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katiexpunk · 3 months

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Desert Dust | Joel Miller's POV

Summary: The last place Joel Miller expected to find himself at this point in his life was in a small highway town in Arizona, passing the days by. He never really though he needed more -- until he met you.

Warnings: This is Joel's POV from Desert Dust. Yeah, if you thought he was a consent king in the original, this just further proves it. Tommy comes with his own cheeky warning. No age gap mentioned (make it your own), but Joel mentions feeling old. Joel Miller has a bad back (it's canon). Self-deprecation. Attempted assault (not by Joel)/nothing too graphic (please be responsible about what you consume). Joel beats up a bad guy., and like actually kinda wants to kill him for trying to hurt you. References to blood and first aid. Alcohol. Pet names. Flirting/slow burn. Inexperienced reader. Body hair. References to taste of vagina. Smoking/cigarettes (it's bad, don't do it). Oral (f receiving). Praise kink. Rough sex. Sex on a desk. Just a really passionate, filthy fuck. Creampie (shocker, I know). No use of Y/N, no use of daddy. TLOU au. Reader has no physical descriptions apart from female anatomy.

W/C: ~8K

A/N: Thank you for all of the love on Desert Dust. Nobody asked for this, but I couldn't get Joel's POV outta my head, so I hope you enjoy a little deep dive into what Joel was thinking when he first walked into that restaurant. Your honor, they're in love. Masterlist | Read on AO3 | Notifications

Did you ever see a robin weep When leaves begin to die? Like me, he's lost the will to live I'm so lonesome I could cry

The timbre of Hank Williams’ voice fills the truck's cab as Joel drives. It’s early, the sky is just beginning to transition from a deep midnight blue to a gradient of warm orange as the sun gradually emerges. While Joel likes to think of himself as a morning person, his back has other opinions on the matter. It’s to be expected, though, that’s what nearly 30 years of hard labor will do to a man.

The warmth of the thermos in between his thighs contrasts with the chilly morning air pouring in through the cracked window. Smoke dances lazily around his broad frame, a burning cigarette clenched between his calloused fingers. He greedily draws long drags, knowing it’ll be hours before he can have another one. He should quit, he knows he should quit. The half-used pack of Nicorette gum that sits in his cupholder in front of him is proof of that.

But like picking at a scab or peeling the skin of a sunburn, sometimes we all do things we know we shouldn’t, things that make us feel good, if only for just a minute or two.

In truth, there isn’t a lot that makes him feel good anymore. Jesus, when did he turn into such a grumpy old man? Probably sometime between Sarah going to college, and Tommy convincing him to take this contract job in the middle of fuck all nowhere.

The silence of a falling star Lights up a purple sky And as I wonder where you are I'm so lone–

Williams’ voice falls silent as Joel turns off the truck, having pulled into the work site. He snubs out the cigarette into the ashtray in the middle of the dash and grabs his jacket, a clipboard, and safety helmet.

“Another day, another dollar,” he mutters to himself, pulling the handle on the driver's side door. The ground crunches below him, his boots are so dusty he doesn’t think he’ll ever get them clean again. God damn desert dust. He shakes his head and walks to the white trailer in front of him, unsure of why he’s so frustrated in the first place.

“Well aren’t you a ray of fucking sunshine this morning,” Tommy says, responding to the quick snap of the door after Joel enters their makeshift office.

“Don’t,” Joel bites back.

“What’s got your panties in a twist this morning, princess?” Tommy chides, sitting behind a wooden desk covered in blueprints and safety checklists.

“This really the way you want to start the day, Tommy?” Joel says, voice low and even, masking his emotions. “Just, get to work.”

He rounds around to the desk opposite Tommy’s and places everything down. The ripped chair lets out a little puff of air under his weight as he sits.

Tommy, of course, knows what’s eating at Joel. He needs to get fucking laid.

Tommy can’t even remember the last time he saw Joel with a woman it’s been so long. He was always so focused on Sarah, or growing the company, that he always put himself last. He’s tried to set Joel up on dates, but he always declines, citing he’s too busy or maybe next month.

And while Tommy doesn’t say anything, it’s as if Joel can practically hear his thoughts.

“Would you stop thinking so damn loud,” Joel mutters, and Tommy gives him a knowing smirk. “‘M fine. Worry about how we’re gonna finish this project and less about me,” Joel tells him. They both return their attention to their work.

As Joel works to finish up his administrative tasks before the rest of the crew arrives, he tries to shove down the annoyance he feels that maybe Tommy might be right. Maybe it has been too long, besides, rutting his cock into his fist in the shower every night is starting to get old.

He’s not intentionally trying to avoid meeting someone, it’s just that nobody’s ever really caught his attention, not in any genuine way. He knows he’s attractive, but it might as well be poison to him for the types of women he attracts – it’s all fake tits, tight jeans, and money-hungry cougars just looking for someone to show them a good time.

Just as he starts to think all of the good girls might be gone – he meets you.

++++

God, either this booth is uncomfortable or his back is getting worse. He tries to relieve some of the pressure by hunching over for a second. Nope, that’s worse. He sits up to full height and that’s a little better, for now, at least. He looks at the menu in front of him. He thinks about ordering a burger, but with how busy it is, he’s not confident it would come out in time before his lunch break ends. Besides, he told Tommy he would be back in less than 30.

He didn’t intend to stop, he was just looking for an excuse to clear his head. But when he went to grab his coffee, he realized he had left it on his desk. He’d taken the highway exit to get to the restaurant by chance, hoping he might find a Starbucks or something quick. But nope, as it usually goes in small towns, the only coffee place nearby is where he currently sits.

He notices you coming up to the table out of the corner of his eye and turns his head to look at you.

Shit – you’re beautiful. He thinks he might have died and gone to heaven. He watches as your thighs come flesh with the edge of the table, a coffee pot in your hand.

"Hi," you say, he notices your voice is soft. "Can I get you something to drink?"

He’s so fucked. You even sound pretty.

Your eyes find him, and he swears he feels something shift, electricity courses through him. You’re the first person to look at him, actually look at him, in years. He tries to keep his face level, not wanting to give away any of what he’s thinking.

His eyes drift down to your chest until he notices the nametag pinned to your shirt. Cute name. It matches your pretty face. He internally chuckles to himself when he notices the coffee stains and what he thinks might be ketchup on your shirt. It makes him smile, mostly because he’s no stranger to wearing food himself, although you’re a waitress, it makes more sense to him that you’d be a little messy, a little dirty. He doesn’t quite have the same excuse.

Distracted, it dawns on him that he’s probably staring. Stop being weird, she doesn’t need some old man gawking at her while she’s just trying to do her job, you fucking creep.

He moves his eyes to the coffee pot in your hand. Right. The whole reason he’s here in the first place.

"Just coffee, darlin'," he says, watching as you pour some into the mug that was already waiting on the table.

“You let me know if I can get you anything else,” you whisper.

He thinks he might pass out when he sees your smile. So, so fucked.

“Just coffee for me today, sweetheart, thank you.”

He internally grimaces when he realizes he’d let sweetheart slip, hoping it didn’t weird you out. You can take the man out of the South, but you can’t take the South out of the man. He tries not to stare as he watches you walk away, but he can’t help himself.

Sitting in silence, he nurses his coffee and tries to ignore the annoying glances that he seems to be getting from, well, everyone. He feels like he might as well have a giant arrow above his head screaming I’m horny for the waitress. He knows he’s looking at you more than he should, but like a moth to a flame, he just can’t seem to look away. He wonders how long you’ve worked here, and what your story might be. He wonders if you’re happy. Why the hell would he be wondering that? He just met you, for fucks sake.

He’s just another customer.

The establishment itself is pretty much what’d you expect for a small-town dive, the smell of grease and hamburgers wafting through the air. The portions are huge, and the coffee is good. There’s just one annoying thing about it, and he quickly learns her name is Tracy.

He only knows this because she’s quick to offer it up, calling him baby and sugar, pestering him like a fly. She’s attentive in a way that’s forced, suffocating in every possible way. He can tell she’s the type of woman who craves the attention of any man who’s willing to give her the time of day, the type of woman that lets her boobs do all the talking. He’s lonely, yes, but he’s not desperate. He wants nothing more than for you to refill his coffee, just so he can hear your voice again, but she makes it near impossible.

More than three cups of deep, but still bone tired, he feels his phone vibrate in his jeans and he knows it’ll be Tommy asking where he’s at. He pulls it out and sure enough. He looks around the restaurant, hoping maybe he might be able to cash out with you, but you’re nowhere to be seen.

He opens his worn leather wallet, the same one he’s had since Sarah gifted it to him all those years ago, only to find a handful of $20s. He drops one on the table and decides it’s not worth it to ask Tracy for change; he could go the rest of his life never talking to her again and be fine with it.

He silently slips out of the restaurant, and his curiosity about you nearly drowns him on the drive back.

But this time when he walks into the trailer, he can’t help the cheesy grin that involuntarily appears on his face.

“Who are you and what have you done with my brother?” Tommy teases, his words slightly muffled from the bite of PB&J in his mouth, the sticky tack of peanut butter glued to the roof of it.

“Shut up,” he says, but there’s no bite behind it.

++++

The days turn into weeks, and he tries to step away from work, he does. Every day he tries to find an excuse to go in and see you, a reasonable time to step away for an hour or so. But it’s hard, project demands are at an all-time high, and the client is up his butt, freaking out they won’t be done in time. He works overtime, arriving earlier than usual and leaving close to midnight nearly every night.

Joel Miller is a lot of things, but above all, he’s a man of his word. He and his brother didn’t build this company by being late or half-assing work. We’ll get it done, he reassures the client. And they will, he’ll make sure of it.

“Joel, get up man,” Tommy says, shaking his shoulder. He jolts awake, his vision a little fuzzy, slightly disoriented.

He must have drifted off during his lunch break and passed out cold on his keyboard. When he finally comes to, he automatically feels a twinge in his lower back. He’ll pay for that little nap later, he can already tell.

“You’ve been working too hard, why don’t you call it a day, go home, and get some sleep? I’ve got it here for the rest of today,” Tommy offers. As much as they fight, there is a mutual understanding there – respect, even love, although they’ll both never admit to that outright.

He starts to protest, but the pain in his back tells him that maybe he’s right. Lord knows he could benefit from a hot shower and a good night's rest, but even those things, things that should be relaxing, don’t offer him any respite. When he’s not thinking about work, he’s thinking about you. Your kind, soft eyes, and warm smile have sunk their teeth into his mind, and no matter how hard he tries, he just can’t seem to shake you.

A rather frustrating fact, considering you’ve probably forgotten all about him. Just another customer, he’s just another customer.

On the drive back home, he realizes he’s not far off from the exit to the restaurant. You’re probably not even working, and he knows he might be risking seeing Tracy again, but fuck it. Before he has time to talk himself out of the decision, he’s pulling into the parking lot.

He’s surprised at how quiet the restaurant is, a lot different from his first visit. He looks at his watch, it’s close to 3 o’clock, and from the state of the place, he can tell the lunch rush likely just finished. He tries to not be obvious about the fact that he’s scanning the place, looking for something, someone. You.

He sees you before you see him. You look – focused. He can tell you’re a little worn out, but fuck if you aren’t still adorable. He flexes his hand open and closed a few times, trying to calm nerves he didn’t even know he had anymore.

He grins a little as you tell him to take a seat wherever you want, as he watches intently as you throw the final pieces of flatware into the bin. He’s kind of impressed with how quickly you cleaned up the mess, how easily you hoist the heavy bus bin onto your hip.

When you finally notice him, he lifts his hand in a silent hello.

You look cute when you’re surprised. He can tell he’s caught you off guard. Like you weren’t expecting him. He notices as you scan his body, taking him in. He wonders if you feel this too, whatever the fuck this is.

“Oh, hi. Um, go ahead and take a seat, I’ll be with you in just a second, just gonna drop this in the back,” you say. The smile and obvious excitement that washes over your face tells him everything he needs to know.

He’s a customer. But what if he was more than that?

Jesus.

No.

He’s just a customer.

He decides that the booth by the window looks decent enough. The booth and his back fight once more, but he eventually gets comfortable. When you greet him again, your smile and soft voice melt into him, making him forget all the stress of the past few weeks. It takes him a second before it dawns on him that he hasn’t responded to you, that he hasn’t said anything. Talk to her, say something…say anything.

“I was, uh hoping you’d be here,” he says, realizing how cringe he probably sounds. Has he always been this bad at flirting?

But before he can recover, Tracy swoops in like a hawk, eager to monopolize his attention. He watches as you sink back into the depths of the restaurant, leaving him with her. No, come back.

She's quick to bring him a menu, some coffee, and offer him a selection of homemade pies, her enthusiasm bordering on overwhelming. He’s being rather curt with her, not even trying to hide the fact that he’s not interested, but the more he seems to ignore her, the stronger she comes on. He’s a thin thread away from telling her to just fuck off, but he doesn’t want to be rude. Besides, he knows you’re busy. He might not get to talk to you this time, but he will – or at least he hopes he will – especially if everything goes according to his plan.

He’s not even sure if what he intends to do can be classified as a plan. Hell, he’s just glad that he even has a spare business card in his wallet.

He scans the dining room for you, and once he spots you, he rises from the booth and intentionally catches your eye. With the worn card in hand, folded between the folds of some cash, he hopes that you understand his message when he nods and tucks it under the coffee cup. Please call. He’s not sure he’s ever been more hopeful for anything, ever.

