch in the middle of them from your growing arousal.

“Joel, please.” You whimper from above him as his hands run up your legs, coming to your inner thighs before toying with the elastic of your panties.

“Y’need me here, darlin’?” He asks, smirking up at you as his fingers move to rub slow circles into your clit through the fabric.

“Fuck!” You gasp at the contact, needy and desperate for him by this point. “Yes, please- please Joel.” You’re reduced to begging already, something you figure only he had the power to make you do.

He shushes you gently, fingers slowly peeling your panties down and groaning at the sight of your bare cunt, dripping and pulsing with need.

“Fuck, baby. Such a pretty pussy, so fuckin’ wet. This all for me?” He hums, dragging a finger up and down your slit, gathering your wetness on it and sucking it into his mouth as he looks up at you.

You whine at the sight of him between your legs like this, not knowing how you’re going to survive when he actually makes contact with you, and nod furiously.

“Yes, oh my god. Yes, it’s all for you Joel.” You say quickly, and he seems satisfied with that answer, finally moving his face to your core and making you squirm as his hot breath fans over your pussy.

“Stop fuckin’ movin’.” He murmurs, seemingly enraptured by the sight of you, staring for a few seconds and making you want to shift away again under his intense gaze, but he has an arm on you to make sure you don’t move.

And then he finally, finally, licks a long stripe up your pussy, tongue running along your wet folds. And you fucking lose it.

“Oh my god, Joel, please. Fuck- fuck, please, more-” you start begging, moaning loudly as he picks up the pace and continues to devour you, drinking down your wetness, and eventually kissing and sucking at your clit. His fingers, those thick gorgeous fingers you’d dreamed of for so long, tease your entrance before he’s pushing those inside, making you wail at the feeling of something inside of you, getting you closer to that release you were aching for by this point.

“Fuck, yes!” You cry out, thighs shaking slightly as you feel yourself getting close.

“That’s right, baby. You like that?” He asks, voice an octave lower as he pumps his fingers in and out of your tight heat, tongue still working you over relentlessly.

“Please- it feels so good-” you whine in response, fingers grasping for something to hold onto, to tether yourself to earth with as you feel yourself start to float away. Finding his hair and tugging slightly which makes him groan.

“Good girl.” He praises, adding another finger. He curls his fingers, searching for your g-spot and finding it easily.

You moan weakly at the praise, hips bucking as you grind yourself against his mouth, the ridge of his nose stimulating your clit perfectly as your fingers pull at his hair, and before you know it, you’re coming with a hoarse scream of his name.

You see white as your thighs quiver around his head, tensing and squeezing slightly as he continues to work you through it, lapping at your juices until you cry out from the overstimulation.

He removes his fingers from your hole, licking them clean once more before standing up and removing his own clothes, revealing his hard cock and making your eyes widen slightly.

Of course he was big, you’d stared at the bulge of his jeans enough times to realise that, and you’d imagined it before, but it all paled in comparison to finally seeing it.

He was long, slightly curved, girthy with a flushed red tip which had precome leaking out of it as he pumped himself slowly with a smirk on his face.

“Cat got your tongue, pretty girl?” He hums teasingly, and you can’t even think straight anymore, just pulling him forward and kissing him hungrily as he positioned his cock at your slick entrance.

Needy little whines and whimpers flowed freely from your mouth straight into his, where he swallowed them whole before starting to push into you.

You part from the kiss suddenly, gasping as he pushes deeper and deeper, stretching you thoroughly, and you feel grateful that he has the decency to start off slow since you already feel like crying from how big he is, how fucking good it feels.

When he bottoms out, you’re already wrecked. He’s huge inside of you, and you can feel everything. Every single ridge, vein, and twitch of his pulsing cock as your walls hug him tightly.

“Y’okay?” He murmurs softly, making your heart swell at how tender he sounds right now, and you nod in response.

“Joel.. please move.” You whisper, and he complies, grabbing your hips and barely giving you a moment to think before he’s starting to pound into you, making you squeal as your arms came around his neck, nails digging into his back before his head ducks down into the crook of your neck, kissing and sucking at your pulse point and making you clench harder around him, before moving down to your breasts, palming them and taking one of your nipples into his mouth as you scream his name.

“Joel! I’m gonna- gonna come- oh god, please!” You cry out, back arching. He growls, picking up the pace. He could feel his orgasm building, but he needed you to come first, needed to feel your tight walls clenching and gushing around him before he even considered his own pleasure.

“Come on, baby. Give me one more and I’ll fill you up. Fuck this little cunt full of me.. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” He says, voice low and husky as his balls slap against your ass, the loud sound of your wetness filling the room as you start to tremble once more.

“Yes! Fuck, Joel. Need it so bad. Want your come inside of me. Please, Joel.” You gasp, making him groan as his fingers move down to rub at your clit.

“Come for me, baby.” He encourages, speeding up even more and hitting that spot inside of you that makes you see stars, making you scream as you come and dissolve into a shaking, whimpering mess whilst he continues to thrust into you.

“That’s it, darlin’. Come all over my cock.” He grunts, his own release approaching quickly. The sounds of your moans and cries are enough to set him off, barely thrusting a few more times before stilling and filling you with his hot seed, slowly fucking it even deeper inside of you before pulling out and looking at you.

Skin flushed, panting heavily, come leaking down your thighs. You looked perfect. He wished that cameras were still around so he could take a picture of how you looked right now, keep it in his pocket wherever he went. But he couldn’t, and he realised you probably needed cleaning up now as your hazy eyes blinked open and looked at him. You were quiet, thinking about what this meant for the two of you now. Would he go back to being the cold man you knew? Would he be even colder? Would he suddenly be attentive and caring towards you?

You supposed you got your answer when he gently cupped your face, thumb stroking your cheek as he looked at you with something scarily close to love in his eyes, the gaze he’d somehow managed to conceal from you all these months which he could now finally show you.

“You okay?” He murmurs, and you nod weakly in response. He hums, giving you another small kiss before walking off to go get a rag to clean you up with.

“Hold on, let me just..” he mumbles to himself as he goes to try clean off any dust from the rag, before returning to between your thighs and cleaning away any evidence of your previous activities, tossing the rag somewhere and handing you your clothes. You get dressed quietly before he takes your hand and leads you over to a space on the floor where you set up your sleeping bags, putting them as close together as possible until he eventually just lets you tuck yourself into his, wrapping his strong arms around you from behind and falling asleep.

You listen to his soft snores, feel his calloused hands on your stomach where they snaked under your shirt before he fell asleep, and smile to yourself softly before falling asleep with him.

Thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed! Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated and my requests are open 💞

[manheimsmuse]

Hello! I saw your requests were open so I was wondering if you could write a Spencer Reid x Reader fic based off “prison for life” by Olivia Rodrigo. Spencer has always been in the protector role so i believe it would fit him, please and thank you

PRISON FOR LIFE ; spencer reid

i know i can protect myself, but when you do it for me it’s hot as hell . . .

a/n: your brain is huge this song is so spencer coded

warnings: spencer reid x fem!bau!reader, unsub / case entirely made up to avoid spoilers, protective!spencer, established relationship, secret relationship, mentions of guns, violence, blood, criminal minds in general

a team. the worst kind of conclusion to draw when you’re narrowing in on an unsub, or two in this case. two family annihilators that would stalk and learn the routines of their victims, the kills were usually quick and ruthless, in and out in a matter of minutes.

only this time, your team had gotten there right in time. derek dragged one unsub out the door while the other bolted down the stairs towards the basement. without thinking, you’re sprinting after him, unknowingly running straight into a trap.

you trip the moment you barrel through the door, flying head first down the flight of stairs and landing on the hard concrete with a hard thud.

dizzily, you get to your feet, clumsily reaching for your gun only to realise you dropped it on your way down. it’s dark, you’re disoriented, and most terrifyingly, you’re not alone down here.

a fact you’re abruptly reminded of when a cord is wrapped around your throat, pulling your back flush against the chest of the unsub you were hunting. the initial panic urges you to scramble, but your training kicks in and you manage the lodge your elbow right into his ribs making him drop the cable.

the same elbow connects with his jaw with a satisfying crack but he’s not going easily, using the hair at the back of your head as leverage to bash your head against a dust old desk.

the struggle goes on for what feels like hours, and you’re giving as good as you’re getting. with a successful knee to his groin you send the unsub tumbling to the ground, and right as he’s about to lunge at you a metallic click sounds from behind where you stand.

“one more step and i’ll empty my clip”

spencer reid, your favourite coworker who also happens to be your long time boyfriend, has his gun pointed at the unsub with one hand as the other reaches out to pull you behind him protectively.

in a matter of seconds tara is cuffing the dirtbag before you and hauling him up the stairs with the help of jj, leaving you and spencer in the dusty basement.

“I had it under control.”

“It was no problem, darling, honestly, no need to thank me” spencer teases, holstering his gun and taking your face in his hands to fully examine the extent of your injuries “you really think i was just gonna ignore the fact you ran after a killer and didn’t come back within sixty seconds?”

“i’m not some damsel in distress” you groan, letting him examine your face with no resistance “i can protect myself”

“i know.” spencer nods, using his thumb to swipe the blood away from your bottom lip “it’s not gonna stop me protecting you, though. sorry”

he can see through your faux annoyance. spencer knows just as much as you do that you like having him as your protector, it’s ‘his job’ as he put it.

though, his protectiveness has made hiding your relationship that bit trickier.

everyone on the team would take a bullet for each other, there was no doubt about it, but people hotch were beginning to notice that spencer often went above and beyond when it came to your safety.

like when the bau were being targeted, he never left your side, if you were sent to interview a suspect reid was right there with you. even if a joke was made at your expense, it wouldn’t be entertained by spencer.

sometimes you could pass it off as it being because you were a woman, because even though all the women on the team were more than capable, the men on the team had a fierce protective streak for them whether or not they knew.

“you’re so annoying..” you grumble, fighting a small smile.

“mhm” spencer chuckles, pressing a quick, light kiss to your head “i love you too, darling”

“oh!”

a squeak from tara has both of you whipping your heads in her direction, frozen in the mixture of fear and embarrassment that you’d just been caught out.

“well,” tara clears her throat and makes a poor attempt at concealing a grin “we’re all done here when you two are ready.”

[igotanidea]

Somebody's watching me : AK!Jason x reader

Request: AK! jason hears y/n’s name from his opponent and just goes nuts like he goes home looking for her.

A/N : the requests is a little twisted, as usual, but I hope you'll still like it anon :D

***

It was gone.

His old life was gone.

And with it, everyone he knew before.

All that was left was revenge, hate, rage. And this unstoppable need for killing someone, destroy something, wreck havoc on every single person who did him any wrong.

Bruce.

Fucking Batman.

He was the Arkham Knight now.

Nothing more, nothing less.

Focused on building his position so that no one, no fucking one, would ever hold any power over him.

And if that meant keeping tabs on everyone under his watchful gaze so be it.

And if that meant putting some pressure on everyone who dared to do as much as step a toe over the line, so be it.

And disturbances?

Defnitely not something he was about to allow.

And now he was holding a gun to one of his goons head.

"What did you do?" he hissed, his voice distorted by the helmet

"Sir, I --"

"What did you do?" Jason repeated pressing the metal more into man's head.

"I-- I disobeyed--"

"You disobeyed. And do you know what happens to people who disobey me?"

"Sir, please this is--"

Jason shot in the air and the man almost fell to his feet.

"It was-"

"I'm not going to give a warning shot again"

"I was-"

"I'm gonna count to three now. One."

"There's this girl."

"Two."

"Her name is Y/N."

"thr-- what?"

"She is very distant family, but --"

"Shut up!" Jason yelled, his face twisted with rage, not that anyone could see his expression hidden under the metal. "Shut the fuck up you hear me!" it took him two steps to be in front of the man, yanking him up by the collar and pinning to the wall with brutal force, half-chocking him "you ever do as much as think her name again and I'll kill you and put your head on a stick as a warning to anyone who dare have a thought of himself. YOU HEAR ME!?"

"y-ye-yes..."

"now get the fuck out of here!" the man was violently thrown on the floor, getting up as fast as he could and rushing out the door. It was truly a miracle he lived to tell the tale, cause Arkham Knight was not known for his leniency.

But Y/N.

Someone from his past.

More than someone.

A girl, a woman, he was once in love with.

A woman, whose name he forgot in the pursuit after Batman.

Or rather - tried to forget.

She was the only one who ever got him. The only one to accept him fully, with all his flaws.

His Y/N.

His Y/N who betrayed him just like anyone else. Who forgot him. Who moved on without giving as much as a single thought to him when he was lost. Who was never looking for him.

His Y/N.

It;s been years since he heard anyone mention her. Years since he swore to never get manipulated again.

And then.

Just a few letters mixed together. Just a few sounds.

And she was right behind his eyes, just like he remembered her. Because even his dark side refused to let go of the rememberance of their time together.

Her laugh. Her smile. Her eyes and freckles from the sun, as fleeting as the summer days they were spending together. Her calmness, care and tenderness when she was patching up his woudns, tiredlessly putting on bandaids and stitches.

Fuck!

He didn't need that.

Just another phase of brainwashing. If not from his capturers than from his own men.

Hell no.

He was going to say no to the past life once and for all.

Hunting her down, wherever she may be.

See her for the last time.

Pour hatred in his heart, destroying all the remaining piece of useless softness and caring he carried in his soul.

Burn the last link connecting him to the past down.

***

She was spending the night in her old apartment. Sitting by the same desk, with the same lamp, in the same posture she ever did.

One leg half bent and folded under her ass, the other hanging loose in the air.

"You're going to end up with numbness..." he muttered to himself, watching her from the opposite rooftop.

Obviously she couldn;t hear him, but something made her raise her head and look outside the window while simultaniously changing the position.

Jason smiled despite himself.

His heart skipped a beat and sudden warmth spread in his chest.

Only for a second though, since he rememembered why he was here in the first place.

Look at her.

So fucking good.

So fucking calm and happy, while he-

fuck!

traitorous bitch.

Maybe it was her plan from the very beggining. Conspiring with Batman only to get rid of him, so they could both be free of the burdening presence of a man once known as Jason Todd.

Y/N...

Regardless of how sweet her name may have tasted on his tongue he would rather cut it off than fall down that rabit hole again.

He was cold as ice. Brutal. Cruel. Ruthless.

And it was not going to change because he saw her.

Not in the million years.

She was the reason of his fallout. She should have stopped him from going on that stupid mission. She should have made him stay, showed him she cared enough to keep him grounded.