He swings by the grocery store on his way home, picking up some beer and a frozen pizza, too tired to cook anything real for dinner. He sinks into the cushions of his couch and tries to drown out his hopefulness with the distraction of T.V. But, he’d be lying if he said his heart rate doesn’t quicken with every notification that comes through his phone.

But you don’t call or text.

He thinks that maybe you’re just trying to play it cool, not wanting to come across as too eager.

But as the days go on, still not a peep from you, he tries to shove down the darker thoughts that cross his mind. Maybe he had misinterpreted the signals you were giving him, misread the energy that feels palpable when you’re next to each other. Maybe he’s just out of practice. Not your type.

You don’t want him. Why would you? He’s just some contractor, an old washup. Probably one of dozens of men who spend their nights waiting, wishful and hungry for even just a glance from you. One of the dozens of men who spew hot loads of come onto their bellies alone at night brought to a tipping point thinking about how sweet you might sound chanting their name, how tight your pussy would feel gripped around their cock.

Fuck.

++++

Some weeks later, he’s pulling another late night at the job site. And when the fluorescent lights get to be too much, he decides to call it a night. He can’t quite put a finger on it, but there’s a gnawing in the pit of his stomach, a silent feeling like he should swing by the restaurant – maybe even apologize for coming on too strong or weirding you out. Before he can even rationalize what he’s doing, he’s once again pulling into the parking lot. Except –

Somethings wrong.

There’s only one car in the parking lot, and the neon open sign remains lit, but something feels…off.

He can feel it, like some sort of primal instinct laying dormant in his body has woken up.

It all happens so fast, faster than his mind can register. When he sees you, struggling in the hands of some fucker, he intervenes. He moves fast, doesn’t think twice, just lets his body take over. He pulls the man off of you, adrenaline coursing through his veins, his blood red hot, and his jaw tense.

“I’d think twice if I were you before you try and win this one,” he says, voice low and threatening. Don’t make me go to jail tonight.

He’s not surprised he hits the guy as hard as he does. He barely feels it, the bone-crunching under his fist. He’d probably kill the guy if you weren’t right there, watching his every move. It’s not a fair fight, not really. Joel knows he’s bigger and stronger, and has the unfair advantage of being sober. He can tell he probably broke the guy's nose, and that’s probably punishment enough. He drags the man out of the establishment and tells him to get the fuck out and never come back. He hopes the warning is enough, the message clear that if he tries to touch you again, ever, it’ll end worse. He’ll make sure of that.

He locks the door and turns to face you. You look so – scared. So innocent, shaken, like a baby deer who just saw its mother get hit by a truck. He even thinks for a second that you might be afraid of him, a thought that makes his heart sink. I would never hurt you. He brings both of his hands to the sides of your arms – keeping the touch intentionally light, with a gentle, reassuring grip. It’s okay, I’m here. You’re safe now.

“You alright?” he asks, watching with concern as you try and put on a brave face. God, he hates to see you cry, hates that anything could ever make you cry. He can tell you’re trying to avoid looking at him, not wanting him to see your vulnerability.

It’s okay. No one is going to hurt you.

He brings his hand up to cup your cheek and uses the edge of his thumb to tilt you up to look at him. God, you’re perfect.

The hand that meets his is soft until a sharp sting comes to his attention. He watches as you grab his hand and bring it down to your eye level, noticing the blood on it, a giant split down the middle of one of his knuckles. Fuck that guy. He wishes he would have given him just a little more, maybe a black eye or two.

"You're hurt," you say, the tears in your eyes now replaced with genuine concern.

He can tell you’re worried about him, a fact that makes him feel a little fuzzy inside.

"It's okay, don't worry about it, doesn't hurt," he tries to reassure you. And he is. He’s suffered worse, nothing that won’t be better in a day or two, even if it does sting like hell right now.

"We've got a first aid kit in the back. Let me clean you up," you insist, nodding towards the rear of the room.

He doesn’t want you to have to put up with that right now, especially after everything that just happened.

"It’s alright sweetheart, you don't have to, really…" he protests.

"You just defended me. Bandaging your knuckles is the least I can do to thank you," you tell him firmly, leaving no room for refusal.

Fuck, you’re so sweet. So perfect and sweet. You could ask him for the moon and he’d try to find a way to lasso it down for you.

His heart quickens as you interlace your fingers with his on his left hand and guide him through the restaurant. He even chuckles a little to himself when you tell him to watch his step. You’re being so nice, he can’t be misinterpreting this – there’s no way. But why didn’t you call? The question weighs heavy on his mind.

In the small office, you flick on the light switch and rummage through the cabinets until you find an old first aid kit tucked away in the back. He leans against the desk, quietly observing you, taking in the fact that he’s here, in this tiny office, with you. That you care enough to help him. That he cares enough to protect you.

"Ah, got it," you say with a hint of excitement that you found the kit, a little surprised there was even one stashed away. Though most of the bandages and finger condoms are missing, there's still plenty of gauze and alcohol wipes.

His cock twitches a little when you rip open the alcohol wipe with your teeth, he thinks you might be good with your mouth in more ways than one.

"This might sting a bit," you warn, meeting his gaze with genuine care. I can take it, baby. He can tell the way you’re being with him right now might be your nature, to want to take care of those around you. To be what they need.

“‘You can make it up to me later,” he whispers, hoping you’re sensing the intention behind his words. As you’re patting the blood on his knuckles, he feels the need to know why you didn’t call bubble up to the surface, the question at the tip of his tongue. Oh just ask her.

“Can I ask you something,” he says, looking down at you, not even realizing he’s holding his breath. He exhales when he hears you say mhmm in response.

Rip off the fucking bandaid man.

“Why didn’t you call?”

He watches as you close your eyes and take a deep breath. “I wanted to. I mean, I almost did – I typed out so many texts to you it’s borderline embarrassing,” you pause for a second to grab the gauze from the counter behind him. As you lean in closer to him, you bring with you the soft scent of your shampoo. You smell like honey and the earthy, clove smell of tobacco. You smell divine.

“I guess I’m just not used to being wanted. Don’t know how to do this kind of thing. I’ve been alone for so long, and I guess, I don’t know, Joel,” you affix a little piece of tape to the gauze, before dropping his hand, all finished. How could anyone not want you?

He watches you intently as you stand before him, grateful that you’re being so honest with him. He wishes so badly you would look him in the eye.

“I didn’t want to embarrass myself. Not sure why a guy like you would even want a girl like me to call him anyway…” you trail off, letting out a small cough to hide the emotion creeping up in your throat. Is she joking?

He floats his hands up to your hips, and he tugs you in closer to him, body weight still propped up against the desk, his thick thighs bracketing yours. You still avoid his eyes, your gaze seemingly fixed on a button on his shirt.

“Look at me, sweetheart.”

His hand still hurts a little, a dull throb, but he could care less right now. He trails it up over the side of your body until his fingers land under your chin. Sweet girl. He uses his thumb to tilt you up to look at him. You look so beautiful right now, so raw and so perfect. The soft plush of your lips draws his attention, and he can’t help but touch them.

There’s so much he could say, so much he wants to say. He wants to build you up, to tell you that you’re worthy of the whole world. That you’re beautiful and kind, and that any man would be lucky to have you. He doesn’t even have to deeply know you to know those things.

But he can tell from the look in your eyes that it’s not what you need right now. He’ll tell you someday. He’ll tell you every day if you’ll have him.

But no.

Right now you don’t need someone to tell you how gorgeous you are, you need someone to show you.

“Joel,” he hears you whisper, knowing full well that his thumb is still on your lower lip. He wants so badly to know what they’d feel like on his.

“Ki–”

Fuck it.

He drops his hand and leans in to crash his lips into yours, and holy shit. He wants you so fucking bad. He’s never wanted anything, or anyone, more.

He sucks your bottom lip into his mouth and his cock hardens when you let out a little whimper. He holds you tighter to his chest, his thick and capable hands admiring the soft curves of your hips. He needs more, needs to taste your skin, needs to know what it feels like on his lips. He dips his mouth to your neck, kitten-kissing you as delicately as he can. More, he needs more.

He skims his injured hand underneath your shirt, caressing the skin between your shoulder blades. Jesus, you’re so impossibly soft, your skin feels like silk compared to his. He nips at your jaw, and the soft moan escapes your lips makes him feel feral.

“Fuck, baby. Wanna go slow with you, take my time. Do it right,” he says, internally acknowledging how wrecked it comes out.

He trails his hand up and pulls the shirt of your uniform down over your breast, exposing the simple lacey bra. Ugh. It’s so much for him, the little moans you keep making for him as he kisses your neck, the way your nipples respond beneath the fabric to his touch.

“Wanna show you what you’re worthy of sweet girl, in all the ways,” he groans into your chest, and he means it.

“I want you to fuck me so badly,” you blurt out, lost in the delusion of arousal.

Fuck. Yes.

His cock is rock hard, so stiff it’s almost painful. He doesn’t even remember the last time he was this hard. He wants so badly for you to just fall to your knees in this tiny little office and suck it. He wants so badly to hold the column of your throat while he shoves his thick cock into your wet and waiting mouth, feel him deep down your throat. More. He needs more.

He hopes to god that you’ll chant his name like a prayer when he unravels you like a spool of thread. He can hear it in his head now, as he licks your soft skin and holds you against him. He can’t stop thinking about how pretty you’ll sound when you come for him.

“Patience, angel baby. You’re in good hands,” he purrs.

“Can I undress you?” he asks. He wants you to know that you’re in control here, that hel’ll only do what you want him to and nothing more. You call the shots.

You toe off your beat-up sneakers and work to take off your shirt and bra, and he works to unbutton your skirt. Fucking buttons. He thinks it’s cute the way you wiggle your hips to assist him in removing the barrier. After what seems like no time at all, you’re nearly fully nude in front of him, bare save the thin cotton of your panties. Perfection. You are perfection.

He frowns a little when he notices you cross your arms over your chest in an attempt to hide your body.

“God damn, sweetheart. Look at you,” he says, taking a small step back and admiring the view. He thinks you’re a masterpiece, a piece of art holding court just for him to gaze at. He’s never really considered himself to be lucky, but he must have done something right to have you right here with him right now.

He gently grabs the arm you’re covering yourself with and exposes your bare chest. Don’t hide, baby.

“No need’ta hide from me,” he tries to reassure you.

You push your chest out to him, for him. He accepts your offering; swipes a calloused thumb across your plush, silky nipple, and crouches to catch the other in his desperate mouth. He groans into your chest the second your nipple meets his lips. He smirks at the sound of the deep hum that escapes from your throat, lips still attached to your breast.

“Feels so good, Joel,” you moan. Just getting started with you.

He trails kisses down the valley of your breasts, across the soft swell of your stomach, doing his best to whisper sweet praises as he does. It feels so good, so natural when you drape your hands over his broad shoulders and thread your fingers through the curls. It’s been so long since he’s been touched like that, the feeling goes straight to his cock. More. More. More.

He can tell you’re a little hesitant, maybe a little lost in your thoughts. He does his best to pull you back to him. On his knees, he places both of his hands on the curves of your hips and holds you steady while he looks up at you. You look so beautiful looking down at him, your lips slightly parted, your skin shiny from the sheen of sweat, your obvious arousal evident on your face. He wonders what he must look like to you.

“Can I take these off, baby?” he asks, hooking his thumbs in the band of them. He wants to hear you say it, to permit him to cross that line.

“You, um, you don’t have to. It’s okay, really…” you shy away.

Please, he pleads to himself silently.

He presses his nose into your mound and fuck, you smell so good, he can’t help but moan.

“Smell so sweet, need to taste you, sweetheart. I won’t if you don’t want me to, but fuck, I would love to,” he says, and it’s true. He suspects you’ve never had a real man take care of you, taking the time to pleasure you to your heart’s content. A damn shame.

“O-kay,” you say on an exhale.

“I gotcha, don’t worry,” he rasps out, his voice equal parts gentle, and gruff with desire. He wants to reassure you.

He gently tugs the fabric down over your thighs, the fabric gathering at your ankles. You take a small step out of them, and he gently caresses up the back of your calve, and back of your thigh, his hand landing on the curve of your ass. He tightly grabs the flesh there. He gently guides your leg up onto one of his shoulders, and you press back into the wall and lean your pelvis closer to him.

“Fuck, what a pretty little pussy,” he praises, before leaning in to place an experimental kiss on the top of your mound. He thinks this might be the most perfect pussy he’s ever seen in his life. Making sure you aren’t uncomfortable, he looks at you to make sure you’re okay with him continuing.

He’s eager, and he’s sure it’s coming across in the way he’s kissing you. Once you’re comfortable with his mouth on you, he glides the middle finger of his non-bandaged hand through your wet slit before flipping it so it’s wrist up, pausing with the pad of it right at the entrance of your tight hole.

He thinks he could come right there, with the way you’re looking down at him with lusty doe eyes and biting your lower lip. He watches your face as he gently nudges the tip in. Fuck, you’re so tight. He holds it there for a brief second, his restraint threadbare, before fully thrusting it up into your core.

“Fuck angel, you’re tight,” he moans as he continues to feel you, eventually putting his mouth back on your pussy, sealing his lips around your puffy clit. He pumps his finger in and out of you and flicks and swirls his tongue where he can feel you need it the most. You’re so wet for him, so tight, so willing. If he weren’t already on his knees, he knows he’d fall to them eventually, he’d worship at your alter every day if you’d let him.

“More,” you moan, “Fuck–please, Joel, give me more,” you mewle.