It was all her fault that that after being captured all he could think about was how she was going to survive without him. How her heart would break into million pieces, instead of figuring out a way to free himself.

It was all her fault that he became the Arkham Knight. Cause inhumanity was equal with survival. And survival meant living. And living meant keeping his legacy.

So yes, he hated her.

He hated her, because every single thing he did and every little thing done to him was because and thanks to her.

She was the reason of him getting on top, but also the person responsible for his failure as a person.

She was nothing.

She was everything.

And for the first time since capturing, torturing and tranformation Jason felt conflicted.

Y/N...

His Y/N...

Not his anymore...

***

When some force made her stand up and come to window all she saw was a blink of metal on the rooftop. And since she spend half of her life with vigilantes, it was easy to realise that this must have been one of them.

But the silhouette of a running man couldn;t have been Dick nor Tim nor any other hero she would recognise.

And despite herself, she felt a shiver running down her spine.

Someone was watching her.

[mcumorningstar]

begging for more riff x reader smut 🫣 I’d love if they were in a heated argument over riff buying a gun and riff says something disrespectful to reader making her slap him and then they just immediately go at it from the heat of the moment

Bang Bang

pairing: riff (wss) x reader

warnings: 18+ minors dni, kinda toxic but kinda cute, unprotected p in v (wrap it!!), riff’s got a gun, (I think that’s everything)

a/n: sorry this took so long I was on vacation. I’ve never done a request before!! Thanks for submitting :) This was more like I don’t wanna lose you sex than heat of the moment but hopefully this is okay!!

Sinking into Riff’s lap was the perfect remedy to a bad day. His arms wrapped around you and pulled you closer, your pelvis pressed to his.

Usually you would be reduced to a puddle of contentment but the hard press and sharp sting of metal pushed against your lower stomach.

Pulling back, you scrutinise Riff for a moment before tugging up his shirt. A small revolver was nestled in the waistband of his jeans.

“Like Billy the Kid, don’t ya think?” Riff smirked up at you, pretending to shoot bullets from his fingers.

God, it was easy to forget, because of his troubles, but Riff was so young.

“Get rid of it,” You stared at the weapon with wide eyes, “I’m not playing around, Riff. You’re gonna get yourself killed.”

“Born to die young, baby-o,” A wide grin plastered across Riff’s cheeks, smug and teasing. He squeezed your hips but you weren’t impressed.

“You gonna be laughing when you’re on a slab in the morgue?” You tried to stand, wanting some distance between.

“Don’t think like that,” He attempted to calm your nerves and refused to let you move away, pulling you closer.

A manicured nail jabbed into his chest, “Because I sure as hell won’t. I don’t wanna be a widow before I’m a wife.”

Riff sighed, his thumb rubbing against the empty space on your ring finger. An empty space waiting for a promised ring.

“They always bring heat. We gotta be ready,” He reasoned with you but your blood boiled as he removed the gun and examined it.

You scoffed, “This shit is so stupid, Riff!” You shoved his chest and rose from his lap, storming into the bedroom.

Riff followed you with a heavy sigh and heavy footsteps. He stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame.

“You expect me to go in there with nothing but the clothes on my back?”

“What I expect you to do is use your brain! Your daddy was in the exact same position as these Puerto Ricans you’re going to war with!”

“He was nothing like them.”

“Why? ‘Cause he speaks the language?”

It was a low blow but you wanted him to know how it looked.

“Don’t turn this into something it isn’t! This is a turf war,” Riff tried to level his steadily raising voice.

“Turf war? That slang for prejudice little boys with no jobs and nothing to do but terrorise foreigners?”

“Prej-? You know goddamn well that I’m not like that!Like you know what you’re talking about anyway! I’m not taking life advice from a hairdresser!” Riff snapped and, before he could have the nerve to feel bad, your open palm collided with his cheek.

You stood in silence for a moment as a red mark bloomed against his alabaster skin. It was not the ‘be the better person’ you were trying to drill into him, you knew that, but he pissed you off and it was almost involuntary.

“Shit” Riff jostled his jaw in all directions and rubbed a finger against his reddened ear, “You smack like my ma.”

Your hands cupped your slack jaw, “Baby I’m so sorry.”

Riff spared a glance in your direction as you stepped closer to him.

“Less of the smacking, yeah? I need my good looks or you got nothing to stick around for,” He smiled warily, “I ain’t no murderer, am I?”

You shook your head, biting your lip to hide your thrill at his decision, and smiled softly. Tentatively, you reached up and brushed your fingers against his red cheek.

“I’m sorry, baby. Never meant to damage your pretty face.”

Riff almost melted, his eyes softening, “You think I’m pretty?”

“A real diamond in the rough,” You brushed a strand of hair away from his forehead and cupped his jaw, “I couldn’t bear it if I lost you. Not for something this stupid.”

Riff pulled you closer and pressed his forehead to yours, “Never gonna happen. You’re stuck with me.”

A smile twitched at your lips. Despite the Jets, being stuck with Riff sounded heavenly. He dipped his head to kiss you softly.

“Never,” He whispered, pulling back an inch, his hot breath fanned across your lips.

“Good, because underneath it all, you’re the sweetest guy I’ve ever known. I don’t wanna lose you.”

Riff pulled you back for another kiss. A clash of tongue and teeth as the kiss grew heated. You needed him to know how true it was, needed him to know how much you needed him.

“I love you,” He panted between the hot collision of lips. A soft moan rose from your throat. Riff dropped his hands to your hips, pulling your body flush to his.

Your nails clawed at his neck, fingers getting lost in his hair.

Clothes were shed, lying in piles on the bedroom floor. Riff hovered over you as you lay back on the mattress, pressing himself between your legs.

Clinging to his bare flesh, Riff trailed open-mouthed kisses along your neck and pulled your leg higher on his hip.

His hard cock pressed against you through his boxers, as his hips began to grind against yours.

A breath moan escaped your lips, “Riff… please.”

Usually he would tease you. ‘Please what, baby?’ he would say, but not this time.

Riff nodded over and over again as he pushed down his boxers and pulled your panties down your legs. The full weight of him rested against your bare skin as your lips met again.

With tender hands holding you close, Riff pressed into you. It was slow and sweat beaded on your skin when a low groan from the man above you vibrated against your neck.

“Ugh god,” He squeezed his eyes shut and buried his face further against your clavicle, littering messy kisses there.

“Move baby please,” You panted out, rubbing his back with firm fingers.

Riff pulled his hips back a few inches before rocking into you again. He pulled his head out of the shelter of your neck, connecting his eyes to yours.

His hips moved languidly, skin slapping with every collision of his pelvis to yours and pushing against that spot inside you that made your toes curl.

“I’m- I’m sorry,” Riff panted, pressing his forehead to yours, “For- for what I- I said. I love you and- and that’s never gonna change. Not for turf, not for nothing.”

The rhythmic strokes of his hips rendered you non-verbal, only capable of moaning and nodding. Your eyes fluttered closed at a particularly hard thrust.

“Look at me, baby,” Riff wrapped an arm underneath your head, the crease of his elbow and the muscle of his bicep your new pillow.

Forcing your eyes open, you met his eyes - a gorgeous swirl of blue and brown in the left.

He’s beautiful.

“Never want to be without you. What was I thinking? Taking a gun? You’re right to call it stupid, baby. So stupid” Riff rambled on. You could tell he was getting close by his loose lips.

Riff mumbled between moans, sloppy kisses and panting breaths against your skin until your chest was soaked in his spit.

It was euphoric. His hand snaked between your sweat slicked bodies, pressed so tightly against one another, to rub circles against your clit.

A loud moan ripped from you and your fingers gripped the back of his head, holding his face so close to yours that you breathed each other’s oxygen. All while staring into the starry night abyss of his eyes.

As the band inside you grew tighter and tighter, you gripped onto Riff tighter. Your legs wrapped around his waist as if he were going to be ripped from you entirely and red crescent moon imprints of your fingernails bloomed against his skin.

“I’m gonna cum. Can’t- can’t hold on,” Riff groaned, doubling down on his efforts between your legs. His thrusts were losing rhythm but he was hitting spots deep inside you and working you with his fingers.

White spots clouded your vision as the band inside you snapped, gushing onto his fingers and cock. The feeling of your orgasm pushed Riff over the edge, whimpering ‘I love you’s’ as he finished inside you.

Warmth bloomed inside you at the feeling and, as you came down from your high, a giddy grin crept onto your lips.

With heaving chests, Riff gazed down at you and a grin equal in size and feeling graced his lips.

“You were right, doll. Nothing is worth sacrificing you for.”

“Oh I’m gonna need that in writing,” You teased, stroking your fingers through his hair.

Riff laughed and playfully bit your jaw until you pushed him off, rolling around the bed with blissful laughter.

He stayed in that night. The gun was gone by the following morning and in its place sat a vase of red roses.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Crash and Burn 1

Warnings: non/dubcon, power dynamics, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Tony Stark

Summary: a powerful man comes crashing into your life. Literally.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

Bang! The impact shakes you so hard you nearly drop your book. You sit up, wide-eyed, and look around. What the heck was that?

You stand and leave the book on the short bench squeezed in along the table. You go to the door and twist the latch. As you open it, dust mists in the air and the scent of smoke singes your nose. You step onto even ground and search for the disturbance.

You turn to face the trailer and the black cloud pluming up from behind it. The entire thing lurches as an electronic whir and zap cuts through the air. You dodge put of the way as the window bursts and shatters over you.

You scramble back on your heels, shielding yourself behind an arm, and cry out. Your neighbours cluster before their own homes and watch, caught in awe as the trailer shakes on its foundation. The wall burst open as a dark shape crashes through and lands in the patchy grass behind you.

You turn to stare down at the mangled metal. Broken tubes drip neon blue fluid and the lights flicker and die. Whatever it is, it's useless now. Just like the wall.

Another crash before you can investigate. Another window rains shards into the dirt and you slap your hands to your head. At least you have witnesses, though you don't know that they have any idea what's going on.

Another tremble before the door swings open. What looks to be a cyborg tramps down the stairs and dusts itself off. You grimace helplessly at the red and gold armour.

"Iron man?" A chirpy childish voice quavers from behind you.

No way? As if to bask in the recognition, the mask retracts and reveals a man's face. It is in fact the Tony Stark. He smirks beneath his goatee and winks at the kid.

"Hey, little guy." He shoots a finger gun as he struts over to the kid.

A long, loud groan comes from behind him. You turn back to the trailer as it starts to lean. Oh no!

Time slows as you watch the whole thing fold in on itself. You stumble further back as it sends up another plume of dirt and dusty. In a moment, you're swept away from the wreckage out of the way of a broken board flying in your direction.

Tony Stark, Iron Man, playboy, billionaire, and wrecking ball has his arm around you as he puts you back in your feet. You stare at the ruin of your home

Your entire life.

"Damn, good thing you got out of there," he snickers.

You shrug him off and step forward. "Hey, sweetheart, you're not gonna wanna do that. There's smoke and that means--" As he grabs you again, a crackle sounds and orange flames lick out from beneath the splinters and drywall.

"No!" You cry out. "What the-- the trailer-- you--"

"Relax, sweetheart, you should be thankful you didn't get trapped in all that. Could be a hell of a lot worse."

You wriggle in his grasp, "that's my home! What am I gonna tell me mom?"

"I'll buy you a new one," he rolls his eyes.

"A new one? That's not the point--" you scoff and stomp your foot. You face the heap again. There are things you can't replace and your mom will make sure to mention as much.

“I'll have my people get in touch.” He struts away and toes the mass of metal on the ground. “Gotta call in the big boys.”

He puts his hand to his ear and talks to no one in particular. You can't look away. The flames build and build as you watch it all go up in flame.

You peek over at the man in his red and gold armour. He grins as children crowd around and he signs their comic books and frisbees and action figures. He's all charm and cheer.

He has no worry about the mess he's made. He'll go home to his penthouse and his bank account. He says he'll buy you a new trailer but that's not going to happen overnight.

The police show up, and the fire trucks, then men in black suits. The lot is corded off with yellow tape as you stand listless on the sidelines. You don't know what else to do.

“Oh god! Oh god! What happened?” Your mom blusters up beside you. She's still in her work uniform. You look at her and shrug. You can't even put into words the chaos of the last few hours.

You look around and point just as Iron Man's helmet flips up and he flies off in a flash. You stare after him and drop your arm. You huff.

“I have no idea, mum,” you utter. “No idea.”

She shrieks and flags down an officer, “sir, I want to know what the hell happened to my home! Right now!”

“Ma'am. This is a matter for law enforcement. We're investigating–”

“Investigating!? My trailer is a pile of rubble!” She cries out.

Her shrill hollers fade into a murmur as your gaze zeros in on the ash. This isn't fair. He gets to walk away, well, fly away, and you have to figure all this out.

[goosita]

I LOVE your writing I get so excited when you post! Could you write something about rivals taking Billy’s Girl and him going CRAZY till he gets her back? And then the comfort after that🥹

ooo ough oh my god he would go insane like i truly mean he would level an entire city for you if he had to

the moment he finds you in the back of the house, bound to a chair and gagged, his emotions begin a war inside of him. he’s so filled with rage that his hands shake and his teeth with ache in the morning from clenching them so hard. blood is splattered across his shirt, flecks drying on his cheek from the men he’d gunned down and fought just to get in here, and here you finally were.

he lost track of how many rounds he’d fired. all he knows is that he’d dropped several bodies. if he counted, he would realize he’d taken out the entire gang who had plotted to take you and hold you for ransom with the eventual goal to turn in the famous outlaw. there was no way in hell billy would ever let that happen; he’d lay his life down in a heartbeat to keep you safe and sound.

“baby,” he breathes, voice trembling. he rushes over and makes quick work of untying you, releasing the handkerchief tied around your mouth to keep you quiet.

“oh, baby i’m so sorry,” he murmurs, pulling you into his arms. he can feel you shaking like a leaf, but you hug him so tight he thinks his ribs might crack; not that he’d care anyway. “i should have been faster, i should have known sooner that you—“

“shhh, billy. i’m okay. i’m fine, you’re here,” you soothed, clinging to him. he can feel your fingers digging into his back hard enough to bruise. he hopes they do, honestly. he wants any mark you leave on him.

“m’gonna get you home, okay? never gonna let you out of my sight. never, you hear me?” he shrugs off his outer flannel shirt, dressing you in it and pulling you in again to press a long and lingering kiss to your forehead. billy keeps you tucked into his side, leading you to the front door.

“i need you to close your eyes, darlin’,” he says, stroking your hair. “don’t want you to see…any of this. okay?” he doesn’t want you to see any of the trail of gore he’s left. you’re too sweet, too innocent to ever be subjected to the sight of such violence.

you nod and squeeze your eyes shut, but as he leads you outside, the sharp metallic scent of blood hits your nose and you suddenly understand just why exactly he doesn’t want you to see. things had gotten very intense, you knew this. billy was a dangerous man. he had been since the day you met him, but it never bothered you. you weren’t even sure if it bothered you now, when he was so kind and gentle with you.

he helped you up onto his horse and climbed on behind you, slipping his arms around your waist and clicking his tongue to get the animal to turn and head the other direction. after a few minutes, you felt his nose nudge your shoulder.

“you still got those eyes closed?”

you nodded, leaning back into his chest even more.

“you can open ‘em now, pretty girl. nothing bad to see out here,” he promises, kissing your cheek. your eyes flutter open and the sky above is a deep navy blue, clouds just beginning to glow with the promise of a sunrise.

“never gonna let anything bad happen to you ever again, i promise. i’m so sorry,” he whispers. you shake your head and turn to glance up at him behind you. billy stops his horse and drops one of the reins, lifting his hand to hold your chin gently.

“it’s okay, billy. i’m okay. you got there just in time,” you assure him. your eyes scan his face, now noticing the dried blood in a splash pattern on billy’s jaw. the way his bright blue irises looked stormy still, the tension in his body still tight. his thumb caresses your bottom lip, his face softening.

he looked down at you for a long moment before dipping his head, resting his forehead against the back of your shoulder. your violent man, your outlaw, your gunslinger. william h. bonney, billy the kid, wasn’t afraid of anything. that’s what most people assumed; but he was terrified of anything happening to you, his sweet angel. his darling girl who kept him sane.

“billy?” you whispered. you felt him hum, his chest vibrating against your back. “take me home.”

and so he did.

[i-starcreamed]

MIRAGE X READER

hii rotb has made me fall in love with...a lot more transformers now. This is just a silly idea I had, kinda lame but idc. Being cringe and free now. Anyways, planning to make this a small series maybe? Mirage lovers where are you?? Could eventually make this a mirage x reader x Noah, love them both, really. Or you know, Noah could be a third wheel, you guys decide that

[ human!gn reader summary: You have no idea how you got into this situation. First, you were trying to steal a true beauty of a car with your friend Noah to get some extra cash with Reek working behind the scenes (apparently) And now, you were in the Porche you guys were planning to steal. Mind you, it's currently driving itself.

"Holy shit!" You yelled in terror as the car careened wildly around the curve, sending both you and Noah lurching to the left side of the vehicle. You clung onto the door handle for dear life, your heart pounding in your chest as a combination of fear and adrenaline caused you to burst out into wild laughter. Noah, on the other hand, let out an ear-splitting, high-pitched scream as he death-gripped onto the steering wheel with both hands. "STOP STOP STOP!"

The radio kept picking up a certain frequency, it was static-y but still clear enough to understand it kept reaching out towards something or someone named Mirage.

After crashing several police cars, running red lights, and being tossed around the car, the silver and blue Porche entered a warehouse of some sort and literally tossed you out onto the cement. Noah groaned as he rolled on his side. You on the other hand, didn't manage to fall onto the ground and gripped onto the seat. You thought it was over but noo, all of a sudden the car decides to transform, its component parts moving and shifting into new positions. You stare in awe and fear as the walls around you warp and bend ever so slightly; the seat beneath you shifts away from you before slowly, almost hesitantly dropping you onto the ground. You stare up and after a couple seconds, the car transformed into a fucking robot. Towering several feet in front of you and Noah, you both stare up in fear. You're a bit amazed honestly, you're staring at a giant metal dude stretch and prance around the warehouse, ranting about being cooped up this entire time.

You and Noah shared a look.

"But that was cool, you guys are cool. A bit loud, ehh, but cool." The robot stood in front of you now, his gaze focused on the both of you. You froze, Noah scrambled around to pick up a metal pipe. "Woah woah woah!" The robot held his hands up. You cursed under your breath and scrambled to get behind Noah, trying to look for anything you can use as a weapon as the robot focused on Noah. You found a couple loose bolts and nuts on the ground and scooped them up in your palm.

You approached Noah's side, menacingly brandishing the tiny screws in your hand. The robot quickly put his hands in the air. "What are you gonna do, you gonna hit me?"

You both looked at eachother. Noah shifted, adjusting his stance while still holding up the pipe. "Maybe?" The robot made a noise akin to a scoff and his left arm started transforming into something else, oh god oh fuck. Before you even had time to register it, you threw a bolt at him. It hit his arm and he froze. "Hey- what?"

You were launching bolts at him, your shots greeted with a "hey, hey, hey!" each time they clanked against his frame. You kept getting closer, pushing him back further and further, surprising yourself with your own nerve. That confidence instantly disappeared when he whipped out his arm-gun, the blue light from the barrel seemed to lock onto you and Noah, like two deer in headlights. "Can you- stop throwing those things at me?!"

"woah, woah, woah-" Noah quickly put his hands up and walked up to you, standing in front of you. "Let's all calm down, alright? Alright? We good?" "Noah, what the hell is this about?" You whisper yelled.

"I dont know! Just dont get us killed" he whisper yelled back.

You huffed defiantly, you quickly took the bat from Noah's hands and tightly gripped it. You adopted a battle-ready stance, staring down the giant robot - thing? - truly unyielding. Neither of you backed down until he put the gun down, straightening up. "Okay okay, you're brave. I like that."

Your face dropped, dumbfounded. Noah reached out and firmly snatched the bat from you, his face a mask of barely-contained irritation. "what did I fucking tell you about not trying to get us killed, dude?" He hissed.

What the hell was going on.

[kneelingshadowsalome]

Lazarus (Ghost x Medic!Reader Pt. 2)

"According to tradition, Lazarus never smiled during the thirty years after his resurrection, worried by the sight of unredeemed souls he had seen during his stay in Hell..."

Word count: 5.7 k

Tags and warnings: Angst, fluff, soft smut 🔞. Slightly possessive!Ghost. Graphic depictions of past suicidal thoughts. Dating, kissing, cuddlefucks, emotions (the most daunting cw there is). Unfettered prose about a grown man's complex trauma. Reader is female and works as a medic at the base. Ghost POV.

Summary: You've just started dating Ghost. (This is a standalone sequel to Refugee)

She tastes round and sweet after the tang of blood and smoke and metal of the field. She feels like warm cascading water after the bleak, dead weight of a gun that leaves his hands throbbing with recoil. Her skin returns the memory of Paradise until it overrides everything else.

She's a soft blooming to the senses.

And his have been blown wide, torn apart, shot full of noise. There's an amputated, burnt stump where there should be a limb and some soft skin. But still, a blast that burns flesh from bones is not that different from her soft whisper that has the power to level him like a nuclear wind.

. . .

They're some kind of a secret, although he doesn't know why exactly.

Perhaps because she knows enough by now. She knows he's a dead man.

A ghost.

And women like her don't date apparitions. They deserve more than just bones and a haunting: they deserve flesh and blood and solid ground. She deserves far more than promises he has no power or right to give.

He has no mandate for life. His is a half-life, and stolen; he's living on borrowed time.

She doesn't only protect his phantom, she shields herself from talk and rumors. It's only understandable. He takes everything she gives him, which is more than he deserves.

He fucks her to ruin on the conference table people share in the meetings. He makes her leak all over his desk during quiet afternoon hours of his office; he makes her come on his tongue in the fucking hangar after a long day, just to get the taste of dry desert sand off his mouth.

She stops complaining about propriety after that. After all, she's the one who came there on his call and allowed him to rip her pants down when there was only settling dust to accompany them in the quiet hall.

It doesn't take long to see that the woman's not actually complaining at all. She fucking loves it when he barges in and simply takes her.

And he buries himself inside her like she's the base. His home after a mission, his destined location after deployment. She lets him fuck her practically anywhere except on the floor.

That's his place. And he has no problem with lying down there in the filth, especially if it means he gets to watch how she sits on his cock until that pretty little face distorts with pleasure that looks like pain.

His field pants and navy blues have cum stains after his visits while she cleans herself up in no time, fixes her hair and looks as innocent as ever. His mask smells of cunt when he's trying to concentrate on missions, and the scent of her juice makes him hard while he's supposed to be instilling brass into bodies. He smokes cigarettes just to drive the maddening taste of her from his tongue.

He's gonna get killed one of these days. The irony doesn't escape him: it's not a bullet or a grenade that will take him, but that sweet, hazy memory of her cunt.

She's an obsession. He injects himself full of her like the most pathetic addict.

Until one day, she says it can't continue like this. That it won't do to rut like animals until the smell of mad sex coats the room she's supposed to stitch and staple people in.

It causes a small panic till she asks him to visit her.

In her home.

It sounds serious: it sounds like she wants more than just his cock. And he's fucking terrified.

Women think about whether to wear this dress or that on a date: he thinks about whether to put on the mask or not – he meditates on it for two whole hours. Everything else is clean and in order; he looks like a human and not a soldier. But he can't rid himself of the skeleton.

There's a storm coming when he reaches her place. It electrifies the air until his spine is full of thunder.

She seems surprised – happily so – when she finds him at the door, decent as can be. He gets one of those innocent smiles which are pure sin beneath.

"You came."

"Sure."

She doesn't ask why he's always wearing a mask. She takes what he has to give, which is his all, which he fears will never be enough.

"There's food–"

She lets out a delightful little noise when he picks her up and carries her to what looks like the biggest and softest bed he has ever laid a woman on, ever laid himself on.

So, she likes luxury. Or at least, comfort.

Softness. Hugs… Support.

And kisses, apparently, because his mask is lifted without permission. Not that she needs one.

"Simon, I made you some dinner," she laughs in his mouth, and he's smiling – she's the only one who makes him fucking smile.

"Later," he rasps with a sore throat – he has become soft, too, and it's her fault. He has barked orders all day, but with her, his voice always comes out quiet and calm.

Where her domain at work consists of harsh lights and sterile frigidity, her home is dark and warm like a womb. His senses are filled with lemon and thyme – she has made something he's never tried before, something… Mediterranean, perhaps. A culinary ambrosia for someone who has lived on dog food and tried to thrive on it.

It's a pity that he's a barbarian, and here for dessert. As much as he likes the dainty little thing she has put on just for him, it's not cunning enough to stop him from ripping it to shreds.

She protests at first with a posh little gasp, but then she spreads her legs like it's open season and he's the VIP customer. The laced, pathetic little thing lays in wreckage around all that softness creaming just for him, and his mouth shoots full of water.

The feel of her is better than sinking a knife between two ribs. She's velvet on his scar and coarse stubble and for the first time in his life, he curses the mask. She moans all around him, tries to grab him by the hair still under the black fabric.

And it makes him want to rip it off and let her yank and tug to her heart's content, grab his hair and push his face as deep inside her cunt as it goes.

He tries to fit inside her apartment, a serene space filled with scented candles and clean carpets and frilly little curtains that shift in the restless night wind.

He tries to fit inside her.

The attempt always makes her moan and tremble and sigh. It's hard to focus on the task at hand when he wants to freeze the moment to where her lashes flutter and she stops breathing for a second – when she takes him in with grace and hunger.

"Oh fuck…"

She swears this time, watches with helplessness and an open mouth as his cock slowly disappears inside her. Then she looks up at him like…

Like she's missed him.

"You're a brute," she whispers, eyes shining.

"Thought you liked brutes."

"I made you dinner and you…Ah…"

He arrives home, heavy and loaded with yearning.

First things first.

It has been a week, and there's been no time to relieve the pain, nowhere to go and wank off the sickness that festers inside him every second they're apart. And she's the only one who can cure his disease. But he does feel like a brute for not letting her feed him. When was the last time anyone made him anything?

The sea is booming now, roaring behind the window she has left open. This time, they're not fucking at the base, in some corner of a room with a lock hurriedly latched on. He's fucking her amidst doused lights and a seaside breeze that enters their skin through an open window. He's at the beach, even when there's no sun. The sands are even more stunning with a gathering storm.

He fucks her like a dog, and she looks at him with weak love in her eyes. She's looking up at him with those big, wet eyes like he's the best leader there is - like she's counting on him. Like the people under his command, those who ask for his advice, ask for the next move.

It drives him fucking insane.

It's even better than a good round of sex: that unbound look of adoration. His mask is a poor shield against all that. She slips past it like she's the expert in clandestine warfare here. And suddenly he doesn't want any more secrets. There's a ton of them already; he carries the weight of them in his soul.

He's an underdog, always has been, but he's also a hound for claiming her as his that night.

After he's done fucking her to oblivion, he descends. She comes alive like a jolt of lighting in his arms as he kisses her, then sucks the tender skin of her neck. Everyone's going to see it, he makes sure of that by using the tiniest amount of teeth to finally mark her. She moans an equal amount as she does when she's clenching around his cock.

"Did you just give me a hickey?" She asks, breathless when he's done.

"High time, don't you think," he mutters. The woman will look glorious on the beach and highly improper at work.

Lie down with dogs, get up with fleas…

"You're unbelievable." She only laughs at his obsession. The woman’s not afraid at all, even when she’s face to face with a monster. The sunshine of her smile pairs well with the crackle of thunder outside.

"You want a beer?"

He's too drugged to answer with nothing else than a surprised, drowsy blink. She laughs again and takes it as a yes, which it is. He stares in awe as the woman walks to the fridge, all naked and lax from his treatment, takes out a bottle, opens it, and brings it to him. She takes none for herself; she only serves him like he's some kind of a king. When he takes a sip, she smiles again: lighting flashes somewhere in the distance and gives her an aureole of light, a halo of an angel for a second.

"I'm gonna go take a shower." The wink she gives him makes it perfectly clear that she wouldn't mind him joining her. But as she goes by the mirror, the vision of his claim stops her.

"Simon…"

He gets a scolding, and it only makes the corner of his mouth tug.

"No concealer is going to cover this."

"That's the point," he takes another sip while lying on her too-soft bed. She shakes her head before walking to the shower. The eye of the storm is above him, and everything's silent, like he's lounging on a dream.

The bottle in his hand sweats cold condense in his hand, and like always with her, he finds himself in the present moment. He drinks the beer in less than ten seconds, then takes the mask off and leaves it somewhere among the sweat and cum stained sheets.

It's the first time she has seen him without the shield, the first time she sees his body in full light. Every protrusion of white scar, every part of uneven skin, every marring of two and three stage burns is visible as if he is on a well-lit stage.