“That’s my girl, gonna stretch you out, get you nice and ready for this cock,” he whispers against your wet skin as he slips another finger in, one you greedily accept. He devours you, licks at you like you’re the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted, because you are. He could stay here for hours, making you come for him again and again.

He can tell you’re close, so he picks up his pace. You’re nearly there, seconds away from giving him what he wants. Just one more –

“Holy shit, yes, I’m coming, oh my god, don’t stop,” you unravel for him, a babbling mess of pleasure, he holds you steady as he works you through it. Perfect, sweet girl. The taste of your release and the pretty sounds you make coming have his cock aching. He gently hoists your leg off of his shoulder and rises to full height.

“Such a good girl for me, you come so pretty,” he whispers against your neck, nipping at your jaw until your lips find his. He wonders if you’ve ever tasted yourself before, or if he’s the first to kiss you after eating you out – the thought makes him even harder, to know he might be the first to show you how sweet you taste.

He watches as you begin to kneel before him. He stops you before your knees touch the floor.

“You don’t want me to suck your cock?” you ask. He does. Of course he does. He’s just not sure he’d last, but he’d never admit that, besides, there’s something he needs so much more right now.

“Oh angel baby, I would love to feel those sweet little lips of yours wrapped tight around my cock, hold your throat as you choke on me,” he coos.

He groans as he feels you bring your palm to cup him through his jeans, drinking in the sensation of your hands tracing over him. His jaw tightens and his head falls back as you work over him. His cock welcomes the attention, too. He’s already leaking, he needs to come so bad.

“But there’s something I want more right now. Feel what you do to me?” he says, pressing your hand harder down onto him. “Need to feel that sweet, tight cunt of yours around me first,” he says intensely. You make quick work of undoing his belt buckle and slip off his jeans and boxers in one swoop. It feels so good to be free of the confines of his pants, the pressure on his cock a little less overwhelming now.

“Yo–you’re so big,” you say, a little intimidated. He grabs you by the hips and holds you tight against him, his cock pressed between your bodies against the bare flesh of your tummy. He can tell you might be a little overwhelmed, but he reassures you.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. You can take it,” he says, using one hand to grab the back of your thigh and tapping the other. He lifts you with ease and spins you around so you’re sitting on the mahogany desk in front of him. He stands between your legs, holding himself by the base, pumping himself slowly up and down his length with his fist. He stares at your wet, aching hole, wishing he was buried inside of it. The thought dawns on him that he doesn’t have a condom. No, fuck. “I’m on birth control,” you say, blurting it out. “And I’m clean, you don’t have to use a condom, I mean, if you don’t want to.” And shit – that’s quite possibly the best sentence he’s ever heard in his entire life.

He knows it might be a little reckless, but he doesn’t have any reason to believe you’d lie to him.

“Okay. Open your legs wide for me, baby. Wanna see you,” he says, and you do as he tells you. He sees his hard cock in his hand and opens his mouth to spit on it. You’re wet and ready, but he knows he’s a lot to take, and he doesn’t want to hurt you.

He admires the way you’re holding your legs open for him, giving him full access to your cunt. He positions himself at your entrance and gently pushes his hips forward so the tip of him is inside of you. Holy fuck. He pauses there, giving you a second to adjust.

“Eyes on me, baby. Wanna see you as I take what’s mine,” he says, his voice a wreck. When you open them, he sinks even deeper. Halfway inside of you, he pauses again. How is he ever supposed to last with your pussy clenched this tight around him.

He asks if you’re okay, and when you nod, he pushes in a little more, dragging back out of you for only a second, until he’s jutting his hips forward, fully burying himself deep inside of you. Nothing has ever felt this good to him, nothing could ever compare.

Jesus, think of something else – make this last. He tries to distract his mind, disconnect his cock from his brain, but there’s no point. His primal urges have taken over, his body is losing the war with his mind.

He sets a slow and steady rhythm at first, dragging in and out of you. He would love to fuck you harder, deeper. He knows he won’t last long, but he doesn’t care, as long as he gets you to come for him one more time.

“You can fuck me harder, Joel. ‘M not gonna break, I promise,” you coo. His hand flexes tighter, and that’s all he needs. Give the girl what she wants. “Shit, c’mere,” he says, helping you off the desk, steading your legs. He flips you over and presses you against the desk. Your hips are perfectly positioned at the edge. He’s not sure anything could be prettier than you bent over, waiting to once again be stuffed with him.

He stands behind you, angles your hips up slightly, and once again buries himself in you.

“Such a perfect cunt,” he groans, beginning to set a relentless pace. As good as this feels for him, he can tell that something about this angle does something for you, too. His cock fits just right, pushing and gliding over the spongey spot inside of you that he can tell is gonna be the thing that pushes you over the cliff of your orgasm. He holds your hips tightly as he pumps in and out of you, eliciting throaty moans from you. The air is filled with the filthy wanton sound of skin slapping against skin.

“I –” you mew, “I think I’m gonna come again,” he hears you say, a little breathless.

“Come for me, baby. Be the good girl I know you are and show me how pretty you are when you come on my cock,” he says, a little out of breath, voice deep.

Yeah, that’s right. Use me.

And you do. Your pussy pulses around him as the wave of your orgasm takes over you, and it’s borderline too much for him. He’s gotta slow down if he’s gonna last another second.

“Where do you want me, baby?”

“Inside, please. Want you to fill me up, make me yours,” you beg for him.

Holy fuck.

After a few more thrusts of his hips, he begins to stutter and slow. He pauses buried to the hilt inside of you and groans as his cock paints your insides with thick ropes of come. The immediate release of pressure is exhilarating, probably the best orgasm he’s ever had. He feels his cock pulse out final spurts of come, eliciting shakes from him with each one. He feels weightless like he could fly away and sleep on a cloud.

The sensation of him pulling out is a little much, his cock raw and spent. “Stay there,” he says, scurrying off to the kitchen, looking for something he can give you to help clean you up. His eye catches a roll of paper towels next to the sink and he grabs a handful of them for you.

When he enters the office, he notices how breathtaking you look post-orgasm, post-fuck. It’s a sight he’ll commit to memory forever. He presses his lips to yours again, drinking in your sweetness once more. He thinks he could kiss you forever and never tire of it.

He helps you get dressed, and you fasten his belt buckle for him and check the gauze on his fist. You both stand there in silence, not quite sure where to go from here, until he offers up.

“Wanna smoke?”

++++

“So, how long have you lived here’?” he asks, holding open the lit zippo from his back pocket to you. With the cigarette dangling between your lips, you steady it between your fingers and lean in, he admires your features amidst the dim glow of the fire. So beautiful.

“Too long,” you mumble. He lights his own.

“And you, where are you off to next?” He hears you ask, and he's not sure how to respond.

“Not sure, the contract job my brother and I have in the county over ends in a week or so. Was thinkin’ it might be nice to head south, maybe Austin,” he responds, smoke twirling in the air around you both.

“Although, ‘M not so sure anymore. Starting to think I might have a few things I need to take care of here first,” he says, shifting his gaze from the ground until his hooded eyes find yours. You. I need to take care of you.

You smile when he winks at you. Gosh, you’re cute when you smile. He wants to be the reason you smile every day.

You stand there in comfortable silence, leaning up against the wall next to him. He thinks it feels nice to be wanted, to have someone to just be with.

And when it’s time to go, he offers you his hand and a ride home. He’s pleased when you accept.

It’s too soon. He knows it’s too soon, but the thought of you in the passenger seat of his truck, feet on the dash, wind in your hair, makes his heart skip a beat.

He wants more.

And something tells him you do, too.

END

Ily. Thanks for reading! Tags: @endlessthxxghts @theoasisofthings @pedrostories @bastardmandennis @milly-louise @drunk-and-capable @survivingandenduring @ohheypedrito @joeldjarin @nerdieforpedro @amyispxnk @paleidiot @ghostwritesthings @kulekehe @darkheartgatita @goldenhxurs @morallyinept @missladym1981 @auteurdelabre @morgaussy @likeficsinthewnd @morning-star-joy @agentjackdaniels @cayleej @amyispxnk @zialltops @syd-djarin @untamedheart81 @gracevnn @pedrossl4t @littlevenicebitch69 @chulopascal

#joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller the last of us #joel miller one shot #pedro pascal character #pedrohub #pedrostories #consent #joel miller #joel miler x fem!reader #joel miller fanfic #Joel's POV

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the-offside-rule · 7 months

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Max Verstappen (Red Bull Racing) - Reconsider

Requested: yes

Prompt: 35) "Can I convince you to stay?"

41) "Do that thing I like"

52) "You looked great out there today"

Warnings: smut, 18+, douchebag Max, teammate x teammate, possessive Max, oral (f!receiving), edging

Christmas Day 7

Y/n smiled as she took her helmet off. P2 in qualifying and it was what she expected to be her last race at Red Bull. While she loved the people there, she wasn't winning and that is quite frankly what she wanted to do. She didn't think she could do that having to play second fiddle to Max Verstappen. When she hopped out of the car, she was met with Lando who congratulated her and joked she should come to McLaren. She laughed along with him until she felt a poke at her shoulder and she knew exactly who it was. She turned to see her teammate with his helmet hair looking as hot as ever and a lazy smile on his lips. "You looked great out there, today. Pity you're not here next season." He said. Y/n smiled back and took her own helmet off. "Yeah, a real shame." She replied and placed her helmet onto the podium table.

Max moved closer and leaned down to her ear. Her heart beat in her chest. "Can I convince you to stay?" Max whispered lowly into her ear. She looked around at all the cameras snapping photos and videos of this moment, yet kept her composure. "Bold move." She replied, still smiling. He looked down to her lips. "I can."

As Y/n went around the media pen, she anticipated finishing up so she could get her convincing to stay by the dutchman. It wasnt the first time they would fuck and it probably wouldn't be the last. Neither of them did this for feelings, it was simply to blow off steam after sessions and it kept them both focused without getting frustrated. The team knew and they didn't care as long as it didn't interfere and it never did. Both drivers did their job, then left for a half hour only to come back as professional as they started the day. Sometimes, they'd even schedule to hook up in between weekends, just because they could and the PR would handle the media speculating about the closeness of the two. Their favourite was when the other would do well in a race or when both would DNF. It was good to celebrate, but it was good to angry fuck too. For today, however, Y/n didn't know which side of Max she would get.

She smiled as her last interview finished and she began walking towards her trailer. Y/n looked around slyly, trying to find where her beloved dutchman was and surely she saw him hanging closely by. She smirked and walked quicker to her driver room, lifting her phone to pretend she was answering a phone call to avoid questions from the fans and paparazzi. Shortly after she closed her door, Max barged in. "New record." Y/n joked. "What can I say? I like breaking records." Max said, walking towards her and almost immediately beginning to kiss her lips hungrily. Y/n unzipped her overall and wrapped it around her waist, her lips not leaving his, both their lips fighting for dominance. That was the problem for her. They fought for dominance both on the track and behind closed doors and that was a dynamic that wouldn't work for her.

"Please stay." Max said, unzipping his overall. Y/n's hand ran down his under armour before her hand lifted it and ran over his toned abs. "Will you let me dominate?" She asked, lingering dangerously close to his lips. "In what way?" He asked. He moved his forehead closer and they ended up touching. "You know what way. I want to beat you." He chuckled and let his own hand drop to her hips and pulled her closer. "And why would I let you?" Y/n turned and looked out the one way glass, before she took her hair tied off and let her hair fall. "Well it's more of a 'you scratch my back, I scratch yours' kind of thing." She explained, moving her hair over to one side, knowing Max was right behind her to begin nipping at her neck and he did just that. She grimaced as her teammate's hands glided up under her fireproof shirt and began caressing her breasts. "You know I can't do that. But I can let you dominate and beat me in my apartment." He whispered. Y/n turned again to look back to him. "That's a pity." She began pushing the driver backwards before he fell back onto the sofa.

Max couldn't comprehend what was happening before Y/n hopped on top of him and began grinding. They both felt his erection growing within seconds. They looked down and grinned. "Are you gonna take care of that?" Max asked, biting his lip and sighing as Y/n lowered her hand cupped the clothed area. "Do that thing I like." Max begged. "You're meant to be convincing me to stay and you want me to pleasure you? I may have to go sign with Mercedes now, I'm afraid." She chuckled. "You're acting like that would change what we're doing." Max replied boldly. "It might not, but I'm sure whoever my teammate is would love to do what you're doing. And maybe they'd do it better-" Max hopped up and lifted her over to the counter and slammed her down with such force, she felt shaken. Max spun her around so she was leaning against the counter before he grabbed her wrists, holding them behind her back and pushing down. "No one would do you better than I do you." He growled. "Prove it." She replied. Max grinned and undid the lower part of his race suit. "You're not going to be able to walk tomorrow, nevermind drive." He tugged at her race suit, chucking down to her ankles and taking his length out and delving into her. She gasped. He didn't give her a chance to adjust to him this time. She was getting angry Max, and that made her smile. His thrusts were deep and hard, just as she liked. He loved the sounds that fell from her mouth. Strings of curses, followed by his name. Heavenly. He let go of her wrists and wrapped his hand around her neck, pulling her back towards him. "Look out there, shcat." He demanded. Y/n looked out at the people walking around the paddock. She even spotted some drivers still doing their interviews.

"You're so loud, I wonder if the media pen knows how good I fuck you yet." He whispered into her ear. "Just keep going." She pleaded. His spare hand spanked her, making her moan in bed pain and please. "Look in your mirror, I want to watch you." He watched as her face contorted with each thrust she took. Her moans grew louder and louder before she crumbled and her knees nearly gave out. Her finger nails dug into the wooden countertop as her mouth fell open. Max leaned closer. "I'm not finished yet." She groaned. "I can't. Fuck me, I-"

He pulled out and pulled her up onto the countertop before dropping to his knees and looked up to her. She looked down to him through hooded eyes. "You wouldn't." She huffed. Max boldly kissed her thighs, inching his way closer and closer to her soaked pussy. "Max, don't tease me." She pleaded. "You wanted convincing, you're getting it." His mouth got to work, making her crumble yet again. Her fingers tangled in his dirty blonde strands of hair, her grip tightening with each swipe of his tongue. He grabbed her thighs and threw them over his shoulders. "Max, Max I'm gonna cum again." She whimpered. Max stopped and looked up at her. "New record." He smirked and stood again, her legs still on his shoulders. He stroked his cock, leaving it at her entrance. "Can you just fuck me?! I don't know what the problem is!"

He pushed in and started a quick pace. Y/n's fingers dropped to her clit, rubbing it to match the rhythm of Max. "Who's my good girl?" He asked. Y/n couldn't speak. She could only hum in response. "I can't hear you, schat." He said, edging her on to answer. "Oh my god, me! I am!" He grinned. "Max, can I cum?" She asked. "Wait for me, schat. You're taking it so well for me." She took her legs off his shoulders and sat up, gripping his shoulders now and kissing him again. She moved her hips to meet his thrusts and in no time, Max began moaning and his thrusts became sloppy. "Can we cum now, Maxie?" She pouted with a strained voice. That was enough for Max to come undone. Her begging and her using his pet name. "Ugh, fuck- yes!" He replied before they both came undone, holding onto eachother. As they rode through their orgasms, they simply kissed before Max pulled out and the pair went to change and get ready to leave the track. "Look, you've been a good teammate." Max said. "Well, yeah. I don't think any other teammate would suck you off in between sessions." Y/n replied. Max smiled and looked back but she wasn't laughing. She was tying her race boots. "Y/n, besides that. I mean this, you've been one of my better teammates." Y/n watched as Max walked towards the door and he looked back. "Just, consider re-signing?" He said, before closing the door and leaving.

A week later, Max scrolled through his phone when he came across an Instagram post.

Y/L/N RE-SIGNS WITH RED BULL FOR 2024 AND BEYOND

Max grinned and opened his messages

Congratulations on resigning. We should meet up to celebrate ; )

#f1 blurb #f1 imagine #f1 oneshot #f1 oneshots #max verstappen x you #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen one shot #max verstappen imagines #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen #max verstappen smut

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noorwalibaz · 2 years

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trailer driver jobs in Saudi Arabia - 1400+Trip

trailer driver jobs in Saudi Arabia – 1400+Trip

trailer driver jobs in Saudi Arabia-1400+Trip. Total required driver is 30. Pak Bolan international jobs.0300-8202273.saudi trailer driver salary is normal 1400 + trip or above. WhatsApp No: 0310-9281915. for details call or see the advertisement. Jang ePaper 17 July 2022_ Jang Karachi Newspaper, Urdu Newspaper, Pakistan News, Page page7 (11) trailer driver jobs in Saudi Arabia…

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loveinhawkins · 1 year

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The RV careens out of the trailer park and hits the open road with what pretty much amounts to ‘all speed, no grace.’ The turn Steve makes is, quite frankly, abysmal; he’s sure that if his driving instructor could see him now, the poor man would be weeping in distress.

Yet his passengers erupt into cheers as they pass the Leaving Hawkins sign, like he’s pulled some kind of James Bond move.

And, for all his insistence on being the absolute antithesis to so-called ‘jock culture’, Eddie rushes over to the driver’s seat, starts squeezing Steve’s shoulder with decidedly jock-like exuberance.

“Holy shit, holy shit, that was so fucking cool, Harrington.”

Oh, he’s definitely broken through the depression stage of the ‘finding out there’s an alternate dimension in Hawkins’ journey—landing firmly in the fuck it, might as well have some fun stage.

Steve could tell they’d reached that point even before the goddamn ‘big boy’ comment, when Eddie had taken one look at the Michael Myers mask, looked Max dead in the eye and said, “This is gonna be. So fuckin’ stupid. Let’s do it.”

Steve goes through a few seconds more of having his shoulder pummelled before saying, “Dude, you’re doing a shitty job at being undercover, stay down.”

“Like, do you have any idea,” Eddie says breathily, as if Steve hasn’t spoken, “just how perfect that was? That was, God, a childhood dream fully—”

“You dreamed of stealing an RV?” Steve says dubiously.

“Not in such crude literal terms, no. C’mon, Harrington, you must’ve had an imagination once—”

“Hey!”

“—didn’t you ever dream of, like, daring escapes, pulling the sword outta the stone, all that shit?”

Steve thinks about it. “I mean,” he says, “when I was a kid, I just kinda… climbed trees and stuff.”

Eddie sighs as if he can’t decide whether Steve’s done something especially annoying or endearing. “Of course you did.”

They reach a stop sign and Eddie finally flops into the passenger seat, facing Steve like he’s sitting side saddle on a horse.

“So,” Steve says, “I take a right after this, yeah?”

“Mm-hmm, well remembered, Mr Getaway Driver.”

Steve scoffs, glances over—finds Eddie framing him with his index finger and thumb, like a director trying to capture the perfect shot.

“James Dean,” Eddie says authoritatively, dropping his hands.

“What?”

“Was tryin’ to figure it out, your whole look, you know? Very Rebel Without a Cause.”

“Okay,” Steve says, “but I have a cause, we all do.”

Eddie just blinks at him, and Steve chuckles.

“You, idiot.”

“Oh.”

Steve has a moment to appreciate the way Eddie’s eyes go all soft and maybe just a little shiny, before he has to set off again. He takes the right turning.

“We should watch it,” Eddie says eventually. “Hell, I’ll take any movie. Just gimme, like, two hours of not having to think.”

“Tell me about it.”

Steve’s sure he’ll never complain about double VHS tapes ever again. Then a thought occurs to him.

“Shit.” He calls to the back. “Rob?”

“Yeah?”

“Y’know when we left Family Video, did we even lock up?”

“Yes,” Robin says followed immediately by, “No?”

Steve snorts. “God, we’re so fired.”

He hears Robin making her way up to the front, then Eddie saying, “Oof, Buckley, that was right in the ribs.”

“Why the sudden concern about our jobs, dingus?”

“I’m not concerned, I just got reminded of—Eddie was mentioning—”

“—Rebel Without a Cause,” Eddie finishes.

“Oh, Steve, I know you’ve seen it, I put it on last week!”

“Uh, maybe I was preoccupied doing, I dunno, my job.”

“It’s the one with—”

“James Dean,” Eddie cuts in.

“Yeah, I gathered, thanks,” Steve says sarcastically, but he can’t help smiling as he does so.

“—and it’s, you know,” Robin goes on, “troubled kid moves to a new town, and—”

“Aw,” Steve says, “you think I’m troubled, Munson?”

“It’s all in the eyes, Harrington. Such depths.”

“Right?” Robin says, and she’s laughing, tongue-in-cheek, “I’ve always said so.”

“You ever considered wearing a leather jacket?”

Steve laughs, too. “Tell ya what, Eddie, why don’t I just wear all your clothes?”

“Well, we know denim suits you.”

“If only you saw his last car-stealing outfit, Eddie.”

Steve sighs. “Robin, shut it.”

“Excuse me,” Eddie says, “d’you have form, Harrington? Grand theft auto form?”

“Literally once. Crazy circumstances.” Rest in peace, Todfather. “It was a Cadillac.”

“A Cadillac.” Eddie sighs dreamily. “Do you have any photos?”

“Uh, no, I was kinda busy.”

“I shall mourn the loss.”

“Take the next left here,” Nancy calls, which Steve is grateful for—the directions had gone completely out of his head.

“Wheeler, come up to the front,” Eddie says, “it’s a party.”

She must do, because her voice sounds much closer when she says, “Shit, I think I forgot to lock up, too.”

“Don’t worry,” Steve says, “no-one’s gonna ransack The Weekly Streak.”

Another stop sign—Steve looks over, smirks at how Eddie has ended up squished between Nancy and Robin, all of them sharing the one seat.

“They better not.” To Eddie, Nancy adds, “I think I gave your uncle the impression that I’m doing a big piece on you. Like, testimonials for an innocent man, stuff like that.”

For a flicker of a second, Eddie looks nauseated at the thought—Steve spots the shift, the decision to make a joke about it.

“Well, Wheeler, you better make me sound good.”

“Oh, I was going more for journalistic integrity.”

“Hey.”

Steve hears a couple of thumps behind him; without even glancing in the mirror, he says, “Sit your asses down, shitheads, don’t make me turn this thing around.”

“Don’t make me turn this thing around!” Lucas parrots.

Max scoffs playfully: “Nineteen going on forty.”

“Eddie was standing before!” Erica points out.

Steve rolls his eyes. “Yeah, well, Eddie’s a law unto himself. Look, just sit down and, like, make a list or something, I’ll stop off for food after we’ve—”

Dustin laughs. “You really are forty.”

“Uh-huh, one more wisecrack and you’re not getting any chocolate pudding.”

Steve’s hamming it up, he knows he is—smiles to himself as he hears a quartet of giggles.

“Can you believe they used to think I was cool?” he says.

“I dunno, Harrington,” Eddie says warmly, “at least one of them doth protest too much.”

Nancy stands in search of a pen, Robin following, insisting to Dustin that, “We’re getting one of those camp stoves, if I don’t eat something hot soon, I’m gonna die.”

“Yeah,” Steve says. Maybe it’s because they’ll soon be arriving at The War Zone; his levity slips just a little when he says, “It’s probably, like, a proximity thing. Henderson’ll have a scientific term for it.”

Eddie chuckles. “What, the Steve Harrington effect?”

Steve shrugs. “You get too close, the shine wears off eventually.”

He doesn’t realise until he’s said it that the joking, perhaps, has stopped somewhere along the way.

“Huh,” Eddie says. “I’m no scientist, but that doesn’t sound like the Steve Harrington effect to me.”

“No?” Steve says.

He can see the parking lot in the distance, and he gestures for Eddie to duck.

“Nope,” Eddie says. Steve can hear him moving, crouching to hide behind the driver’s seat.

He parks and everyone’s abruptly all business, deciding who’s staying in the RV, who’s going into The War Zone.

Steve hates it, has a sudden intense longing to keep talking about movies, to just be stupid.

And maybe Eddie can tell, because just before Steve heads out, he catches his eye, smiles.

“Hey, don’t worry, Harrington,” he says with a tiny, fleeting wink. “You’re still my leading man.”

#Eddie staring at Steve dreamily: you have the range darling #conversations in the RV are becoming another fave #pre steddie #steddie #steddie ficlet #steddie fic #steve and robin #steve and the party #eddie and nancy #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve x eddie

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carolmunson · 2 years

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it's your party and i'll cry if i want to (sadist!daddydom!eddie x f!masochist!reader)

warnings: smut, 18+, minors dni. sadism/masochism. established relationship. intense spanking with hands and implements. angst. hurt/comfort. daddy kink, some major daddy dom energy from eddie in this one. lots of fluff at the end. some yearning. mild threats. accidental bratting/all around bad attitude from reader. eddie calls reader a 'bitch' outside of a scene. mentions of being on period. name calling: 'stupid' 'bad girl', pet names 'baby, angel, honey, etc'. mild exhibitionism (continuing a scene when someone walks in), YES there is aftercare/communication. anything i might've forgot, i'll add later. i'm sorry!

---

Eddie checked his watch for the third time with an annoyed grunt, elongated and growing in volume as he saw the time. 10:45.

And that would be fine -- that is, if he hadn't asked you to be at his trailer by 10:00 AM.

And being this late would have also been fine if you had called him to let him know you were running late -- like you were supposed to. It was one of the rules he gave you that was the most important to him. Not that he needed to know where you were at all times, he was just always quick to jump to the worst case scenario. 'Oh, she's late? She died. She definitely died. She's bleeding out somewhere alone.'

It didn't help that Eddie's van was in the shop getting fixed up. Sure he could've done it himself but the guys wanted to do something nice for him after all the extra shifts he'd been taking. So lately, he'd been relying on you to get anywhere that wasn't his job.

He hates how you drive, it's the only thing he doesn't like about you.

A few more minutes pass and he hears the familiar crunch of tires over dried leaves, the sharp blaring of your car horn beeping to let him know you were there.

You never do that. You always get out and knock to say good morning, to give him a kiss, to tell him how cute he looks in his outfit. Eddie frowns and opens the screen door, patting his pockets to check for his wallet and keys before closing the main door behind him. He sees you in the driver's seat and can tell you're in a mood so he swallows whatever venom he had collecting on his tongue.

"Morning, sweet thing," he says softly, opening the passenger's side door, "You okay?"

You take the keys out of the ignition and toss them on the seat toward him, "I know you're gonna ask to drive so, here."

You huff when you unclick your seatbelt and get out of the car, grumbling something under your breath that Eddie can't quite make out. He has half a mind to catch you by the chin and ask you to speak up but he shakes out the thought -- he punished you last week, he didn't need to punish you again. At least not yet.