"Well. Pleased to meet you."

The smile that greets him, the veil of surprise that draws aside to reveal pure delight and marvel is more than worth the risk. She's frozen in time with a bottle of shower gel in her hands, too preoccupied with the trust he has decided to arm her with. She now has power over him, but he proceeds to do what he came here to do. Which is to make her sing a second time.

"For what do I owe this pleasure–"

The bottle falls on the tiles with a soft plunk as he steps between her legs and lifts her against the wall.

On that, she doesn't only kiss him; she takes the scar of his lip between hers and sucks. The warm water is nothing compared to her hands which sweep up and down his back and release years and years of tension. She whines when he only gives her shallow thrusts, then tries to claw his back to get more of his cock. It makes him chuckle.

"Needy," he comments on such delightful hunger, and she lets out the most annoyed, frustrated noise he has ever heard on her.

"Stop teasing, Riley…"

She tends to use his last name when she's fed up with him. It's supposed to create distance, but it only makes him latch himself onto her more fiercely.

He could torture her, delve deep, dig out even more frustrated sounds from her, but that's a quest for another time. He grants her wish along with his own and slides fully in. She kisses him through the whole fucking, and he feels like he's in boiling water, cooking until the raw meat grows tender and prepared.

And he realizes he's not actually fucking her: he's making love to her. He didn't even know he could do that.

When they've had their fill, the water takes away his gift. It feels wrong that something meant to be inside her leaks down some filthy drain. It's like a testimony, an illustration of his whole life: that his essence, his worth, belong in the sewers.

"You're a beautiful man," she whispers on his skin while caressing his back filled with past torture. His stomach churns, he feels like throwing up and falling asleep at the same time. An odd sensation.

She holds his mutilated corpse under the descending water and breathes life into him. The vomit never comes. He exhales history on her skin, inhales some peace in its stead.

In the morning the sound of thunder has been replaced by myriad birdsong.

. . .

He never meant to bring her here, but the wind on the beach is too harsh today and she's cold. It would be ungentlemanly not to get her a jacket from his apartment when it's only a few hundred meters away.

"To say that this place needs a woman's touch would be an understatement, Riley."

There's little else here but a tv and a fridge. He doesn't need either of them, but they're there to remind him what a home should look like. She takes the deafening silence and barren wasteland well, far better than he ever imagined she would.

"Y'can touch anything you want."

She turns and raises an eyebrow – he already knows that look. He's in for it now.

"Smooth... Very smooth." She walks to him and pushes him to the armchair. Not with force, because she doesn't need it. He falls to the sagged old thing like it's suddenly cloud nine rather than his old deathbed.

He waits for her to climb onto his lap and ride him until the chair breaks under the weight of their love. He could use a new chair anyway.

But she doesn't do that.

She gives her what this place has been missing.

A woman's touch.

Her mouth is hot as hell, wet like the gulfs that used to drown men in the sea centuries ago. She's a siren with her songs, but this time, she's quiet.

The room is not: the deathlike silence is suddenly filled with wet urgency and sloppy sounds of adoration. All his hauntings recede to the shadows like the blowjob is a whole exorcism.

His head falls back, and the first charred moan coats the air like it's been entombed for decades. And it has.

She is encouraged by the sound, and the tongue that sweeps the underside of his cock sends him jolting from his shallow grave.

Jesus fuckin'–

"Fuck…" He tries to blink back tears or death while looking at the crumbling paint on the ceiling. He feels equally worn out on her tongue: old and a lot of work, but a woman's touch is like magic.

"Mm–h." She dares to moan on his cock as if it's the best thing she's had in her mouth in decades, too. She even brushes her fingertips over his balls like they're some newfound treasure. They pull taut under her touch, stupefied by the sudden attention.

He can feel the upcoming blaze. It gathers at the base of his spine, his cock is brick-heavy in her mouth, and she won't stop – fuck, she goes even deeper…

"Fuckin' hell, pet…"

His thighs bunch and spread, a scorching groan erupts like he's a volcano and not a man. That's when she gives his cock a long, torturing suck, and he's gone, there’s no time and space other than her hot velvet mouth that surrounds him like the hot core of a star.

She adds a hand at the base of him, and he explodes so hard that he barely has brain cells left to worry about whether she will choke on it. But she doesn't even gag, even if the first spurts must be more than generous.

Fuck, this woman…

He melts in the chair while she finishes the rest of him, takes all he has to give, like she always does. They're an odd pair: an angel and a demon, and he feels like he's finally saved, resurrected – this room, this chair has never seen anything like this.

It's different with her, the emptiness that comes after. It's not filled with grief but deliverance.

He wants her to know what she’s just done, but he knows the things he's good at, and he knows the things he's not. Words are one of those things. She moans and begs and shatters and swells in his arms, she takes on a volcano and resurrects corpses long since dead, and he still doesn't know how to tell her. That he's hers, that he wants to make her feel as good as he bloody fucking can. He could be tortured for days and he still wouldn't know the right words. He tries to tell it to her in other ways and sees how she settles.

He would rather kill the whole human population on this earth than see her settle for anything.

So he forces the strange words out, fleshes them on his tongue and pushes them through teeth to haunt the stale air of his apartment that has never seen such love before.

"I missed you."

Of course it sounds so odd that she laughs. Bitter, too.

"You missed my tongue."

"No. I missed you."

She finally raises her eyes to his, doesn't try to blink back the watercolors. Those eyes are shining; they're beckoning.

"I missed you too," she says, then lays her head on his thigh like she's only a humble servant begging for mercy.

It's a farce. He's a skeleton, a ghoul of useless rubble while she's celestial; she's summer, a fucking empress.

It rips his chest to see her on her knees on the dirty floor, that she's comforting him in a chair that should've been his disposal site. The leather was supposed to be painted with shards of bone and puddles of pink-white brain; this room was supposed to echo with a single blast of a gunshot, not with roars of fragile love. He would've been found relatively soon, the neighbors wouldn't have had to complain about the smell: after all, the military takes care of their own. A lieutenant's absence wouldn't have gone unnoticed, even if everything else in him would never have been missed by anyone.

He brushes her hair, and she sighs, oblivious to his past hell. All nine circles of it, an inferno that would put poets to shame. And she doesn't know she has pulled him from the depths just by smiling.

. . .

"Promise to come back."

"Yeah I promise."

He can't promise that. Fuck, that he wants to.

Every bullet acquires sound, like that birdsong from her little window. They gain weight, they start to carry death. It used to be his power: to bring destruction. He was put on this earth to reap.

Now he's alive.

He's suddenly a man who can be killed.

Now everything's bright like he's a newborn trying to get used to a world full of pain. Light and sound and time and space; mortality.

Sharpened instincts have never been his friend. It used to be a simple dance: knife out, knife in. Drop 'em.

Line the sights and deal extinction. Walk like a ghost until the battering ram announces there's death coming.

It takes him a while to understand where the sorcery lies.

It's in the senses. She's sensuous.

"Simon–"

He hears her in the shaded crevice of rocks, catches phantom notes of vanilla from the dry desert air that tries to push through the filthy fabric of his mask. She’s with him just before the hatch opens, and for the first time in his life, he hesitates before the jump.

She tastes round and sweet after the tang of blood and smoke and metal of the field. She feels like warm, cascading water after the bleak, dead weight of a gun that leaves his hands throbbing with recoil. Her skin returns the memory of Paradise until it overrides everything else.

She's a soft blooming to the senses. And his have been blown wide, torn apart, shot full of noise. There's an amputated, burnt stump where there should be a limb and some soft skin. But still, a blast that burns flesh from bones is not that different from her soft whisper that has the power to level him like a nuclear wind.

He has to learn how to come back to his senses. It's a joke that makes him wish he could shed tears. Luckily, she's the best teacher he could ever have.

"Fuck, Simon…"

He tries to quit smoking just to be able to taste her better. A scorched tongue is a curse when a man can't get enough of cream and silk.

"I need you. Need you so much. You don't even know..."

He knows. He knows that the depth of his need surpasses hers; it always has and always will.

The last time he saw her wasn't at the base; it was when he woke up to the sight of her foraging for orange juice from the fridge with his sweatshirt on. She combined sultry lace and bare, smooth skin with an old, black hoodie.

And it swallowed her. All his darkness. She only looked sleepy and content while being smothered by all that dark cotton.

"I'm gonna make some breakfast," she announces upon seeing he's awake. "You like bacon and eggs?"

What the fuck did I do to deserve you.

She knows full well she could offer him a chest filled with gold, and it wouldn't be half as tempting as her little American breakfast.

"That'll do."

He was supposed to go to the shower but instead, his feet take him right back to her. She gives him a pleasant hum when his hands fall on her shoulders and start to rub some stress away. He knows it will make her moan, as it does now. She leans a little into him, surrenders to his treatment.

"Simon… Do you come here just for sex?"

The hiss of cooking bacon almost drowns the question. Just one syllable less, and the question would be as she originally meant it to be.

Does he come to her just for sex.

"No."

She turns to look at him with a shy little smile. It makes him want to crush her against that counter until those lips part with a helpless sound.

"I like your cooking."

"You…ass," she laughs, shoves him lightly.

He treats every day like it’s his last with her, waits patiently for her to realize he is not the man she thinks he is. Under the bones he wears there’s only more bones, nothing more. She can feed him all she wants, but it will only make him more hungry; and a day will come when she sees he’s not actually a man at all but a yawning, six feet grave.

The black cotton hugs her and makes it falsely look like this woman belongs to him. It’s another round of torture to see how she takes his shirt, takes his cock, plays with the only things he can give her for a while or two.

She has the sweater on as she gives him the softest farewell smile. She adds a few words, some more detail to her request. In truth, it's his new protocol.

"Promise to come back to me."

He doesn't ask for the sweatshirt back.

She's left with it and his promise.

. . .

"Poor lass's always sulking when you're on those solo missions."

He knows that Price might know about them by now. But if Soap knows, everyone knows.

He doesn't care: after all, the woman doesn't even try to conceal the seductive looks and dreamy smiles she gives him whether there are other people present or not. They're not a secret anymore. Perhaps that's the way she wants it to be.

But the information Soap gives him is new.

"She is?"

He goes straight to her after the plane lands. Doesn't give a single fuck about that smug look the boy gives him.

She looks slightly surprised as he simply walks in: she can see he's filthy. He has grime on his hands, on the fingerless gloves that make it easier to operate a gun when there's no threat of sweating. He smells of smoke and ruin, gasoline and tobacco – a lousy compensation for her, a ridiculous substitute to calming his nerves when he knows the mission is going to be tricky. It already pisses him off that her cream will be mixed with smoke and disease again. He knows his weaknesses, which aren't many. But with her, he has learned it's not about the quantity.

The sorrow is briefly disguised from him. It's admirable: the way she tries to hide even the plainest of things. He knows her by now, knows that the sun casts shadows too. She should know he's the one she can cast them safely with.

The throat between the shoulders burdened by work and worries looks fragile in his hands. A bird's neck he could wrench without breaking a sweat.

"Mmh. I love your hands."

"Just my hands?"

He shouldn't be touching her with his filth, but he can't help it anymore. If she loves it, who is he to argue back?

Love your hands too.

Fuck, I love your smile. Your tits, your lips. That little pout you got when you don't get what you want right away.

I love–

She sighs. Then she cranes that beautiful neck, clings to him with one, tiny hand. "Why are you here, Simon?"

"Heard you were sulking," he mutters in her hair.

"What…?" She laughs. She laughs, but she's not happy. "What on earth are you talking about?"

She's shy. Reserved. Hiding behind a wall of humor and sunshine and smiles. His darkness penetrates it all.

"Heard you're devastated when I'm gone," he tries even more softly.

She could take it as arrogance. One of his lousy jokes. But she knows better than that.

"I am," she finally says, angel-soft. When she turns, there's finally sorrow in her eyes. She looks up at him, up, up, again with that stare that says I am yours to command. On the brink of tears; tears he wants to battle to the abyss. But his muscles are no use here.

Her lip trembles, just a little, when he brushes his knuckles over her cheek.

"We can't have that."

"We can't?"

"No."

"Well what are you going to do about it?"

Her voice is soft, pleading. It's not a demanding question: the woman's simply out of it. She wants assistance, assurance.

What are your orders, sir?

She worries too much. Up until this point, he thought it’s just because she's dutiful, responsible, one of the best employees there is. But she's not tense from work.

It's not just the missed you's she whispers when his skin is at its most thin.

She fears losing him.

Stone-cold realism is required in his field of work; no sleight of hand magic can help him when he's facing the unavoidable. If the mission is impossible, he doesn’t take it. Because he can't change the unchangeable; he can't fight the inevitable. They both know he can't promise anything.

They both know he will do his best to come back. There was a time he would’ve considered it a blessing if he didn’t. Death used to be his only ticket to some peace.

She gives him an impossible mission, and he can't say no. Leadership is about taking care of people. His people. And she's more than just a subordinate.

He grabs her by the waist and raises her to the counter, relishes the way she gasps. She weighs nothing in his hands after cold, hefty cannons. It’s almost like she gains wings and flits to the tabletop designed for him to take her. It’s the perfect height for him to simply open his pants and alleviate her pain.

"Gonna fuck you until you cry."

She sighs. "You can't solve every problem with a gun or a cock, Riley."

The woman knows how to penetrate him, too. The stabbing doesn’t stop even when her thighs part slowly - she knows, just as much as he, that this is the best way to remind her just how alive he is. This is the only thing he can give her, and he is damn right going to deliver. His hand covers half of her thigh as he brushes a thumb over the sensitive inner side.

"You sure about that?"

That look of desperation makes him hard already. Her hands go about his neck in a perfect paradox with what she whispers next.

"Honey… Not here."

She calls him honey. As if this tar-black madness is only golden nectar to her.

"No?"

It’s not only sorcery, but necromancy: how she’s brought him back from the grave. No wonder such arts are considered dangerous. This is forbidden, and still, he cannot stop.

"Ya want me to stop?"

"...No."

He leaves most of her uniform on because he is in too much of a hurry to get between her legs. The woman molds herself against him the second his tip meets her folds.

"God, you feel good," she sighs as he slides in. It's like a prayer: both her words and his return back to the base. Alive.

"So fucking good…"

Fuckin' tell me about it.

She whimpers and clutches him like a little leech. Almost cries already.

"That's it. You just hold onto me."

If someone heard the way he's cooing in her ear, they would deem him soft in the head. He doesn't give a fuck.