Eddie gets in the driver's seat while you ease into the passengers seat, putting your seatbelt on before he can ask you to. Even though he never wears a seatbelt, so you don't understand his incessant need to make sure you're wearing one.

After he pulls out of the park and onto the road, Eddie settles into the seat catching glances at you when he can.

"Why didn't you call?" he asked, he tried to keep it as light as possible.

"Woke up late, slipped my mind," you shrugged, looking out the window at the orange and bright red leaves.

"I know it might've been a rough morning but you're supposed to call, baby," he turns his head to you, putting a hand on your knee, "I don't appreciate being left in the dark, you know that."

"It's really not a big deal," you mumble, moving your knee out of his hand and keeping your gaze on the Indiana foliage.

"Okay..." he says to himself, putting the spare hand back on the wheel to meet the other.

The first stop on your day of errands before movie night at Eddie's trailer was to the shop so he could check out the van. He didn't mean to be such a stickler about it, but that really was his baby. You stayed in the car while he went in, watching him look back at you with a little wave before he got in the shop.

When he got back, your mood hadn't subsided. He took a deep breath when he opened the door and you greeted him with a "What did you take the whole thing apart and put it back together? That took forever."

"Sorry, babe, they just had a lot to run down with me," he explained apologetically, "Didn't mean to take so long."

"It's really gonna be so nice when it's done though, they redid the carpeting in the back and everything," he tittered, knee bouncing with excitement -- only to have his smile fall when you mumbled a quiet 'yeah whatever' to the window.

Next was the grocery store for snacks and food for the party. You both stepped through the automatic doors in tandem, the scent of cinnamon hitting your noses hard as they had already switched over the Halloween displays for Christmas displays.

"It's October 24th," Eddie laughed, "Are they kidding?"

You just look at the display and then at the aisles ahead of you, walking towards the candy and cookies aisle where you know he'd be headed first anyway.

Eddie shakes it off, something had to be wrong. Maybe you just weren't ready to talk about it yet. You do like having your space, afterall. He catches up next to you, offering his hand for you to hold it and then dropping it to his thigh when you shove your hands into your pockets of your jacket.

He swallows a lump building in his throat. Was it something I said? he thinks to himself.

You get to the junk food aisle, scanning the shelves together and he speaks again, "Thinking about going for a red theme -- I'm thinking vampire movies, stuff that gives off bloody and disgusting. Y'know? Stuff like that."

"Get whatever you want Ed, I literally don't care," you say breathily, defeat and annoyance dripping over the words. His whole body turns to you, less offended and angry, more hurt than anything else. You never just dismiss him like that.

"Hey, hey," he says, soft but surprised. He presses you into the bags of chips puffing past the shelving unit, taking your face gently in his hands, "What's goin' on with you, hm? Did I do something? Are you mad at me?"

"No, Ed," you try to pull your face out of his hands and move but he replaces them on your cheeks swiftly. Your cheeks are hot to the touch -- maybe you're sick?

"Are you tired? Hungry?" Ed pleaded, eyes searching for a glimmer of a happier you in your eyes. You were acting a little hangry, you always were so huffy when you didn't eat enough. He guessed maybe you didn't eat breakfast since you woke up so late -- that had to be it.

"Want me to grab you something here? Or I can grab you something at a drive-thru. Is that what you want?" he's practically begging for you to smile, desperate to see you nod and say sorry -- you're just hungry, you're just tired, you just need a kiss. God, he hadn't even gotten to kiss you yet today.

"Oh my god, Ed, stop -- I'm fine. You're being annoying," you half-whine while pushing past him, "Just get what you need to get so we can go, please."

Ed heaves a big sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose before closing his hand into a fist and leaning his forehead on it. You're in public, don't react the way you want to react right now. You just punished her a few days ago, keep your cool.

He opens his eyes and reaches for your keys attatched to his chain, deatching them and tossing them to you.

"Why don't you go wait for me in the car, okay? I won't be long in here," he offers. Maybe you just didn't feel like running errands, maybe you didn't want to go to the grocery store. You had told him once that the lights gave you a headache.

The late October air bites your cheeks when you step outside, savoring the heat in the car when you start it. Some time later, Eddie comes out, gocery bags in his hands that make him look like a Libra scale.

He knocks on the window, "Hey angel, can I get those keys for the trunk?"

You roll down the window just a crack and pass them through, satisfied by the exhausted sigh he lets out when you do it. His patience was starting to wear a little thin. Even more so when you kept changing the radio station so often that he just told you to shut it off and keep it off.

The next and most obvious stop was to Family Video to pick up the tapes for tonight. Eddie stopped for a second to talk to Steve at the counter, keeping his eye on you while you walked through the aisles and shelves of tapes. Robin came out of the back, so pleased to see you — Eddie watched your whole demeanor change. Smiley, happy, reaching out to hug her — toying with her new bracelet, giggling. His jaw clenched.

“You okay?” Steve asks, tapping his arm, “You look like you’re gonna kick Rob's ass.”

Eddie shakes his head to wash the attitude out of his face, “She’s just — she’s been in a mood all day. And all of a sudden Robin makes her happy? I mean, come on.”

“Ladies, am I right?” Steve rolls his eyes and looks over his shoulder at you and Robin. You’re reaching up to grab a case for Misery to read the back, your pinafore riding up and up while you reach. Eddie knows your body, the curve of your ass just hidden by the hem clinging to the fat just under it.

“Let me get it,” Eddie calls over before you put on a show for Family Video. His voice is sharp, making you freeze in place at first. Sinking slowly back onto your feet, you toss him a scowl while crossing your arms.

“I don’t want it anymore, it’s fine,” you mutter, disappearing behind another shelf. Eddie rolls his eyes with a huff, gesturing to you to Steve silently saying ‘See what I mean.’

"Someone's moody," Steve teases loud enough for you to hear.

"Oh my God," they hear you groan, hidden in the aisles.

"Guys, leave her alone," Robin chides, grabbing a box of rewound tapes off the counter, "Everyone's allowed a bad day, y'know?"

"I'm literally here," you snap, stomping out of the aisles, "Can you guys stop talking about me like I'm not here? For fuck's sake. "

"Hey," Eddie warns, his hand falling down on the counter. You close your eyes and let your breath out through your nose.

"Sorry, Rob," you frown, shoulders sulking. Robin shakes her head, making a face to imply that you didn't need to apologize, pulling you into a hug. You know what you're doing by not apologizing to Eddie or Steve, but you can't find yourself to care about the consequences.

Ed takes you by the hand to grab the movies for tonight, shielded by the sterile aisles and the smell of plastic. You hear Robin and Steve talk amongst themselves, the jingle of the bell as customers file in and out.

"Ah, the horror section," you mumble, completely deadpanned, "Never been here before."

Eddie stiffens, he doesn't feel bad anymore. Now he's angry. Now he thinks you're doing it on purpose.

"You wanna get whupped when we get home?" he asks sternly, "Keep it up."

He hopes the threat doesn't fall on deaf ears, but you aren't listening. You just cross your arms and burn holes into the back of his curly head while he picks two movies and tucks them under his leather clad arm.

He smiles at you when he turns around, squishing your cheeks between his finger and thumb, "Y'know, sucks that you have to be so mean 'cause you are awfully cute when you're in a little mood." He can play your game, too.

Ugh, fuck him. You roll your eyes and pull your chin out of his hand, you're like a woman posessed. This bad mood swarming through your body like sludge in your blood stream. You want to be happy, you want to be excited for movie night -- but you're just not. You wanna rip your skin off and scream in the aisles of Family Video. You wanna cause a scene.

At check out, the door opens and a hard gust of cold wind blows through the entry way. It wraps around your bare thighs and knee high socked calves -- you catch a little chill, a small shiver running through your shoulders.

"It's startin'a get too cold to wear these little dresses, baby," Eddie chastises while Steve scans the tapes and enters his employee number into the computer, "You're gonna get the flu."

"The flu's a virus, you can't get it from being cold," you huff, drumming your fingers on the counter. Eddie bites his tongue in his mouth, exchanging a look with Steve while he passes the money for the rentals over to him.

"Learn something new every day, don't we Harrington?" he asks, trying to keep you from bubbling over in front of your friends.

"That's basic high school biology Ed," you snap, venom stinging on your tongue, "No wonder it took you three fucking years to graduate."

"Woah, woah!" Steve's brow furrows, shaking his head, "Yellow flag. Not cool." Of course, a sports reference.

"It's fine," Eddie says quietly, his eyes cast downward, "We'll see you guys later."

He grabs the tapes with one hand and your sweatered bicep in the other, wrenching you out of the store to the car. He tosses the tapes in the back seat, peeling out of the parking lot with a screech.

You're silent on the road, not even the radio on to soften the tension, both fuming -- buzzing with anger. Eddie reaches for the cigarette tucked in his ear, hiding behind his long messy curls. It sits between his full lips, dangling while he searches for his lighter. You hear the flick and wait for him to take the first inhale, your teeth grind together so hard you swear he can hear it. Time, and time, and time again you had told him -- "Jesus Christ. Not in my fucking car, Ed."

You pluck the cigarette out of his mouth and toss it out the crack in your window.

Eddie slams on the breaks and you both jostle forward at the impact, the squeal of the tires echoing through the empty road. He turns to you with wild eyes, incredulous, "Are you on the fucking rag or something?!"

You don't respond, instead you cross your arms tighter around your chest and look out the window. You avoid his angry look, your heart pounding, knowing his is too.

"We're going home," he mutters, pulling a u-turn and heading toward the backroads that lead to the trailer park.

"No, no, you still wanted to stop at Melvald's for paper plates, and decorations," you offer quietly.

"Well maybe if you'd been such a bitch, I would've gotten to run all my errands," he explains, frustration bubbling in his chest. He swallows the lump building in his throat again. He didn't mean to call you a bitch, he's never called you that outside of play. But fuck did you have to bring up how hard it was for him to graduate?

"We can still," your voice lilts, going up an octave, "It doesn't have to be ruined."

"We are going home," he says with finality, eyes glued to the road. You can beg with your soft voice all you want, he's had enough today.

The both of you continue the ride back to Eddie's trailer in silence, just his and your shuddering breaths breaking through every now and again. You knew what you were in for when you got in the door, and part of you knew you deserved it -- but another part thought maybe, if you were sweet enough, he'd change his mind.

He pulls in with a quick turn, tires skidding in the dead grass wet with frost. You roll up your window and open the door, watching as Eddie reaches back to get the tapes out of the back. You step lightly to the trunk, waiting for him to come around with the key so you can bring in the groceries.

"Oh, you wanna be helpful now?" his voice is bitter, "You're a brat all day and now that you're in trouble you wanna be nice?"

You pout, just a little. Watching his hands as he unlocks the trunk and it eases open. As you reach for the grocery bags he swats them away, "I got it."

"Fine," you sneer, marching toward the door, "You got it."

"Oh-ho-ho, you just wait darlin'," he smiles while he slams the trunk closed, but it's the smile he does when he can't contain himself. When his hands are vibrating. When he wants to yell but can only laugh. Bar fights at The Hideout, blow out arguments with Wayne, when the gas station clerk calls him a freak.

Now it was you.

He walks past you, groceries and tapes in hand, fishing out his keys to open the door -- the door squeaking open. The sound of it mocks you because you know what's to come when it clicks closed.

Eddie puts the bags down on the table in the kitchenette, shrugging off his jacket and tossing it on one of the chairs. You stand by the closed door, the leather of the belt hanging next to the door frame taunting you.

Eddie takes his time to put the groceries away, leaving out the chips and other snacks he picked up. He'd put them in bowls later for the set up. Fuck. He does have bowls or paper plates -- you didn't go to the store.

You watch him go to the phone on the wall in the kitchen, dialing without looking -- you can hear Steve's cheery voice on the other end. "What's up, Ed?"

"How did you know it was me?"

"You're the only person who calls me on my car phone."

"Okay, whatever. Sorry to ask this, but we didn't get a chance to go to Melvald's. Would you be able to pick some stuff up for me?" he asks while keeping eye contact with you. Now you feel bad. Eddie liked hosting movie night, he liked putting up decorations and making it feel like a party. It was something he looked forward to every month when it was his turn and his were always so fun that everyone ended up sleeping over. Now it felt ruined because you just couldn't stop. You couldn't let him have his day.

Eddie says his thank you's when he's done asking for Steve's help and hangs up the phone. He motions you over when he takes the few steps into the living room, sitting on the couch with a groan. You follow solemnly, standing across the room from him.

"Didn't I just have to punish you last week?" he asks while inching forward on the cushions, legs spread wide in front of him, "I mean, jesus baby girl, you're really just askin' to get whupped these days."

Daddy's home. Eddie always ended up adopting a mix of his co-worker's Hoosier accent and Wayne's slight southern drawl when he stepped into that role. Always coming out when maybe you needed to really learn a lesson. Whenever the brat came out to play without him asking for it.

It was your least favorite game -- not because you didn't like it necessarily, but Eddie relied heavily on making sure you were embarrassed. He wasn't mean. He was mocking. He liked how it made you feel, he liked how you turned red when he called you his baby. How your stomach turned when he put you over his lap. So rudimentary, but deeply effective. Somehow, getting spanked by his hand like this hurt more than anything else.

"C'mere," he says, waving you forward, "Come to daddy."

Your heart sinks and flutters simultaneously -- suddenly it's unbearibly hot in his trailer despite the light frost on the ground outside and your bare knees under your corduroy pinafore.