Her moans chime inside his head like the softest, most beautiful opera. He has never been a man of high culture. The whole civilization could go to hell for all he cared. But she sings to him so beautifully that even a man like him can finally see the appeal. Legs wrap around him even tighter than those small hands until he doesn't know who's holding who here.

"That feel good..?"

"Yes… Don't stop, just don't stop."

She's almost limp in his arms. Good. He's managed to relieve that tension already.

He goes deeper, deeper, and a tiny hand that saves people instead of slaughtering them grabs him by the shirt, probably in an instinct to try and catch some skin. He can't see her face but the body against him trembles and shakes as he spreads her wide and pours love in her.

"No need to sulk, sweetheart. I got you."

She's crying, or laughing, or both. Of course she likes pet names paired with support. He adds it to the list of things the woman loves, the things he can give her. He hopes, half expects that she will shed some tears after shattering around his cock. She needs a good cry as much as she needs him. And nothing feels as good as this: being needed by her.

When she comes with an arched back and a scream he fears and hopes will reach every other officer here, he knows he can let go too. He's done his duty: now it's time to collect the reward. It's not transactional, she's not work, but she's still his responsibility. The woman's paycheck is fatter than anything he could ever get from his employer. He's inside her, but that doesn't mean she isn't inside him too. She's embedded in him in ways that threaten to swallow him and leave him on the shore like bleach-white bones on a beach. He stays inside her long after the waves have passed. She rests her head on his shoulder, and he doesn't dare to move.

"I still have your sweatshirt," she sighs while holding him.

"Good. Looks better on you."

"I sleep with it sometimes," she whispers and wraps herself around him so tight that he wishes he could be there every night to send her to sleep. Now she only has his memory as a company, some darkness far too big for her. "Sleep in it, actually."

His mind is like a wheel that turns around nothingness. There's nothing to hold on to; he's falling through starless space.

The eerie sound of gunshot echoes in his head, he thinks about the splatter of brain matter on the armchair; how there's at least one person in this world who would cry from hearing the news.

And not just any person, but her; a whole summer in one woman. A midsummer sun, missing some forgotten, weatherbeaten bones on a beach when there's plenty of flora and fauna to shine on.

"If you ever break your promise…"

She sniffs in his neck, and his embrace tightens instantly.

"Would rather die than break it."

His promise doesn't make any sense. Or perhaps it makes every sense. She finally cries like she's supposed to.

"Shh. I'm here now."

I'm not dead.

I'm not dead.

[moldycigarette]

warnings: 🪦🕊️ DNE, angst, implied assault towards reader, use of y/n, afab, protective simon, talk of torture, talk of blood, fluff at the end, i’m sincerely sorry

—————

being married to simon has both perks and downsides. don’t get me wrong, simon is the exact opposite of “ghost” when he’s not at work and makes sure it stays that way, especially around you. he’s nurturing, funny, kind, loving, loyal, and puts you before himself even when you tell him not to.

sure, he can be a stubborn bastard sometimes but he knows how to make it up to you.

in the beginning of your relationship, it was difficult for him to open up, and understandably so given his past. he was cold and distant, sometimes to the point where you questioned if he even wanted to be with you. however, he made up for it. he became more relaxed with you, starting to accept more than just the occasional kiss on the cheek. he was hopelessly devoted to you and proved that to you every day, even if he wasn’t home. whether it was sending you cute texts or small gifts, you knew it was going to be okay as long as you had him.

so, as a loving wife expecting her husband to come home after months in dangerous situations, you expect simon to come home and greet you like he always does; soft kisses and tenderness that can only be shared between the two of you.

when you hear a knock on the door, you immediately jump up, ready to finally feel simon’s embrace. but, when you open the door, your stomach drops.

a large man in a hoodie and black balaclava, one you knew wasn’t simon’s, stands in front of you holding a gun to the center of your forehead. you freeze, not knowing whether to defend yourself or run.

“do as i say and put the bag over your head.” he grumbles. you comply, not wanting to make the situation worse.

everything goes dark after feeling a sharp knock to your head.

—————

you’re eyes slowly open, scanning the room with fear. you try to stand, only to find your arms and ankles tied to a metal chair.

the room is plain, only filled with you, a small overhead light, security cameras in each corner, and a bolted door directly across from you.

your head is aching, bruises surely littering across your face. where the hell are you? one moment, you’re waiting for your husband to come home and the next you wake up in a cold, dark room.

what time is it? has simon come home yet, only to find glass smashed and the door broken down with you nowhere in sight?

suddenly, the door opens with a loud creak echoing across the room. a man steps forward, his hands in his pockets with a gun sitting along his hip.

is this it? is this how you’re going to die?

“y/n riley.”

no. no no no, how does he know your name? what does he-

“you’re quite a pretty thing, ain’t ya’? ‘s a shame you married a bum like ghost,” he whispers, hand brushing your cheek.

you flinch away, glaring up at him with both anger and fear. “what do you want?” you ask.

the man chuckles, his monstrous laugh spreading like wildfire. “i want to know where the files are.”

what? what files?

“what the fuck are you talking about?” you spat.

“wow, for a girl so beautiful you sure have a bratty attitude. that’s gonna have to change.”

he brings his hand back, slapping you hard across your face while tears threaten to fall.

“i’m not telling you shit!”

a hand grasps around your throat, squeezing like a lemon on a hot summer day. you reach to claw his hands away but are met with rug burns on your wrists.

“if you keep this up, we’ll do a lot more than slap you” he says. when he finally let’s go of your throat after what feels like hours, you gasp and cough.

he begins to walk away, making some kind of signal to the guards surrounding the door. suddenly, a table of medical tool sits next to you.

fuck.

“no, no no no please i-” another slap stings your face before you can finish your sentence, the burning sensation spreading across your cheek.

a man picks up a scalpel in his gloved hand, holding your hand down with the other. “either tell us where the files are, or you’ll be cut into tiny pieces. your choice, doll,” a sinister smile spreads across his face as he looks down at you.

“please, i’m begging you! i don’t know what yo-” the scalpel swipes across your wrist in one swift motion, causing blood to seep onto the concrete floor. you scream, pain spreading to your chest as you feel a heavy weight on your throat.

the other guard wraps a metal wire around your neck, cutting into the soft flesh just enough to torture, but not kill.

you can’t breathe, sharp blades cutting along your body. punches land to your face, stinging sensations surrounding you until all you see is black.

—————

it’s been at least two days. you’ve become numb from the pain, burns littering your tired body from boiling water and a black eye that causes you unable to see.

where is simon?

he’ll come soon, right? he has to, there’s no way he could live without you in his life… right?

your mind flashes back to your wedding day, happy tears pouring from both of your faces while listening to the others vows. he promised to take care of you and protect you, no matter the cost.

so where is he?

your broken ribs ache with a growling stomach. you couldn’t deal with this anymore, when will it stop?

when will the men forcing themselves onto you and the burning stop? when will simon find you?

your head hangs low before shooting up from the sounds of gunshots. no, no no. they’re going to kill you.

the door slams open as you sob, salty tears stinging along your battered body.

“oh god, sweetheart.”

a familiar low voice rings across the room, bringing attention to your ears and causing you to shoot your head up. your sobs increase as you watch your husband run towards you before cradling your face in his hands.

“i’m sorry love, i’m so sorry,” he whispered.

gunshots continued ringing in the halls, screams filling your head. simon begins untying the ropes while speaking in quick bursts. you see tears flood his eyes as he looks at your body, naked, bruised, and scarred.

you jump into his arms, ignoring the pain you feel. you finally had simon, and that’s all you wanted.

you could care less about the snot and tears spreading across his tactical vest, he can always find another one.

“ghost! halls’ clear, helicopter landing in 5!” you hear a scottish voice speak over his radio.

everyone is here. everyone you care about is here to save you.

simon takes off his vest and shirt before putting it around you to cover you up, a spare pair of pants in the small bag behind him. he picks you up, hands under your knees and along your back. “‘s okay, sweetheart, i got ya’,” he whispers.

you grab tightly around his neck, fearing this is all a dream and he’ll fade away in a single moment. he runs towards an entrance as you hear a chopper sink onto a landing strip. blinding light burns your eyes from not seeing anything but unsettling darkness for god knows how long.

all you can cry is your husbands name before your head gets fuzzy and everything fades away.

—————

ok so i won’t lie i cried multiple times while writing this. it’s based off of a true story that happened to me when i was sold into a trafficking ring for three years and i thought channeling it into writing could be beneficial.

if you’re struggling in any way, just know that you matter and i’m always here for you. my messages and inbox are always open.

☻ kenai

[rindough]

cw. i rllllly recommend listening to 'illusion' by dua lipa, i hope i did boothill justice here!! 🥹🥹

OMG imagine dancing with Boothill in the middle of a mission to hunt down Acheron. The disco ball shines through the dark room, bodies of the dreamscape residents bump against one another to the beat of the music and to be honest, the quest has come to its moment of being at a constant, of being at a... perfect standstill.

"We better make this quick, been waitin' for so fudgin' long it's getting borin' in here!"

He pauses at the hand that has reached out for him, holding him in place to prevent him from taking his gun out. "Oi!"

"Don't 'Oi' me." You groaned, your colleague rolls his eyes at you. "Control yourself."

"You... Then how are we gonna make sum' progress with this task?"

Hm? He thinks, watching as you've pushed yourself off from leaning against the counter, yourself being a step ahead of him causing him to stand straight too.

"Care to have a dance with me?" He blinks, he breath now hitched at the way your question was thrown at him, words that slipped through your plush lips? Eyes luring him in with your request through the strands of your hair?

"Boothill?"

Hell yeah he's in.

Without hesitation he drags you to the middle of the dancefloor, with how fast he's moving, it's no doubt he's skilled or he's done this before... in his bedroom you guess, from the way he mutters a few "Hm. Like this." and some "Okay, okay, okay." It was a teeny bit messy but honestly? You found some cuteness to it.

It took him less than a minute's time to have you be pressed so close to him, body swaying oh so sexily with your face inches apart. The hold of his hand on yours, fingers intertwining as he lifts it up with eyes not leaving yours.

You spin, catching that shark teeth beaming right back at you when your body comes back to face his.

Man, you swear you found the cyborg attractive and at times his actions have caused your heart to do summersaults but... this? What even can beat to this moment right now?

The beat, the smiles exchanged between you, it all leaves him giddy, that eat-shitting grin breaks when his laughter fills your ears. His automatic heart swirling all around just like the way these colorful dots dance across your face. It's intoxicating, really. He wants to lean in, perhaps this is the right time-

No... no, he shouldn't.

Without a word he whips your figure out by the arm in the small dance circle the crowd had given you. One second he's chuckling at the sound of your gasp leaving your lips, the next you're both in a giggling fit when you come right back in his arms. Boothill, no matter how many times he had contemplated this thing he's dealing, will bet an arm, or his whole body that he is NOT (Read: crazily, deeply) into you.

It was baffling really, how the both of you could follow up and be in sync to the invisible rhythm you have in that pulsing minds of you two. Body pressed and swaying to the rhythm, a hand or two on his shoulder, his two metal limps holding firmly to your hips. The view of the background swiftly changes depending who's on who's side of the room now.

The glimmer in his eyes were telling, you both knew this was something... deeper. A new side of each other the two of you are finally discovering after years of working together. And that glimmer in his eyes, though somewhat unfamiliar, was telling you something, and with the slow, yet daring grin playing on your lips, he takes that as a yes.

As the music comes to hit you again with its drop, he subsequently directs your bodies the other way and you hung your head back, eyes closing when his hand stays by the low of your waist, feeling the cold metal of his palm slipping to the back of your knee while you hung low from his dip.

"Atta, baby."

His words, his hold on you, this... it all brings you a sense of security and comfort, as if you're both just regular folks coming to Penacony for a trip together. Bubbles of laughter escapes your lips, especially with the way his strands of hair tickle your torso. He peers down at you across the valley of your chest, grinning at what your mission has come to.

He pulls you up quickly.

Your laughter dies down and you open your eyes, your hair guaranteed a slight mess but that's not of concern right now. Because who you both expect to find is right there staring back at you, amused.

"Great dance, you two."

want more? check out my master list!

©  2024 rindough, do not repost or plagiarize.

[billskeis]

PLEASE DO ANOTHER POLICE OFFICER! BILL SMUT PLSLSLPLSSLPLSPSLPSLSLPSLPSLPLPSLPLS

ᡣ𐭩 police officer bill p2

now what the fuck did you get yourself into? because there you sat in the interrogation chair, facing the one and last person you wanted to see. sat straight and tall, tapping one of his fingers on the wooden desk of his office, staring at you like some animal. licking your dry lips, you are met face to face with the officer who fucked you silly.

bill kaulitz was his name, and on your last endeavour, he had caught you.. which ended with the both of you encountering some, quite indecent acts that following night. now, he had warned you about committing crimes again, and what would happen if you did.

but maybe you wanted this, maybe you wanted him to fuck you silly, brain so numb all you can think of is how his dick drills into your sore pussy. you miss that feeling, the feeling of fullness. the feeling of his cock all the way in your stomach as he brings a hand to choke your neck.

“dollface, did you hear anything i said?” a voice breaks your consciousness as you jolt within your seat. clearing your throat, you pretend you were paying attention to whatever the fuck he was just saying earlier. “of course i was!”

he hums in disapproval. uh oh. getting up from his seat, he leans over his desk to hover over you who’s sitting down, hands restrained together by the uncomfortable clasp of metal around your wrists. using his thumb and his index finger, he holds your chin making you look directly at him. eyelids lowered, he has this primal gaze that almost has your knees buckling.

“i don’t think you understand the current situation you’re in, dollface..” you swallow hard, damn. did he have to say it in such a dark tone? moving away from the desk, he circles around it’s peripheral, finding his way behind you. he presses his crotch against your backside, clearly hard. dumb little you would’ve thought it was a gun again.

papers and files were pushed off the table, and there you were, bent over officer kaulitz’s desk as he fucks into you for being such a bad girl. clawing at the wood, you attempt to stabilize yourself on the furniture as it shakes and lean with every thrust. his cock throbs inside of you with every moan and whimper that slips out of your mouth.

“b-bill..” “that’s sir, to you,” you bite your bottom lip to stifle a moan as he pumps himself within you, heavy balls smacking against your ass as he relentlessly moves his hips. “s—ah—s-sir.. n’more..” a low chuckle heard from behind you as a harsh smack lands on your behind, a yelp escaping your lips.

“u-ugh.. been such a bad girl.. i literally fucked you the other day, was that not enough for ya?” tears fill your eyes. your cunt hurts from the way he pounds into you, and it doesn’t help that you guys just had sex not too long ago. god wasn’t nice enough to let you successfully escape from your heist, a limp to your walk. now you’d need a wheelchair.

you sob at how thick he fills your pussy, angling his hips to continuously abuse your g spot as the creak of a table and sticky wet squelching echoes through his office. “y-you don’t understand.. i—mmh! needed the m-money.. hahh..” “yeah? then lemme help you out.”

frowning, you couldn’t ask him to do that. what the hell was his problem? a police officer helping a felony? it sounded almost insane but the way he latches his fingers to circle on your clit as he pistons his hips fucking into yours made him sound a smidge more genuine.

“f-fuck!! ‘m gonna cum soon..” “so is that a yes?” you look back at bill, whose hips still for a moment as he awaits your answer. averting your gaze, you face flushes as he can only look down at you with a smirk, “i-i’ll think about it..”

another slap lands on your ass, quivering you gasp in disbelief at the sudden movement of bill. he only looks at you, pursing his lips together as he begins moving again, your cunt walls shaping to fit him better inside of you, “guess yer gunna need a lil’ more convincing, hm?”

a heat firing in your belly as he pounds into you. your pussy sounds filthy, wet and squishy as bill plunges his cock into you with no intentions to stop. you clench around him, close, and without your words bill can see as how fast your orgasm is to come, even making an effort to fuck your hips back onto his.

scoffing, bill can only pull himself out of you, juices leaking out and an empty, unsatisfying feeling flurries within your cunt. “w-wha.. why’d you stop?” “ohoh, look at you all desperate to come now, little slut wants this dick but doesn’t even want my help.” your chest feels heavy, cunt even heavier with need.

“y’know i can’t ask you for that..” “you’re not asking doll.. i’m offering.” he turns your body around to face his and cups a hand around your cheek, stroking away the sweat and tears with his thumb as he places a kiss to your forehead, “s’what is it gunna be? gunna let me help ya? if not, you can leave right now.”

you whine, reaching a hand out to his lower groin, bill quickly swatting your hand away. “‘m serious, y/n.” as you look him up and down, you can’t help but think. it is a pretty good offer, what is there to lose? “o-okay.. i’ll let you help me.”

a smile forms on bill’s lips as he gropes one of your breasts in his hand, thumbing over sensitive bud, “atta girl… whaddya say?” both hands now grasping each of your tips, fondling with the flesh, “t-thank you..” he shakes his head at you, sighing, letting out a little gasp in all of your forgetfulness, “thank you, sir..”

“that’s more like it,” as he pushes himself back into your needy cunt, fucking nice and deep into your cervix.

i absolutely fucking hate this im so sorry T_T

[st-el-la-luna]

It's Not Enough: Captain John Price x Reader

(sorry for vanishing I am mentally unwell)

An injury leaves the Task Force's Captain unable to do all that he usually does. You're more than happy to help.

NSFW 18+

➔ gn!reader ("you"/"your" pronouns, described as "pretty" once), Price is readers boss, pillow fucking, desperate almost subby Price

unedited, written on mobile in Spanish class

part two

It wasn't fair to say that the mission went south. It's not like the Task Force failed it or anything. You guys secured the intel you needed and cleared the base no problem.

Except there was a problem. Your intel on the enemy operation had been spotty and it turns out the enemy was more prepared than you all had been lead to thought.

Sitting silently in the back of the truck you all quietly lick your wounds. Soap had been stabbed, "'tis just a scratch," he had announced before taking out three men with an improved explosive. (Ghost hit him for that one) (the Shakespeare reference. Not the bomb). Gaz and Ghost both were shot, the former in the knee and the latter, grazed on the neck by a bullet that very well could have killed him. You got a little too close to a grenade and now your ears are ringing and you're covered cuts and scrapes from the shrapnel, bits of metal still embedded in your skin.

Price got it the worst though. One of the enemy soldiers managed to sneak up on him. This hulking, unit of a man who made Ghost, Ghost, look like a gangly teen.

You always wondered how Ghost, being as big as he is, could move so quietly so quickly. This enemy soldier made you think that maybe you were just loud and slow.

Not a single person realized that the soldier was there until it was too late. He tackled Price, knocking the gun from his hands then threw him, literally threw him, like a doll, over the catwalk ledge.

Price was lucky though, in a sense, because he crashed to the ground close enough to you and Gaz that you could provide him cover.

He was unlucky, or maybe just stupid, because he tried to catch his fall. His fall from three stories up.

With his hands.

Never have you heard bones snap so loud.

You glance across the truck at him. He's breathing slowly and deliberately, self-soothing. His hands resting on his thighs, fingers twitching occasionally, but otherwise motionless.

"Hey, look on the bright side, Captain," you say with a crooked grin, blinking away the blood dripping from a gash above your eye. "At least you won't have to do any paperwork for a while."

"Won't be able to jack off either," Soap adds with a crow of laughter. "Poor lil John's gonnae be black and blue... Won't even be able to feel the pain in yer hands over the straining of your–"

"That'll do!" Ghost snaps, ever the one to keep Soap in line.

It's quiet for the rest of the way back to base. It's quiet as you all head to medical for treatment. You're all drained, happy with a job well done, but exhausted from, well, everything.

Tired and sore, you decide to forgo dinner in order to catch some extra sleep. You're walking through the halls when you pass by Price's office.

The door is cracked open, which is unusual, and a rhythmic sound tumbles out into the hallway. A blend between panting and grunting.

He groans out a frustrated, "Fucking... Ah... Fucking hell!"

"Captain?" You ask hesitantly, knocking on the door. You hear shuffling inside, the rustling of cloth, soft jingle of metal. "I, uh... Everything okay?"

"Everything's fine," he grits out, breathless and frustrated. "I'm just..." More rustling. "Fuck!"

"Can I come in?" You ask, already opening the door.

He doesn't say no. In fact, he doesn't say anything. Until you've got the door open and are left staring at the scene before you.

"I didn't want anyone seeing me like this..." He grumbles.

He's standing behind his desk, both hands and forearms in casts. He's struggling with a zip up hoodie, tangled in the fabric as he tries to put it on.

You fight back the urge to laugh and succeed. You fight back the urge to smile and fail. "Want some help with that, Captain?"

"Please."

This continues for the duration of his injury, him coming to you for help with tasks he can't do himself. For as long as he's in those casts, you're at his beck and call.

It's not uncommon for you to be called away from some mundane task to help the Captain with something equally mundane. But hey, at least you get to spend time with your Captain.

Your handsome, rugged, often flushed as of late, Captain.

You're captain whose casts you've wrapped before he can shower. Whose shirts you've helped put on. Whose hair you've brushed. Beard you've combed. Whose-

You keep having to tell yourself that this doesn't mean anything. The only reason he comes to you and no one else is because, well, he doesn't want anyone else seeing him like this.

So what if he blushes when you help secure his belt around his hips? Or when your fingers graze his neck as you button his collar. So what if once or twice while youve helped him dress your hand has brushed his cock (and oh, it's big), and it's jumped to attention. It's a natural reaction, really. Price never even mentions it. He's probably embarrassed. Ashamed. Nothing more to it.

But what if...?

No. You tell yourself sternly. Bad. That's your boss.

But...

He has been calling on you more. Has been standing closer. Leaning in when you speak. Burying his nose into your hair before you leave his room and inhaling through his nose, then shutting the door on you, leaving you a little dazed and more than a little confused in the hall.

Still. It doesn't mean anything. You've just never spent this much time with him. Maybe this is normal.

You're in the armory with Soap and Gaz when your phone goes off in your pocket. Price is calling.

"Captain?" You ask, holding the phone between your shoulder and ear as you continue to clean your rifle. "Everything okay?"

"I know I told you I wouldn't need anything until later, but I... I need your help," he says, his voice gruff and rumbling. "Now."

Soap mimes a blow job and Gaz snickers, shouldering him playfully.

"Could have called anyone, Captain," Soap calls out loud enough for Price to hear through the phone. "What is it you need help with that only our pretty little Corporal can do? Hmm?"

"Shut up, Soap," Price grumbles.

"Captain says to shut up, Johnny," you relay to Soap. He laughs.

"I need your help," Price repeats, his breath stuttering slightly.

"Alright," you say, setting the rifle down. "What with?"

"I'm..." his words are cut off by a groan and the sound of shuffling, followed by something clattering to the floor. "Fuck... I'm trying to..." He pauses, breathing heavy. "Tryna trim my beard and I.. Just get over here quick."

"Aye, sir. I'll be in your office soon."

"Not my office. My quarters."

You pause, holding the phone properly now. "I... Your quarters, Captain?"

Soap snickers, and thrusts his hips into the air a couple times. You flip him off.

"Yes," he says. "It's where I keep my products."

"Right, of course," you shake your head. "I'll be there as soon as I can."

"Good," he says, letting out a breathy sound through his nose. "I can't deal with this any longer..."

"Your beard has gotten scruffy," you muse.

"I... Just... Hurry." He hangs up.

"Getting out of work early again, huh?" Gaz asks with a grin. "Or should I say getting off work early?"

"Not you too," you whine, flipping the pair of them off as you leave the room.

You don't catch what Soap says, his words muffled by his accent and the closing door. Judging by the raucous laughter that breaks out when he's done, you figure that might be for the best.

You get to Price's room and knock, waiting a beat before turning the knob. "Hey, Captain, just a heads up, I've never actually trimmed a beard before but I–"

You stare at the scene before you with wide eyes, blood rushes to your cheeks as your jaw drops.

"Close the door," Price grunts, staring up at you from his place on the bed. On his knees, forearms braced against the mattress, his face red, jaw slack as he lets out rhythmic pants and groans.

You don't dwell on it. Instead, your attention is drawn to the clumsy, desperate movement of his hips as he ruts desperately against his pillow. His pillow which is covered in... Is that one of your workout shirts?

"I... Captain?!" You squeak in surprise, taking a slight step back.

"Soap was right," he grumbles, humping and grinding and moaning into the pillow. Into your shirt. Your shirt. This is happening. This is real. Price inhales deeply through his nose, his tongue lolling out. "Haven't... Haven't been able to... It's... I... It hurts, i... I thought this would... it worked before but i... It's not... not enough, I.. Help... Please."

Slowly, hesitantly, you shut and lock the door behind you. "Oh, so you've done this before?" You quirk a brow as you approach his bed. "Fucked into your pillow like a desperate whore thinking it was me?"

He whines, actually whines, and his hips falter for a second before speeding up. With each forward stroke of his hips you can catch a glimpse of his cock. Thick and red and painfully hard, dripping so much precum it looks like he's already cum before you got here. "Don't... Don't tease me, Corporal... Don't forget who's in charge here."

"Seems to me, Captain, that I'm the one in charge here," you hum, slowly kneeling on the bed. He looks up at you through his sweaty fringe, his breaths hot and wet when they fan against your skin. "I mean, you're the one who needs help, after all... You're the one whose job could be on the line... I doubt the higher ups would be thrilled to find you like this, all backed up and desperate for one of your soldiers?"

His eyelids flutter, he bites his lips muffling a growl that crescendos into a moan when you cradle his face. "Stop, I... I just... It hurts..."

"I'm sure it does," you hum sympathetically, running a hand through his hair. "Been too long, hasn't it?"

He keens and leans into your touch, drool dribbles from his lips. "I... Weeks, may, ah, maybe a month... Or longer... I-I need it... Please."

"Well, that just won't do," you tut, shaking your head in mock sympathy. You tighten your grip on his hair and he bows, arching his back like it's his job. "Just look at you, Captain..."

He whines and you shush him gently, hand sliding from his hair to cup his jaw and chin, forcing him to look up at you. "Don't worry, Captain... I plan to do a lot more than just stare..."

Please reblog to support my writing!

Masterlist

[anemptypuddingcup]

On edge.

Mafioso or Capo (Mafia) Luffy x Female Mafioso Reader.

Contains: Gun play. Gun fucking. Fear play. Luffy teasing and scaring Reader. Slight sadism from Luffy? Fear kink? If there’s such thing. Reader referring Luffy as sir.

‼️Has gun play and gun fucking, please don’t read if that bothers you!

You gulp doing your nervousness, softly pressing your knuckles against the white-coated wooden doors. Sweat slowly spilled down your brows as you awaited him to call you into his office.

“C’mon in.” He demands, his tone normal and oddly soft.

You press your hands against the doorknob and slowly turned it, opening the door and peeking your head into his room to find him with his feet propped up against his desk. His right and left hand men stood at his sides as they watched you peer at their boss from the door.

“Since when we’re ya so shy to walk in? Cmon in baby gal.” He says, a chuckle spilling after he says his words. You slowly stumble in and set yourself down on the soft cushions of the couch. Luffy looks to his two men and smirks before snapping his fingers. “Can ya two leave for a min? I’d like to have a chat w’my lil’ missy here~” He says softly, looking over to Zoro and then back over to Sanji.

They both nod and slowly walked out of Luffy’s office, with Sanji closing the door behind himself.

You gulped as you sat there, your hands gripping your dress as you watched Luffy take a few puffs from his cigar.

You’re both all alone now…

Just you and him…

“Well? How’s m’lil baby gal doin’? Enjoyin’ the money I gave ya?~ Enjoying the spoilin’ like Nami and Robin?” He asked, giving you a little smirk.

You hesitate to answer, your nerves practically eating at your body and swallowing what little words you had to say. “I-I am…I-I’m trying to save it though…I don’t wanna spend it all in one place…” You say all sweetly, gulping a bit as the severity of your nervousness grew worse. Luffy chuckles and takes another puff of his cigar before setting it down in his glass astray.

“Heh…At least ya have the thought of savin’ it.” Luffy shrugged, pulling his feet down from his desk.

He motions his fingers for you to come over to him and you obey, a small whine leaving you lips unconsciously as you did. You stood there in front of him and he motions you to get closer to him. “Cmon, ya can stand closer it ain’t like m’gonna hurt ya~” He joked, making you freeze in place. You obeyed and stood before him, standing in between his legs which were spread wide open.

“Why ya act so shy ‘round me? Ya part of us s’ya gotta act like it. Hell, Nami and Robin act s’fuckin prissy…Why ain’cha like ‘em other gals?” Luffy asked out of genuine curiosity. You blush at his question.

“I-I…I just don’t see the point in acting like that…” You tell him, looking away for a moment.

Luffy stayed silent.