"Ed...c'mon, people are coming over," you say quietly, toying with the hem of your dress, "Can't you punish me later?"

"After you ran that mouth all day? After you showed up here late this mornin' and didn't even call? You broke all my rules," he scolded, "Get over my lap, sweet thing, gotta teach you."

"Please," you whisper, your glassy eyes meeting his, "I'll be good the rest of the night, I promise."

"That gives you way too much leeway. You'll start thinkin' you can get away with everything. You know what they say: spare the rod, spoil the child," he shrugs, "And you're so spoiled as it is. Aren’t you, baby?"

You nod, shifting your weight on your feet. Your skin crawls at the lilt in his voice; you can feel him getting impatient with you.

"So why doesn’t my spoiled little thing come over here and take her punishment, hm?"

You know if you don’t go over there, he’ll make you. His demeanor is so different when he’s like this, so sweet — cooing at you, gentleness even when he’s talking down to you. A soothing balm to help make you feel small, stupid, and needy. Like you can’t do anything without his guidance. He plucks at your emotional set backs as nimbly and expertly as he does his guitar.

“No, I think that’s too hard for you, baby. I'll figure it out.”

“Was that too difficult for you to understand? Why don't we try again.”

“I think you need a break, why don't you let Daddy take care of everything?"

"Let daddy do it for you. You need to learn when to ask for help when you need it."

"We can talk about it when you're not acting like such a little brat, okay?"

You inch over and slide over his lap and even though you know it’ll hurt, it’s so comfortable to let go for him. To let him teach you a lesson. To let it out on the couch cushions in the form of fat tears and whines and screams. Kicking your legs and squirming.

“There’s my good girl,” he murmurs while you get situation on top of him. eddie let’s a warm hand slide over your thigh before pushing your dress up over your hips to your waist, "Knew she was still in there."

Ed takes a moment to admire the softened bruises on your ass when he gathers your panties at the base of it, finally in their last stage of healing from last week's play time. Maybe he could afford to go harder than he expected. Excellent news for him, awful news for you.

“You don’t have to count out loud to me today, angel. Don't think you can count that high,” he teases, calloused hand smoothing over your ass before coming down hard over it with a loud smack ringing in the living room of the trailer.

“Ah-ow!” you yelp, his over the knee spankings just hurt a little bit more than anything else. Maybe it was the embarrassment of the position, the way he played with your mind a little before hand. Something about the crack of his palm against you when you felt dizzy like this was a different type of pain.

What a shame that you loved it so much.

“You know you deserve this, baby,” he says softly, “I don’t like to punish you, but I gotta keep you in line. You really embarrassed me today.”

“M'sorry, daddy,” you frown into the couch, hips jumping at the next strike. A warm little buzz forming on your backside while he continues.

"Are you?" he asks, his hand smacking especially hard against the swell of your ass. The first choke of a sob escapes your chest and he hums with satisfaction, "You don't sound sorry."

"I think daddy's gonna make you very sorry, though," he threats. Eddie takes his time switches his rings over to the hand he's using to spank you, knowing it just adds injury to even more injury. He smiles to himself when you squirm at the feeling of the metal skating across your warm skin.

"Don't like that?" he asks. You shake your head no and he 'tsks' above you, letting his fingers slide between your legs, "You sure?"

"Mmm," is all you can reply, feeling hazy and spacey under his touch. Your stomach tightens at his finger tips grazing your folds, presing slightly to get between them, a pool of slick welcoming them immediately.

"I think you do like that," he whispers headily. Eddie takes his fingers away, eliciting a wanting whimper from you, his chuckle was daunting.

His hand smacks upward and downward on one cheek, then the other, in a consistent rhythm. One, two, three, four, one, two, three four. Hard, sweeping spanks making a bloom of color spread over your skin more and more as he went. He does this for who knows how many minutes, as many as it takes for your legs to start kicking. For the color in your skin to fall to an angry crimson.

"Here we go with the dramatics," Eddie tutts, catching your ankles with his free hand, "What might happen if you don't stay still?"

You rack your brain and he isn't patient, raining down smacks in quick succession on your left butt cheek and then your right. The skin burning underneath his hand.

It comes to you hazily, what he says over and over again when you move around too much -- too many spots that could cause damage if he hits them instead, "I could get hurt," you whine out.

"Good girl," he coos, "Look at you, trying your best to remember -- my stupid little thing."

You can't help but pout at the dig, pouting more when his hand starts up their symphony again.

"Daddy, please," you cry, your hand reaching out to cover your ass, "Please no more."

"Excuse me," he hisses, spare hand now coming up to press your wrist against your back, "You earned this. Be a big girl and take it."

Your face burns when he admonishes you, embarrassment washing over your body. You can't help but struggle against him but he pulls you tight in place, steadying you before he starts again, "Behave."

You can feel Eddie's erection building against your hip, your mouth filling with spit at the thought of it. Maybe he'll fuck you if you just let him get through this part, he usually does. You're still playing afterall, this is just punishment -- you earned this.

Eddie continues, grunting with each stinging hit, as much force as he can into it. His tongue swells in his mouth when it watches the fat of your hips and ass bounce back at his assault. This was a show exclusively for him, the best part about impact play. You know, outside of the crying, and whimpering, and your shining wet pussy between your legs. And the power, fuck. Don't even get him started on the high of all that power and control.

Tears are streaming down your face, mixing with the strings of snot oozing from your nose. You look a mess, just like he wanted and just like he knew you would.

His smacks slow down to one every few seconds, like the end of a popcorn bag in the microwave, before smoothing his hand over your vibrating flesh.

"That was a good warm up, huh?" he asks. Your face pales.

"Wh-what?" you sob out, looking back at him. He smiles, his wolfish 'Master' smile, devilish.

"That was a good warm up, wasn't it angel?" he coos, nails softly grazing your thighs, making you hiss.

"Warm up?" you ask, eyes shining and round. He maneuvers you off his lap, steadying you while your jellied legs find some footing.

"You thought you were gettin' off that easy?" he asks, in that same soft voice, "That's cute."

You pout but it doesn't help, he pushes back on the couch and crosses his legs. Eddie's looking up at you but it still feels like he's looking down.

"Go get the paddle, baby," he instructs, "You know which one."

You swallow hard, shoulders shaking, "But why?"

"Because I said so," he says it like you're stupid. You feel stupid. You feel small.

You trudge to the bedroom and back to the livingroom with the paddle in hand: wooden and carved with holes. Beyond pain on it's own, extra painful with a warm up.

You reluctantly pass it to him and feel sick at how fucking hot it looks in his hand. With a sniffle and bite of your lower lip, you lay back down across his lap, bending at the waist, your toes meeting the floor in your socked feet.

He adjusts your underwear, pulling them back up to cover you, the elastic scratching uncomfortably on you, "How about we keep these on for this part? Does that sound good?"

"Yes," you shudder out, even though it doesn't make a difference. The cotton is so thin.

"What do you say?" he asks, sliding the paddle across your thighs.

"Thank you, daddy," you mumble into the cushion.

"What was that?" he asks, "Gotta speak up."

You know he heard you, he just wants to hear you say it again.

"Thank you, daddy," you say more clearly.

"Still can't hear you," it comes out like a song and the paddle comes sound with a loud SMACK across your thighs.

"THANK YOU, DADDY," you cry out, tears springing from your eyes. The air gets trapped in your throat, sputtering while you try to steady your breath. He gives you a moment to collect yourself, extra careful to check if you're too far gone to know how to tell him to stop.

"We're gonna do twenty, okay?" he asks, "Think you can do that?"

"Yes, sir," you sniffle out, head hanging.

"Twenty's good right?" he asks, you nod, "How come?"

"S'what I d-deserve," you say to him without thinking, fully obedient now.

"Smart girl," he coos, placing the paddle next to him so he can slide a finger into your panties, "Very smart girl."

"P-please," you whisper into the couch cushion, you pray he doesn't hear it but you also wish he would. You hear his pleased hum when his finger tip meets your soaked opening again, pushing further into you. He pumps it into you lazily, enough to watch your hips writhe in time against him -- but it's just not enough.

You know better than to ask for more, not letting more than a disappointed whimper out of your mouth when he takes it away.

“Maybe later, yeah?” he asks, voice mocking your wanton whines, “If you’re a good girl?”

You simply nod, bracing yourself when you hear him pick up the paddle again. Down it comes without warning, knocking the wind out of you once again. The pain shoots down your legs and up your back in in a shivering sting. You cry loudly, blubbering inconsolably into your forearms resting on the couch. This is what he wanted to hear. Thank god the windows were closed.

"Want you to think about this --" He grunts when he brings the paddle down again, "-- when you think about running that mouth to me."

He waits for the pain to almost stop reverberating in your body to bring down the next blow. Eddie never let you take a full breath between blows when you needed to learn something.

"When your in one of these moods you--" the next strike of the paddle elicits a near scream out of you, racked with tears, "-- talk to me about it before you start gettin' mean. You hear me?"

"Y-yes-s-s-s," you sob.

"Are you sorry?" he asks, the next strike is over your thighs.

"I'm sorry!" you yelp before falling back into shuddering cries, "So so sorry, I'm sorry."

He continues on without reprieve: 6, 9, 12, 14 -- or was it 13? -- you're not even counting -- you're not sure if you can count at this point. Your eyes have gone glassy, you're crying so hard that you're drooling.

The sound of a knock at the door takes you out of your haze for a moment but you don't feel Eddie's body tense, he just calls out, "It's open!"

You hear the door open and immediately reach for the hem of your dress to push it down, but Eddie's mean laugh and swat of his hand puts you back in place.

"Hey, they didn't have pumpkin paper plates but they had ghosts and I thought maybe that would be f-- oh," Steve stops with the plates in his hand, looking you both over, eyes lingering briefly on your reddened ass and thighs.

"Sorry to interrupt."

"You're fine," Eddie rolls his eyes, "You can put it all on the counter. Thanks so much, man. Let me know what I owe you."

Steve shakes his head with a little laugh, leaving the bags on the counter full of plates, napkins, and decorations. Listening to you whimper in the other room. Steve had been plenty privy to whatever you and Ed were getting up to. All of the older group was. The first time you showed up to a group hang with bruises was when you both had to come clean immediately -- there were hardly any secrets between the five of you anyway.

Plus, Steve liked learning new things.

Eddie doesn't mind the audience, bringing the paddle down again with new vigor. You try desperate to hold in the cry in your chest but it breaks when he speaks to you.

"What baby, you embarrassed?" Eddie coos, "You didn't have a problem embarrassing me in front of Steve earlier. Just returning the favor."

"You wanna tell him why you're gettin' punished?" he asks, one hand smoothing over your back while the other brings the paddle down again. You shake your head no, embarrassment washing over you in heavy waves knowing Steve is watching you get punished like a school girl.

"I think you should," Eddie continues, "Think it'll help the lesson sink in."

You know you don't have a choice, so you lift your head up mumbling weakly, "Because I was a bad girl."

"Little louder so Steve can hear," he encourages.

"Because I was a bad girl," you repeat. Your face was fuming with a deep blush.

"There we go," Eddie soothes to you quietly, "I think you had enough, sweet thing. Why don't you go wait for me in our room?"

You swallow, ignoring the shooting pain in your backside while you scramble off his lap and down into the hall to the bedroom.

Eddie turns towards Steve while you scurry away, "At least she's self aware."

"At least." Steve agrees, cheeks reddening, "Look I gotta go pick up Elaine, her sister took the car so she can't get over here. I'll probably be around when everyone else shows up though."

"So she's finally her real name and not just 'some girl'?" Ed asks, surprised.

Steve blushes, "Yeah I think she's gonna stick around for a while. She's been um -- really receptive to some new stuff we've been tryin' out."

"Well you're learning from the best, so," Eddie cockily meets his cheek to his shoulder.

"Pfft, okay," Steve rolls his eyes while he walks toward the door, swinging his keys on his fingers, "See you in a little."

Eddie watches him leave, stretching on the couch before getting up and walking slowly over to the bedroom. He slowly opens the door, listening for anything beyond your regular cry or whimper.

"Baby?" he asks, his voice back to normal. There you are on his bed, already in a pair of his sweat pants and a t-shirt. Your pinafore and sweater and socks folded neatly on the end of the mattress. Your makeup stianed face wiped clean with the cold cream and clean face cloths you kept on his dresser.

"Oh, baby," he frowned, "You look so sad."

"I'm sorry," you said, your shoulders curving inward in a sulk, "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to take everything out on you today."

"I know," Eddie shuts the door behind him, just in case anyone showed up earlier than expected. He walked over to the bed, barely getting onto it all the way before you found your way onto his lap. Your tear stained face in his neck.

"Do you feel better?" he asked, rubbing circles onto your back and pressing a kiss onto your shoulder. You nod against him.

"I'm sorry," you repeat.

"It's okay," he coos, "I'm sorry, too."

You lean back to look at him and he looks at you with a smile, his big doe eyes warm and crinkling at the ends.

“I love you,” his voice is cozy. Medicine for you bad mood.

“I love you, too,” you respond, leaning in slow while you rest a hand in his cheek. Your lips find home against his and you hear him sigh with relief into it. He deeply reciprocates, mouth desperately meeting yours, hands resting softly in your hair.

“Haven’t gotten to kiss you all day,” he whispers. His next kiss is feverish and needy, pulling you close to him, pressed against his chest.

“I know, I’m sorry. I wanted to, I just…I don’t know,” you explained between breaths.

“S’okay,” he says, leaning back a bit to look in your eyes, “Can we talk about that?”