“W-Well- I-Is that why you called me in-“ You asked him a question but it was quickly cut off, the feeling of hard metal press up against your lower tummy making you pause and tense up. He smiled mischievously as he looked up at you with that dark look in his eyes. You could see his tattoos peering out past his button-up shirt and he snickers before licking his lips. He quirks a brow to you before humming out. “Did I give ya permission to look at m’tattoos? Quit lookin’ at em.” He demanded, forcing the gun harder up against your lower tummy.

You stumble back a bit and quickly turned away from him, your lips quivering out of fear as you felt that he was either teasing with you, or being dead serious.

Your breaths began to grow shaky and eyes widens with fear as you held back the sudden urge to yelp out in fear. Maybe this was a test? Maybe he just wanted to see how worthy you were to be apart of his familia.

God, you hoped that were true.

“S-Sir-“

“Take a seat, I ain’ gonna hurtcha…”

“Not unless ya try an’ run away…or yell out f’help…”

He patted his lap and you immediately obey, slowly lowering your hips down onto his lap. You could feel his leg lift up a bit, causing you to scoot back a bit closer against him. Your ass was practically pressed up against his crotch, and that alone made you freeze up.

“Ain’cha a cute one? M’eyes been on ya for a while…” He whispers, shoving the gun harder against your tummy and making you jolt back. You let out a little whimper as you felt him slide the gun lower and past your dress, the gun slipping off of the fabric of your dress and onto the thin fabric of your panties. You feel the cold metal kiss your cunt through your panties and you suddenly gasp out before biting your lip.

Luffy moved in closer to your ear, his other hand teasing at the garter wrapped right tight around your thigh. “P-Please…M-May I know what I d-did wrong f-for this..?” You say shakily, your eyes focused on the gun between your legs.

Luffy chuckles at your desperate question, a little growl following after as he held back the urge to to pull out his cock.. “Cuz, I wan’ to. Ya th’most vulnerable gal in m’familia…but ya s’cute when ya feelin’ fear. Th’rush of adrenaline in ya veins makes you s’fuckin’ sexy…” He snickers, running the gun along your clit through your panties.

A sudden mewl left your lips as you gripped the bottom of your dress with a trembling hand. “P-Please s-sir…I-I don’t l-like this…Y-You’re scaring m-me…” You say shakily, your breathing growing heavy before you began to hyperventilate from the fear and shock running through your body.

“I know I am…”

He slowly slid the gun past your panties and pressed it against your bare cunt, a startled and scared gasp leaving your soft and trembling lips. He ran the tip of the gun along your slit and he slowly pulls it away from your cunt, a string of slick following.

He sees a shiny essence coating his gun and he chuckles out playfully. “Hah?~ I thought y’were scared…Seems like ya fuckin’ pussy’s sayin’ otherwise~” He whispered to you, his lips up against the shell of your ear and tickling it while he spoke.

“N-No- T-This isn’t h-how I f-feel s-sir…” You whined, your thighs shaky as he pressed a rough and tatted hand up higher against the soft and thick flesh of your thigh. He spreads your thighs open even more and runs the gun along your slit again, the cold metal now smooching your entrance and nearly slipping into your warm velvety walls.

You gasp out and grip your fluffy faux shawl as you felt Luffy trying to push the gun into your pussy. His other hand reaches around your inner hip and slides his rough fingers into your panties. He runs his fingers against your clit, rubbing harsh and hungry circles along your sensitive little pearl.

He slides his tongue against your neck, and your body shudders at the contact before looking away from him. Nervous and fearful mewls left your lips, you were afraid of falling too vulnerable in front of your boss.

You could feel his tongue piercing kissing your skin…

His fingers worked sweet wonders on your clit and you struggled to keep yourself compose, soft moans leaving your lips as you watching play with your pussy.

“S-Sir~ Ah~ P-Please~” You whine out to him, a heavy gasp leaving you as your toes curls within your pretty sparkling pumps. Luffy bites the shell of your ear before sliding his long and slobbery tongue against your somewhat sweet yet salty skin again. He grips your panties and pulls them out of the way and bites his bottom lip.

“Let’s see how much of m’gun this pussy can take~”

He pulls your back against his chest, spreading your legs open far enough for him to slowly push the gun into your pussy. You shudder as you watched and felt the cold and metal slide into your pussy, a heavy gasp leaving your lips while your boss had watched your cute little face twist suddenly.

“Mmgh~ S-Sir~ I-I can’t t-take this!~” You whined, a mixture of pleasure and fear filling your body and giving off mixed signals. Luffy could only sit there and force the gun inside of your cunt, your walls uncontrollably sucking the gun deeper inside of you.

He could feel his cock growing hard beneath your soft and cute ass which was beneath your fluffy fur shawl. “Mmgh! O-Oh fuck!~” You flinch suddenly as you felt the gun kiss your g-spot, making you jolt and cover your eyes while your face began to burn up.

“Look at ya, such a slut suckin’ that gun deep in ya pussy~ Ya makin’ me hard baby gal~” He whispers to you, thrusting the gun in and out of your cunt.

You felt hot tears brewing within your eyes as you felt so ashamed of yourself. Enjoying the feeling of your boss fucking you with his gun, it was so sick…though it began to feel rather good.

You notice Luffy biting his bottom lip a bit harder while watching you shed a few tears. Wiping your face with his other hand he smirked, making sure your tears wouldn’t mess up your makeup. “Ya likin’ that hah? M’fuckin gun feels good inside of ya hah?” Luffy cooed, shoving his gun deeper inside of you, causing you to throw your head back from the suddenness.

“Gh!~ Mmmgh~ S-Sir p-please!~ O-Oh god~” You whine out to him, biting your nails softly as you watched him fuck you with his gun. Luffy snickers and stands up, lifting you up and shoving you down hard against his desk whilst still keeping his gun deep inside of you.

“Yeah? Y’like that? Y’fuckin’ dirty lil’ gal~”

“F-Fuck~ S-Sirrr~”

Your legs began to grow shaky while you held on tight to his desk, a whine leaving past your lips while your brows furls from the pleasure of your pussy taking his gun. “P-Please! Ah hah~ S-Sir!~” You call out to him, your legs trembling while you held on to his desk for balance. Your walls fluttered around the gun and you bit your lip tight while you moan out angelically for Luffy.

Luffy could feel himself yearning to cum in his pants just from your moans alone. Watching your slick coat the cold metal while your pussy took his gun just made his body tremble with arousal. Imagining the gun as his cock buried deep inside of you, your warm and sticky walls sucking him in and and taking in his shaft deep inside.

“Fuck…” He huffs out unconsciously, watching as you lose yourself on his desk from his gun deep inside of you. A bit of drool spilled out past your lips as he begins to fuck you hard with his gun, the continuous kisses against your g-spot and cervix making you moan out a bit loud.

“Ohhh~ Oh f-fuck~” You gasp out, arching your back and lifting your leg. You begged him with your eyes for him to hit you at a better angle, so close to your orgasm that the thought of dying was long absent from your mind by now.

He chuckles and grants your wish, flipping you onto your back on his desk and keeping your legs spread open for him. He holds on tight to your hip and thrusts the gun faster into your pussy, the sloppy squelching noises of your cunt making his mind fall blank. You gasp out and throw your head back once more, your toes curling as you held on to the desk for leverage and balance.

“Ya gonna cum? Ya gonna cum from takin’ my fuckin’ gun in ya pussy?” He asked, moving in close to your sloppy face. You nodded and moaned out, now desperate for your orgasm to just release. Your nodding wasn’t a good answer for Luffy. “Cmon, use ya words.” He demanded, shoving the gun deeper and making you gasp out.

“Y-Yes! I-I’m gonna cum~ M-May I please c-cum s-sir? P-Please?~” You begged, your body shuddering as you struggled to hold your orgasm in much longer. He snickers before pressing his thumb against against your clit. “Shishi~ Since ya asked s’nicely~” He says, scooting up and looking down at your nearly broken face.

He thrusts the gun in and out of your pussy faster, the metal massaging your walls and stimulating them alongside the g-spot kisses. “Oh god I’m gonna cum! I-I’m gonna- O-Oh fuck!~” You yell and gasp out shakily for him, your body shuddering as you squirt out onto his slacks. His fingers moved away from your clit and moved up to his chapstick-coated lips to taste you.

He runs his thumb along his tongue and mewls out at your sweet yet tart flavor. His eyes stayed focused on your twitching body, your breaths heavy as you struggled to even lift a finger. “Shishishi~ I shoulda put m’dick in ya first before m’gun. Woulda enjoyed ya fuckin’ pussy.” He sighed, slowly removing the gun from your entrance.

He slowly pulls the gun out of your pussy with a slight pop following after, the gun drenched in a sticky mess of your own slick and cum. A mewl leaves past your lips while you lied there trying to regain your stamina back, your body shaking and tired out form your orgasm. Luffy slides his tongue along his gun and sighs out shakily at your taste coating his tongue.

“Ohhh~ Oh f-fuck…S-Sir~”

“Mmh~ Take all th’time ya need, I ain’ goin anywhere…” He says, taking a seat back down into his chair and opening his legs. He stared in between your legs, your soaking panties making him and huff out in delight while he watched your body continue to twitch.

“How ‘bout we take this back t’my place? W’ya, me an’ this gun yeah?~”

[dckweed]

NEXT THING YOU KNOW, gator tillman

in which gator tillman and his arranged bride figure out life and each other and what a real relationship means to them.

warnings: mentions and depictions of abuse, mentions of bruises, arranged marriages, romance, humor, dead parents, slow burn relationship (not completely but not not), basically we know the tillman men are asswipes so i 100% see Roy forcing gator into this kind of situation for money for his militia, eventual smut with kinks such as thigh riding, gun play, choking, spanking, lots of marking and possible spit play.

okay don't ask how i got this out so fast, im literally so fuckin obsesessed with this series right now.

series masterlist here, series playlist here.

PART THREE: the weekend

thursday.

“What in the hell did you put me up to?” Gator’s voice rings out across the barn a couple of hours later. You wince, hearing the anger swirling under the tense tone as his footsteps thunk closer to you across the wooden floor. You’re still facing Bubbles, trying to get her untacked but it’s not easy when you don’t have a step ladder, you didn’t check if there was one in the trailer when you left and you didn’t feel right going snooping around the Tillman barn, afraid it might get you in trouble. 

“It’s just a few days,” You roll your eyes, grateful that he can’t see you because something tells you that the Tillman didn’t take kindly to bratty behavior like eye rolling. Not married yet or not, you were pretty much belonged to Gator now in the eyes of society in Stark County, nobody would bat an eye if he reprimanded you for it. “And i put us up to it, genius.” 

“Well gee, Pearl, you could have fuckin’ consulted me first, dontcha think?” He’s right next you in the stall now, his much larger hands moving yours out of the way as he could actually see over the top of your horse to undo all of her stuff. “Why the hell would i want to spend my weekend babysitting my sisters?” 

You scoff, turning to face him with your hands on your hips. You roll your eyes again and you know he sees you as his eyes narrow. “Ya know what asshole, you’re fuckin’ right!” You say, not going to put up with any of his damn attitude. “I shoulda slid right off my horse, left your daddy right out there in the field and come find you just to ask if it was okay.” He opens his mouth to retaliate, or maybe to tell you off for cursing at him or getting cross with him. “I may be younger than you but i’m still an adult, Gator, i’m gonna be your wife not your fuckin’ kid, don’t ever expect me to wait and ask your fuckin’ permission to do shit unless it’s necessary. That isn’t how this is goin’ to work.” 

He doesn’t say anything but pulls the saddle off of the horse with a huff and you turn on your heel, leading her out of the stall and out to the trailer. Gator stands in the stall for a moment after you’ve gone, listening to the clip clop of the horses hooves as you guys go. He closes his eyes for a second, readjusting the weight of your heavy ass saddle before guiltily following you along. You weren’t wrong, he was being an asshole. He hated being wrong, and he hated apologizing even more but he couldn’t let you go around stomping your feet and being mad at him all damn weekend, something told him that probably wasn’t in his best interest. And besides, he did actually feel bad for snapping at you like that, you didn’t deserve it. He did like seeing you get all riled up like that though, the storm that started brewing in your eyes..it was a nice change from your normally friendly and people pleasing personality. He liked that you obviously knew how to stand up for yourself too.  

The door of the trailer was open by the time he had finally meandered his way out of the barn, and he can hear you getting the horse settled into it. He makes quick work of putting the saddle into the back of your Jeep, closing the door and making his way to the trailer. He watches you, one arm braced against the metal door as his eyes follow your movements. You pat your horse on her long nose and then turn around, hands on your hips as you step down onto the ground of the driveway. 

You’re staring up at him expectantly, chewing your plump bottom lip with your hands on your hips. It took all the will power he never knew he had not to put his thumb on your fucking mouth, stopping you from what you surely couldn’t have realized was a surprisingly sinful act. He licks his chapped lips, looking off to the side before sighing. “I’m sorry for bein’ an asshole.” He says quietly, brown eyes searching your face for any sort of reaction. “I shouldn’t have snapped at ya like that..” 

Your face softens and something close to a smile graces the corners of your mouth as you push his chest lightly, your hands no longer defensively on your hips. “Apology accepted.” You say, meaning it. You had forgiven him the moment you had snapped at him too, you knew he was just as new to this whole situation as you were, you guys were still learning one another, that wasn’t any excuse to be yelling at each other but it was a reason to never let it happen again without at least trying to talk first. “But i’m not sorry for snappin’ back at you. You deserved it.” 

He laughs, a genuine, hearty sound coming from his throat and brings a hand up to muss your hair as he helps you close up and lock the trailer. “Alright..suppose we better go get that lunch you were talkin’ about earlier and then go pack up your stuff for the weekend.” The sun was fully up now, and even though it was only nine thirty in the morning, and he had all of an hour and a half of sleep under his belt, he was ready for lunch with you, and he was ready to get his dad and his wife out of the fuckin’ house so he could maybe relax just a little bit, maybe get a few more hours of sleep..

After a small squabble about who’s going to drive the Jeep you’re pulling up to the curb of Gator’s favorite diner in town, and he’s letting out a breath of relieved air as he steps foot on the ground. 

“Oh stop bein’ so dramatic!” You laugh walking side by side with him up to the door of the busy diner. He had spent the whole ten minute drive with one hand braced on the back of your seat and the other braced on the dash, telling you to slow down or to not hit your brakes so damn hard or to stop taking corners so fast and sharp with a damn horse trailer attached to you. You rolled your eyes after every comment, but found them more and more endearing as you heard the actual fear in his voice. That wasn’t the first time a boy had been scared to be in your passenger seat before. 

“Stop bein’ such a bad fuckin’ driver!” He retaliates, brown eyes wide as he holds open the door of the diner for you, you cackle and duck under his arm, breathing in his cologne and the smell of that damn fruity ass vape that he keeps puffing on. “You’re a menace to the road, Pearl, i swear!” 

He hears you mocking him and pushes the back of your head gently as the two of you find an empty space in the busy restaurant, a booth in the back corner next to windows where the light shines in. He insists on taking the side of the booth that faces the rest of the diner, wanting to have a good view of any potential danger (though he doesn't tell you that). 

A friendly waitress sidles up to the table as the two of you settle, you giggling after he mutters something more about your driving. “Mornin’ Gator, miss.” She says, nodding at the two of you. She’s plump and motherly, her hair brown and curly. You can tell from the smile on her face that she clearly knows the boy across the table from you. “Coffee for you, hon?” 

“Yes Ma’am,” Gator nods, one of the friendliest looks you’d seen in your whole short time of knowing him on his face as he looked up at her, his brown eyes filled with warmth you hadn’t seen towards anyone before. “And..i’m feeling lunchy today, how about a patty melt and fries, please?” You realized he must come here pretty often if the waitress knew his coffee order, and he didn’t need a menu to order. 

“You got it Gator,” She says warmly, turning to you next. “And for your..friend?” 

“Fiance, actually.” He says before you have the chance to speak, you’re stunned for a moment and so is the woman. This is the first time anyone outside of your families and the people directly involved with the wedding planning had been told that you guys were technically engaged, your face flushes as the realization and the weight of the title actually being out in the open for the first time. 

You can tell that she wants to ask more questions by the furrow in her brow and the hesitation before she clears her throat, but she thankfully doesn’t pry any farther. “And for your fiance?” 

You give a sheepish smile, that quickly turns to a deep rooted frown when the friendly woman tells you that they don’t stock flavored coffee creamers, or serve iced coffee. “Dr. Pepper then,” You say, the smile returning back to your face as Gator makes a mental note to stop by the local coffee shop for you on the way back to the Augastine ranch. “And I’ll do chicken tenders, with fries please!” 

She gives a smile and says she’ll be back soon, as soon as she gone Gator cracks up laughing at you. “What?” You pout, and he only shakes his head at you, causing your pout to deepen. “It’s not nice to laugh at people, is there dirt on my face? Gator!” The way you whined his name struck a different kind of chord in him and he quickly stopped laughing, shaking his head as he situated himself in his seat. 

He knew most men would have found the whining annoying but it was clear you didn’t do it on purpose, and it sent a tingle down his spine when you said his name like that. “Flavored coffee creamer?” You roll your eyes and kick him under the table, which only makes him laugh more. 

You had to admit, you liked how young and happy it made his face look when he laughed, and you wished he would do more of it. 

A couple of hours tick by as the two of you sit in your cozy little booth in the diner, eating and bickering and laughing at each other as customers come and go around you. He was sweet in his own rugged, rough way, your own personal diamond in the rough. You didn’t mind, it just meant you could have fun chipping away at him and softening him up around the edges. The more you got to know him over the past week, the more you started to think that maybe this marriage thing wouldn’t be so horrible. You could both learn to love each other over the years, and who knows, maybe you would fall in love in the way that all those people in the movies did. You had always wanted a silver screen romance..

Gator pays for the both of you before you can even dig your credit card out of your stupid little purse, which causes you to pout. “Hey, I was the one that asked you to come eat!” You argued and boy just sighs, giving you a pointed look that clearly said to shut the fuck up. You pout but don’t push on the matter, letting him steal the Jeep keys off of the table top as you slide off of your fluffy, overstuffed bench. 

“Alright, lets go pick up your stuff for the weekend and drop your trailer off,” He had work tonight again and he was hoping to get a couple extra hours of sleep in before his father left. The nights were always longer when he was tired, but he wasn’t going to complain. Gator loved his job. 

You follow him through the crowded diner, staying right underfoot. You hadn’t realized before but people were staring at the two of you, it made your cheeks flush when eyes bored into you as you walked and nervously, you grab onto the back of his shirt. He stiffens beneath your touch, and cranes his neck to look at you, eyebrows furrowed under the brim of his hat. “People are staring.” You whisper, he purses his lips and looks around before shrugging as you get closer to the door. “Why are they staring?” You weren’t used to attention like that, and you were afraid that somehow it would get back to Boyd that you were here with Gator and you would somehow get in trouble for it, fiance or not. 

“Because i’m the Sheriff’s son, and this is the first time i’ve been out in public with my fiance.” He says, as if it wasn’t that big of a deal. “Sherry probably went and spread the word while we were eating, it’s no big deal Pearlie, the whole town was gonna find out one way or another.” He pushes the door of the diner open with one hand, and with the other he grabs your hand off the back of his shirt, using his grip to push you in front of him out the door. 

“I figured they would have done an announcement in the paper or somethin’ by now.” You mutter, hands in your pockets as you walk side by side to the jeep with him. You don’t argue when he opens the passenger side door for you, but you do give him a shit eating grin as you step up onto the running boards to climb in. 

“Yeah, well, they’re probably leaving that up to us too.” He mutters as he closes your door and quickly walks around the front end. You thought it was rather sweet of him, opening the doors for you, but you wouldn’t say anything, you didn’t want to freak him out. He wastes no time in pulling away from the diner, casually driving your car with one hand while the other rested on the gear shift on the center console. 

You studied his hand, how much bigger than the gear shift knob it was, you could barely fit your own around it but his smothered it, leaving no trace of it under his palm. His thick fingers tensing and untensing around it, as if he were squeezing it like a stress ball. You bite your lip, looking up as the car comes to a stop and he throws it in park. “What are we doing?” You ask, noticing him lifting his ass out of the seat out of the corner of his eye, shoving his hand in his pocket. 

“You ask a lot of questions, you know?” He quips, grabbing a twenty dollar bill out of his wallet holding it out towards you. You simply stare at it, and then lift your big ass, curious eyes to stare at him. He sighs, sagging against the seat. “Go in and get your damned flavored coffee, felt bad they didn’t have it at the diner..” 

You feel your cheeks start to flush, and though you were tempted to argue and tell him he didn’t need to stop, you felt yourself unbuckling your seatbelt because that was just too damn sweet. You start to get out of the car, grabbing your purse when he clicks his tongue at you, shoving his hand at you again. You decide it’s best not to argue, you don’t want to annoy him anymore than you clearly already do without meaning to, you take it, using the grip on his hand to pull him across the console. You kiss his cheek sweetly, pulling away with a smile. “Thank you..” You say, turning and jumping from the Jeep as quickly as you could without hurting yourself. 

Gator is stunned by the show of affection, his neck flushed red from the interaction. He shakes his head, fighting back the smile on his face by putting his vape to his mouth as he watches you happily skip into the fucking coffee shop. “She’s gonna be the death of me..” He grumbles to himself, running a hand down his face after breathing out the fruity flavored vape that he filled his lungs with. 

You’re grateful that he’s with you when you go home because you can sense Boyd’s mood before you can see him, the house is still and quiet, the girls off at school for the day, the nanny is not needed until this afternoon. You walk through the front door with Gator laughing about the way he had narrowly avoided a hoof to his head when he was walking with Bubbles, you giggle at him as he exaggerates the scene that you had had your back turned to, shaking your head as you start for the stairs. 

“Where have you been?” His voice is cold and sends a shiver down your spine. You stop in your tracks, one hand on the bannister and turn to face him. You don’t dare look at him, but you put a complacent smile on your face nonetheless. You can feel Gator behind you, his hands sliding into his pockets much like they were on the first time he had been to your so-called home. 

“I was on that ride with Roy,” You say, calling Gator’s father by his name, he tenses behind you at the mention of the man, and you’re tempted to glance up at him and offer him a comforting smile. “And we got to talking about the wedding and what not and how i would like his girls to be in it, and he thought it would be a great idea,” You’re starting to babble, and you begin to worry that your words aren’t making any sense because of the way that his face changes. “So now Gator and I are here to pack up a bag for me because we’re going to be watching his sisters while their parents are gone for the weekend..” 

“We stopped and got an early lunch first,” Gator steps in, you feel his hand on your lower back and it brings a sense of calmness to you for some strange reason. “She was hungry..sorry, i shoulda had her call you or somethin’ didn’t mean to make you worry, Sir..” 

Boyd is quiet for a long beat, his jaw ticking like it does when he’s angry and trying not to show it. You swallow back your fear knowing that you’re safe with Gator here. 

“When will you be back?” He narrows his cold eyes at you, they hold no emotion other than the contempt that you know he feels for you, and that makes you nervous for what you’ll endure when you come home Monday afternoon, but grateful for the time you’ll have away. 

“I’ll be back Monday afternoon, after his parents come home.” You say, tired of the conversation and no longer wanting to be involved. You turn and start heading up the stairs, knocking Gator’s hand from your back as you leave without being dismissed, something you’re sure you’ll hear about next week. “See you then.” 

Gator is quick to follow behind, giving your step father a friendly smile as he clambers up the stairs behind you. “What was that all about?” He asks in a hushed voice as he follows onto the second floor landing. 

You shake your head and walk past your sisters’ room and farther on to yours, locking the door behind you. You don’t notice the way Gator’s eyebrows pinch when he notices you’ve barricaded yourselves in the room by locking it. 

“He’s an asshole.” Is all you say, shrugging off the encounter before heading to your closet to find your suitcase. 

When you come out you see Gator with his hands in his pockets again, looking around your bedroom, the one area of the house that was completely and utterly you. Pink and red accents, white frilly lace..teddy bears and fluffy pillows and blankets..the room was so..you. He had gotten his attention caught to a smattering of photo frames on your big white dresser, all of them held you in them, smiling that big beautiful smile of yours (sometimes it would be reaching your eyes, lighting them up happily, but most times it wasn’t), all of them held different people, your sisters mostly, and whom he assumed was a friend from school, a tall brunette with killer legs in a bikini with her arms around you. There was another guy in the photo too that he tried not to be jealous of, but he had his arm around your waist and was grinning down at the two of you as you guys stood on a dock in front of a boat. He loved how happy you looked there in that moment, like your mind wasn’t laden with such heavy burdens like planning a wedding you were legally bound to, or dealing with a clearly tense situation with your step father. His favorite picture though, was one of you and an older woman, your mama, he assumed. You were laughing in the photo a mess of birthday cake frosting smeared across your cheek and some pink tinsel in your hair. The silver balloons behind you said ‘15’. 

“That’s my mama..” You said, sliding up behind him. He jumps, slightly scared. “That’s the only picture i have left of her..Boyd has all the rest, wont let me see ‘em. I think they’re up in the attic somewhere.” You sniff a little, trying not to cry as you turn away, hands on your hips. “Right, lets get this stuff together.” 

After about an hour or so you’ve stuffed the whole suitcase with more clothes than you really need for an entire weekend, Gator had lightened the mood by teasing you when you tried to hide your panties and bras as you packed them, telling you it’s not like he hadn’t seen any before, and he would be seeing yours for the foreseeable future, and then making you laugh at his genuine confusion at your array of shampoos and body washes in the your shower. 

“Oh no, don’t tell me you’re one of those 3 in 1 off the shelf at the grocery store kinda guys..” You laugh, looking at him looking at the four different bottles of soaps in his hands. “Please tell me you use something that costs more than ten dollars on your hair! It’s too pretty not to use cheap crap!” You hadn’t really meant to call his hair pretty out loud, but it really was pretty, you couldn’t deny it.

He doesn’t mention it though and instead looks up at you bewildered. “Are you tellin’ me you spent more than twenty dollars on all this crap combined?” He asks, completely in awe. “Oh my god Pearlie, please tell me you’re not gonna be breakin’ my bank on fuckin’ shampoo- it’s shampoo!” 

The two of you burst out in laughter after a moment and you deemed it best not to tell him how much you spent on hair care quite yet, afraid that he would have an aneurysm if you did. He’s gentlemanly enough to help you carry the suitcase back out to the Jeep. 

He even carries it into his daddy’s house for you, and up the stairs where he shows you his bedroom. He tosses the case unceremoniously onto his bed, where it bounces. You look around for a moment, eyebrows raised as you take in the scenery. It was messier than you had imagined, but it smelled so much like him and his damn vape that you couldn’t help but to take a deep breath of air. The room wasn’t too big, and his queen sized bed took up most of the space, the rest of it littered with his clothes on the floor and posters on the wall..you noticed some trophies on a shelf that you would have to ask about later. 

“It’s not much, and it’s usually not so messy..” He says, you think he might be a little embarrassed by the red flush of his cheeks. “I’m sorry you have to sleep in here with me, but it’s better than the couch or crashing on the floor in the girls’ room..” 

“I don’t mind, Gator..” You say, giving him a little smile as you turn to face him. “It’s a fuckin’ pig stye though.” You laugh and he follows suit, nodding along with you. You had a pretty good idea of what you would be doing to keep yourself busy while Jessica and Maude were at school tomorrow, or until they would come home this afternoon. 

The rest of the early afternoon was spent with Karen giving you a run down of the girls’ schedules and how to feed them and dress them. Something about the woman irritated you to your core, maybe it was the way she clearly held nothing but disdain for her step son, or maybe it as the way that she spoke to you like you were stupid and couldn’t possibly be capable of taking care of her children, either way, it made your eye start to twitch the more you thought about it. 

You were grateful when Roy seemed to have finally had enough of hanging around after he had dutifully packed their bags into his old chevy and got a little snappy with his wife, who quickly scurried out of the door. He gave you a friendly squeezed of your shoulder, his giant hand engulfing your shoulder, before mentioning something to Gator in hushed tones that seemed to only upset the boy as his voice turned tense and cold and his back stiffened like it did earlier in the day. 

The house was quiet once the door shut, creepily quiet once the old Chevy had meandered it’s way out of the gates of the house and down the road of the ranch. You stood in the doorway of the kitchen, not quite sure what to do with yourself as you kept your eyes on your fiance. He’s watching out the windows next to the door, his back muscles still tense. You wondered if he would be upset with you if you asked what his father had said, if you asked if he was okay. You decide against it though. “Gator?” You ask, your voice soft, small and quiet. He hums in response, hands on his hips as he glances back at you. “Shouldn’t we go pick up the girls?” You noticed it was nearing time for school for your own sisters  to be out, and while Gator’s went to a private christian school you figured they probably had the same start and out times as your sisters’ school. “It’s almost three..” 

“Yeah..” He runs a hand down his face, clearing his throat. “Yeah, let’s get going.” 

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