“Yeah,” you nod, sitting further back on his thighs.

“When we play, or when you make me upset, or if I’m feeling sad or angry - I don’t ignore you, right? I don’t deny you what you want or need unless it’s part of a scene? And even then you can always ask to stop?” he looks hurt when he asks, his hand finding your thigh, giving it a little squeeze.

“No, you always listen. You always communicate,” you say.

“So you have to offer me the same kindness, baby,” he strokes your cheek, “You really hurt my feelings today."

Your eyes water, chest aching, "I know, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bring up high school or -- or act like I didn't care about t-tonight, or your c-car. I do care."

"Shh, shh, shh, I know. I know," he soothes, "But when something's bothering you, even if you don't know what it is -- I need you to communicate that to me. So I can try to help."

This isn't the first time you've had to have this conversation and he can see the defeat in your face.

"We're both learning," he says, pressing a peck to your lips and then your forehead, "We'll do it together."

You nod, resting into his soft hands that have now found your cheeks again.

"And I'm sorry I called you a bitch in the car," Eddie says and you know he means it, "I'll never call you that again."

"I mean, you will," you giggle softly. He melts at the sound.

"I will, but in a different context," he giggles with you, another kiss to your lips, "In the way that you like."

You match his posture, putting your hands on his face, pulling him close to you. Another kiss, slow and sensual, pillowy lips capturing eachother's with anticipation for whatever might come later. Clicks of spit exchanging and tongues dancing floating through the room like music -- their own language.

"I love you," he whispers, his forehead pressed against yours.

"I love you, I love you, I love you," he repeats. He needs you to know after scenes like that, where you're more vulnerable than normal. A real punishment that might make you forget.

At the same right, he needs you to say it back -- and when you do, he sees stars.

"Let me get you patched up, yeah?" he asks. You nod, laying down on the mattress to let him comfort you after such an assault. Feeling much better now that you had a sore ass and a good talk.

After the normal routine of aloe gel and a massage, you let Eddie get the trailer together for movie night while you took a break in the bedroom. Sometimes you needed a little time alone after a scene before you had to go be around people. Plus, he liked decorating by himself.

You can hear people start trickling in: Steve and his lady, Dustin, Robin, Mike, Nancy, their voices tittering their hellos while the screen door swings. You make your way out, padding down the hall in your socks.

"Hi," you croak out, your voice still scratcy from earlier. Eddie comes over to re-welcome you to the real world, leaving a kiss on your cheek.

Dustin looks at you quizically, "Are you okay? You look sad for movie night."

You shrug, about to speak when Eddie butts in, "She'll be alright, Henderson. She just got in a nasty fight with her dad."

You hear Steve snort in the kitchen and roll your eyes before you smile back at Dustin, "I'm okay, thank you for asking."

Eddie fixes you a plate of snacks while you fix him one. Somehow you still haven't realized that you should just get them for yourselves, but there's something sweet about the neutral need to always be caring for each other.

"More sour straws, you're lacking here Munson," you say at the exchange of plates.

"So true," he agrees, turning back around. The rest of the crew walks in, Lucas making a joke that Steve laughs at -- another snort coming out of his nose.

"You sound like a pig Steve," his flavor of the month Elaine laughs. You watch him smile at her, his eyes a little hard, and subtly reach for her chin. He leans in like he's about to kiss her, but before he does he offers a stern, "Watch your mouth."

Her face blooms with heat when their lips meet and you nudge Eddie in the arm, "What're you teaching him, Ed? He's a nice boy."

Eddie tosses you a sly smirk, "He's not as nice as he looks. I promise."

You take your plate from him, sour straws at the right amount, and take your place on the couch. He plops down next to you while everyone gathers in the living room around the TV.

"Day of the Dead, y'all. Let's get into it," Eddie says. He lifts the remote and presses play, turning out the lights at the switch behind your head. His hand falls to your opposite shoulder, rubbing it absentmindedly while the movie begins.

Your eyes meet breifly in the glow of the TV. He offers you a wink before spreading his lips into his regular award winning smile.

#eddie munson x you #sadist!eddie munson #sadist!eddie #eddie munson x reader #dom eddie munson #eddie munson fan fiction #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x you smut #eddie munson x reader smut #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie x y/n #stranger things smut #eddie munson au #mean!eddie munson #dark!eddie munson

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lewmagoo · 1 month

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trouble's always gonna find you | rhett abbott

description: in which you know he's no good for you, but you just can't stay away

pairing: rhett abbott x afab!reader

warnings: 18+ only, dark themes, questionable morals, non-graphic description of a gunshot wound, mentions of death, allusions to crime, unprotected p in v sex (on the floor lol), choking, creampie

notes: i have no idea what this even is, but as soon as i saw these pictures for the first time yesterday, i started writing this fic. i just wanted to write something mysterious and different. and i'm proud of myself for finishing a fic for the first time in months. i may also write more installments for this story in the future, depending on how well it's received.

You couldn’t sleep.

It was late July, and the air was heavy and thick with humidity. You felt as if you lived in a swamp. Which, essentially, that was what Florida was. Your skimpy tank top and shorts did little to cool you down, but foregoing clothes wouldn’t offer you much relief.

And to make matters worse, the small window unit that cooled your entire double-wide had broken, leaving you without a way to cool down. So, you found yourself outside, seated on your porch swing as you stared out into the night.

Your neighborhood was quiet. As it should be, at 2 o’clock in the morning. You were enjoying the peace, listening to the throaty calls of frogs and other nightlife. If it hadn’t been so miserably hot, you might have even felt serene.

That is, until the sound of a rickety old pickup truck approaching interrupted all the frogs and cicadas and crickets. You froze, your eyes widening as you watched the truck approach. A blue, beat-up GMC Sierra, circa 2006.

The vehicle came to a stop at the trailer directly next to yours. You rose to your feet, immediately stepping toward the edge of your porch, watching as the driver shut off the engine and proceeded to climb out of the truck, heavy work boots thudding against the ground.

Your stomach twisted as you realized that he was hurt. The hand pressed against his left shoulder alerted you to that much. And even in the darkness, you could see the crimson shade of blood seeping through the fingers that remained against his shoulder.

He made eye contact with you as he limped toward the door of his trailer. You weren’t sure if he even wanted to see you, but you found your legs moving of their own accord, carrying you toward him, toward the man you knew that you never should have gotten tangled up with. The man who had more skeletons in his closet than you could ever count.

The man named Rhett Abbott.

He’d stepped inside already, but he’d left the door open, knowing you were following him. You stepped onto the ramshackle porch that squeaked beneath your feet and made you feel as if it was going to give way and send you falling to the ground underneath it.

Hesitating, you stood in the doorway for a moment before your feet crossed over the threshold. You glanced around, eyes adjusting to the warm glow of the lamp he had turned on as he came through.

“Rhett?” You cautiously called out. You shut the door behind you as you walked further into the trailer, old, orange shag carpet soft beneath the soles of your sandals. You walked down the dim hall, toward the bathroom, where you finally saw him.

He was hunched over the sink, hands whiteknuckling the counter. He was trembling, fighting to keep his breathing steady. “Rhett?” You spoke again as you came to a stop in the bathroom doorway.

Now that you were closer, you could see that his shoulder injury was actually a gunshot wound. Your eyes went wide and your chest tightened. “Who did this?” You asked. The heavy weight of dread washed over you.

“Doesn’t matter,” he gruffed.

“Yes it does.”

He looked at you in the mirror, his gaze harsh. “You know who did it.”

A chill ran down your spine. He’d always refused to share the details of his job with you. You knew that he drove semi trucks for a living, but early on, you had learned that he transported materials for some dangerous people. You had no idea who they were, or what he actually transported for them, and he had sworn to you that you never would know, either.

You knew that you were foolish for getting involved with a man like him. But somewhere along the way, you had fallen in love with him, and now, you couldn’t bring yourself to leave. Maybe it was because some part of you believed that you could somehow fix him. Save him from himself.

But Rhett Abbott didn’t want to be saved. Whatever it was that he was involved in had him chained down like a prisoner. He couldn’t leave. Not even your love for him was strong enough to pull him away.

“I can’t leave,” he murmured to you one night, as you lay in bed with him. “They’ll kill me if I do.”

Those words had stuck with you ever since. And now, every time he left, you feared that this time, he might not come back. And now, seeing him hunched over his bathroom sink with a bullet wound in his shoulder, you were struck with a wave of nausea.

“But…but why? Why did they do this?” You whispered.

He shook his head, eyes fluttering shut for a moment. “The less you know, the safer you are,” he responded.

You stepped forward, reaching your hands out, touching either side of his face. His stubble was rough beneath your palms. You wanted to ask so many more questions, but you knew he was right. Despite your involvement with him already being a risk to your safety, he did what he could to protect you still. And part of that was disclosing as little as possible with you about his line of work.

The people he worked for were capable of heinous things. He had witnessed these things firsthand. Unspeakable acts of violence and depravity. He would cut off his own arm before he let you be subjected to those things.

“Can I at least help you take care of this wound?” You softly questioned.

His lashes fluttered. “Mhm.”

You let go of his face. “Go sit at the kitchen table. And take your shirt off, if you can.”

He let out a breath, nodding almost imperceptibly before he stepped around you, leaving you to scrounge up whatever first aid items you could find in the bathroom as he took a seat in the kitchen. Wooden chair legs scraped against cracked linoleum as he sat down. There, he took his hat off, tossing it onto the table before gingerly removing his bloodied shirt.

The wound wasn’t that bad. In fact, it could have been much worse. It was only a warning. If the man holding the gun had been intending to kill him, Rhett would already be dead. Instead, he had a nick in his shoulder, and he doubted it would even need stitches.

As you approached with gauze and rubbing alcohol, he eyed you, and felt a sadness building in his chest, clouding his lungs like wildfire smoke, making it difficult to breathe. He was selfish to keep you in his life. He needed to let you go. But he knew that he wasn’t strong enough to do so.

As stoic as he appeared, he cared for you deeply. Hell, he loved you. And that terrified him, because in his experience, whenever he loved someone, they were ripped away from him. He tried to tell himself this time would be different. But that was merely wishful thinking.

“I wish you’d leave this job,” you murmured as you soaked a piece of gauze in alcohol. You used it to wipe the blood from his skin, cleaning the area around his wound. As it came in contact with the gash, he hissed only slightly. He’d endured far worse pain in his life.

“Can’t,” he simply said.

You sighed as you tossed the bloodied gauze in the trash. “Why? Is this what they’ll do to you if you try? Will they kill you for leaving?”

In the low light, his gaze flickered up to meet yours. His chest heaved slightly. “Don’t ask me anythin’ else about it.”

“Why not?!”

“Because they could take you from me! And I can’t lose you!” He shouted, his outburst causing you to jump in surprise.

You stared at him, your body tense, your breath trapped in your lungs for a brief moment as you processed his words. You didn’t know how to respond. So you did the only thing you could think of. You reached for him, pulling his body toward yours, letting his head rest upon your abdomen as one of your hands came up to run through his hair.

He was trembling. So were you. You realized that you had never fully grasped the gravity of the situation until now. This was, quite literally, life or death. A clear reason to walk away, to leave him behind and find another place to live, for your own safety. And yet, you didn’t walk away.

You stayed right there, in the middle of his kitchen, in a rundown little trailer in the middle of a Florida trailer park, holding him close. You were already in over your head. What was allowing yourself to sink a few more feet into the water going to change?

“Sorry for yellin’,” he mumbled as you finally pulled away to continue tending to his wound. His voice trembled.

“I didn’t realize you felt that strongly about me,” came your soft response. Your tone wasn’t accusatory.

Rhett was a hard man to read. You had met him two years prior, when he’d first moved into the trailer next door to yours. He’d come to Florida, of all places, for a fresh start. Claimed the reason he’d chosen this place was because it was as far away from his hometown as he could get.

The attraction between you was there. It resulted in a casual romp between the sheets, that soon turned into both of you catching feelings. Around that time, Rhett started a new job at a trucking company, which meant he was gone for days at a time. And that was all well and good, until he started coming home with a haunted look in his eyes and an uneasy countenance.

He wouldn’t tell you what had happened. Refused to share any details. He insisted that it was for your own safety. But it only created a sinking feeling of unease in your gut. Whoever he’d gotten involved with was powerful.

You knew he cared about you in some way, because he was so adamant about protecting you. But he wasn’t much for words. He’d never truly expressed how much you meant to him.

But now, as you stood before him in his kitchen, it was finally out in the open. He was terrified of losing you. Couldn’t stomach the thought of you being taken from him. You could see it in his eyes. Raw fear that made you shiver.

“‘Course I feel that way about you,” he whispered. “I know ‘m shit with expressin’ my feelings, but…you mean so much to me, an’ I can’t– I can’t stomach the thought of losin’ you.” He’d never forgive himself if he ended up being the reason for harm coming to you. In his heart, he knew you were safest if you weren’t associated with him at all, but selfishly, he couldn’t let you go.

You sighed softly as you moved to finish patching him up, smoothing medical tape over the gauze so it would stay in place. “For what it’s worth, I really care about you, Rhett. I don’t know exactly what you’re tied up in, and maybe I’m stupid for sticking with you because of it. But I want to be with you. I want this to work.”

“Me too,” he hummed, watching as you gathered up all of the first aid paraphernalia, tossing the used items into the trash.

“I just hate seeing you come home hurt,” you added on, voice thick with emotion. “And it…it scares me, what they could do to you. You say you’re afraid to lose me, but did you ever stop to think that I feel the same way about losing you?”

He nodded, his eyes downcast. If he was looking at you, you would have been able to see the raw emotion glimmering in his eyes. “I’ll…I’ll figure out a way to leave this job. I promise,” came his confession.

You took his face in your hands, thumbs gently rubbing circles against his cheeks. “I hope you do,” you replied.

He took a deep, unsteady breath before he released it. Your touch calmed him, melting some of the tension he carried upon his shoulders. His large hands came up to rest upon your hips, and he pulled you closer, slotting you between his knees.

You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, fingers slotting into the curls at the nape of his neck. His hair had gotten longer since you’d seen him last. He was in need of a haircut. You would likely end up giving him one outside in the yard one of these days.

His stubble had grown out, too. He looked weathered and tired, but still so handsome.

His lashes fluttered at the feeling of your fingers brushing against the skin of his neck, and he shivered slightly. It had been a while since he had felt the tenderness of your touch. He hadn’t realized how starved he was for it.

Slowly, you leaned in, gaze flickering to his lips before you caught his eye. He gave the faintest of nods, giving you permission before you gently captured his lips with your own.

He melted into you, a soft grunt leaving his throat as you kissed him. His heart rate quickened in his chest, his skin heating.

You were dressed in your little tank top and shorts, and he could feel how warm you were against his bare torso. As his large hands splayed over your hips, the fabric of your shorts rode up, granting him access to the swell of your ass.

He broke the kiss, breathing rushed as he pressed his face against the side of your neck, mouth open against your skin.

“Need you,” he gasped. He was desperate to feel your body against his again. Desperate to have that connection with you. After all he’d been through, he craved tenderness.

As one of his hands came up to paw at your breast through the thin fabric of your tank top, you knew you could not resist. You wanted him, too.

Your knees went weak as he tugged your top town further, his tongue laving at the exposed swell of your chest. One hand remained tangled in his hair, guiding his head further into you. “Need you too,” came your breathless response.

He looked up at you then, and you saw unbridled desire in his eyes. “I…” he began, but trailed off, unsure of how to express what he truly wanted. He was overcome with such an intense wave of emotions. He might even describe himself as being ravenous for you. Having a near brush with death had brought out an almost feral yearning for you.

What was soon to follow would not be gentle. It would be animalistic. Somehow, you knew this. So you nodded your head. “It’s okay. Take what you need.”

So he stood from his chair, one hand holding the side of your neck as he pulled you in to kiss you again, his hulking frame hunched over you. His mouth locked with yours again, kissing you deeply as he backed you into the kitchen table.

He guided you to sit upon the smooth wood, and he immediately slotted himself between your thighs. His stubble was rough against your skin, creating a delicious burn that made you shudder. Then he trailed his mouth down your jaw, teeth nipping at you as he went lower. You gasped, back arching, body pressing into his as he shifted his attention to your neck.

Then he yanked your tank top down, exposing your breasts. One of which he gripped in his hand, the other he attended to with his mouth, teeth grazing your nipple, causing it to harden beneath his touch.

Your fingers tugged at his hair, and you could feel the molten heat beginning to settle between your legs. Being this close to him, breathing in his scent, feeling his body against yours, was so overwhelming. You had missed him so terribly.

Being in your proximity was affecting him, too. He grabbed your hand, bringing it down below his belt, alerting you to what you’d done to him. You gasped softly at the feeling of his hardness. You ached for him, longing to have him inside you, joined as one.

In a flurry of need, you reached to undo his belt buckle, hands fumbling, eager, impatient. He watched you for a moment before he pushed your hands away and finished the job himself.

Then those big hands of his were pulling your shorts down your legs, completely removing them, tossing them aside. Then came your tank top, which he all but ripped over your head, the flimsy fabric protesting in the form of popping seams as he did so.

Now, you were fully exposed to him, laying bare naked on his kitchen table, staring up at him, silently begging him to take things further. He ducked forward, trailing his tongue over your abdomen and up between your breasts, tasting the salt of the sweat on your skin.

Then he moved to kiss you again, tongue delving into your mouth, allowing you to taste yourself. As he did this, he brought his hand down between your legs, dipping his middle and ring fingers inside you. You gasped at the feeling of the thick digits, and he pressed his forehead to yours as he fucked you with his fingers, with the intention of making you wetter than you already were, so he could fuck you with ease.

With his left hand, he grabbed your throat, ignoring the twinge of pain in his injured shoulder. He applied just the slightest bit of pressure to your neck, fingers pressing into the sides, intentionally avoiding your airway so that you would be able to breathe with ease. Your eyes went wide, and you gasped sharply, mouth falling open.

Rhett could feel the way you suddenly tightened around him, and it sent his blood rushing south, cock growing even harder. He could feel you, even slicker around his fingers. You’d begun to drip like a juicy peach bitten into on a hot summer's day, coating his hand in your molten arousal. It pulled a breathless groan from his throat.

He pulled his hand back then, lifting it to his mouth to suck your wetness off his fingers before he hurriedly began unbuckling his belt. You watched him, dazed. You found yourself suddenly desperate for him, your desire to have him inside you completely overwhelming you senses.

Your eyes flickered downward, unable to tear your gaze away as he tugged his jeans and underwear down, exposing his hard, leaking cock. You whimpered softly, biting your lip as you quite literally began to salivate like a starving animal at the sight of him.

Rhett tipped your chin up then, so you were looking into his face. "Keep your eyes on me" he instructed, and you obeyed, staring into the deep blue, so dark it was almost like looking into the midnight sky.

He aligned himself with you, and in one carefully timed thrust, he was fully seated inside you. No hesitation. No easing into you to let you adjust. He made you take him all at once. You let out a cry at the feeling, and he watched the way your brow furrowed, the way your mouth fell open. In the yellow light of his trailer, you looked so heavenly, like a deity sent to grace him with your presence. He wanted to commit your features to memory.

With one hand pressed against the table and the other cradling the back of your head, he began to move. Slowly at first, working up to a rhythm. You melted in his arms, moaning lowly at the feeling of him stretching you, sliding into your tight, slick heat before pulling back again. His thickness filled you in such a satisfying way.

Rhett leaned back to watch his cock disappear within you with each push of his hips into your own. The sight of you stretching to accommodate him had his knees going weak. A switch was flipped in his arousal-clouded brain. He wasn’t going to fuck you slowly. He was going to take you hard and fast.

You cried out as he quickened his movements, driving himself into you deeply before pulling back, just to do it all over again. the force of which caused the legs of the kitchen table to scrape against the linoleum floor. However, the harder he fucked you, he found that the table was inching its way back, moving across the floor little by little. To solve this problem, he lifted you, inside you still as he lowered you to the kitchen floor, one hand supporting the back of your head so you wouldn't bump it on the way down.

You gazed up at him, completely overwhelmed by the sheer size of him. His frame was hulking over yours. He was so broad, he could make almost anyone feel small beside him. But despite his roughness, despite all that he was tied up in that had hardened him this way, you knew you were safe here, connected to the man that you loved. You weren’t sure when you realized you were in love with him, but the realization had been painful, because you knew you shouldn’t be involved with a man like him.

Yet here you were, on his kitchen floor, letting him fuck you. You were in too deep now.

You lifted her back off the ground, reaching up to run your fingers through his hair as you pulled him down to kiss her. "Nobody else gets to do this to me," you breathed. "Only you." Because that was the truth. No matter how many times he left, or how long he was gone, he was the only man you wanted.

A growl escaped his throat as he ducked forward to kiss you hard, resuming his pace, though this time, he went harder. He placed his hands on the floor by either side of your head, using his strength to drive himself into you. There was an intensity in his face, a look that seemed almost animalistic. Mouth curled into a snarl. Brow furrowed.

Beneath him, you whimpered and wailed at the feeling of him inside you. Your pretty, broken sounds were music to his ears. He wanted to hear them always.

And when you asked for more, he gave it to you. He ground against you each time his hips met yours, his pubic bone pressing into your sensitive gathering of nerves. This sent you shuddering in pleasure, head thrown back as electricity crackled through you.

Your chests were pressed together, heartbeats and breaths intertwining, joining you as one. You clutched at him, careful to avoid his injured shoulder as your fingers dug into the rippling muscles of his back. You felt as if you might float away, each ripple of ecstasy stronger than the last.

It felt so dirty to be fucked into the kitchen floor, and yet, your entire body was a live wire, crackling and sparking beneath him as you wailed and cried and begged for more. Rhett captured your cries in his open mouth, kissing you languidly, gasping against your lips, moaning your name, swearing under his breath.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him impossibly closer, shifting your hips up to meet each thrust, trying to chase that delicious spark that you felt each time he grinded against you. But Rhett wasn’t going to let you do all the work.

To help you plummet toward your end more quickly, he slipped his good arm between your bodies, hand quickly locating the place you needed him most, deft fingers swirling against your swollen clit. You arched into him, mouth falling open as you gripped his arm, nails digging into the meat of it.

“Wan’ you to come for me,” he growled, teeth nipping at your bottom lip.

The pressure he used against your swollen, twitching clit was certainly going to cause that to happen. “C-close!” You squeaked.

He nodded, lock of hair falling against his forehead. “I know. Can feel y’ squeezin’ me.”

Your pussy was involuntarily clenching around him, and you could feel the evidence of your arousal dripping from you, soaking his shaft, creating a puddle on the floor beneath you. Rhett could feel it, too, and it made him shudder above you.

“S’fuckin wet.”

All you could do was whimper, jolting against him as he offered a particularly deep thrust. “O-oh my g–ah!”

You wrapped both arms around him, and locked your legs in place, holding on for dear life as he fucked you into the floor, grunting and growling as he did, the weight of his body heavy against your own, but not overwhelmingly so. Oddly enough, the weight felt almost comforting. It grounded you, and if only for a moment, you felt as if nothing could take you away from him. You were safe. You were shielded.

And then he was in your ear, gritting out, “c’mon baby, need y’ to come for me. Come all over me, just let go.”

And oh, you wanted to give it all to him. Wanted to succumb to the intensity roiling deep within you. You squeezed your eyes shut, tears of pleasure slipping down the sides of your face as you did so. You felt hot all over, buzzing from head to toe, near your boiling point.

Rhett leaned back, bringing his hand to your throat all over again, pressing his fingertips into the sides, cutting off your blood flow. Your eyes shot open, and your gaze locked with his as you let out a sound between a shriek and a gasp. The restricted blood flow made your head spin, and suddenly, you felt as if you were floating above yourself, in the midst of an out-of-body experience.

Everything you felt was heightened tenfold, and you were very quickly overwhelmed.

“I said, come,” he growled.

And you did. Whether it was on command, or your body was already tipping over the edge, you didn’t know. But what you did know was, you were plunged into the throes of an orgasm so intense, you swore you blacked out for a moment. Searing ecstasy rippled through you, spreading from the tips of your toes to the top of your head.

You cried out Rhett’s name, holding onto him for dear life as you convulsed beneath him, pulsing around his cock. He had to fight to hold it together, because he was moments away from his own end, and he wanted to enjoy you like this for a moment longer before he let go.

He watched you in awe, amazed at how beautiful you were when you were in such a state of unbridled pleasure. As you writhed in his arms, he held you, keeping you grounded when you felt like you’d float away.

As you slowly came down from the intensity, Rhett took that as his cue to pick up his pace, kissing you when you began to whimper from the sensitivity. "I'm gonna fill you to the brim," he gritted out, voice strained as he approached his own release.

You welcomed it, you begged for it, longing to feel his essence spilling deep within you. And he gave it to you. With nothing short of a roar, Rhett came undone. He buried his face against your neck as he lost himself, hips pressed tightly to yours as he spasmed and filled you with his warmth. You held him close, shivering at the sensation.

Still breathless, his body relaxed against your own, though he was careful not to rest dead weight on you. As he slowly regained his composure, he lifted his head, moving to plant a deep kiss on your lips.

You held his face in your hands as you kissed him back. But your connection could only last for so long. His cock was beginning to soften within you, and you could feel his seed dripping between your thighs, joining the mess you’d already made on the floor.

Although he didn't want to part from you, he knew he couldn't stay this way forever. So eased himself from you, soothing you with another kiss before he lifted his head to gaze between your legs at the mess he'd made.

Wordlessly, he swiped his fingers through your combined mess, and then brought those fingers to your mouth. Eagerly, you parted your lips, tasting your shared arousal, sucking his digits clean. He hummed low in his throat. The sight was nearly enough to have him growing hard all over again.

But he gave you both a moment of reprieve, moving to settle beside you on the floor, as you stared up at the aged popcorn ceiling together. His hand rested on his abdomen, while the other searched for your own hand, interlacing your fingers.

“I missed you,” you whispered into the silence.

He hummed. “I missed y’ too.”

The heaviness of reality had begun to set in as the afterglow faded and your conversation grew serious. You moved to prop yourself up on your elbow, gazing down at Rhett. “Should I be worried about you coming home with more gunshot wounds from now on?” You asked, as you lovingly traced your fingers around the area you had covered with gauze.

He sighed. “I…I can’t promise it won’t happen again. But I want ya to know, I’m gonna figure out a way to quit this job, alright? You deserve a better life. A better man. And I can be a better man. I just gotta clean up the mess I made first.”

“Is that a promise?”

“It is.”

But the truth was, Rhett wasn’t sure that he could keep that promise. He would try, dammit, he’d try. But he was very well aware that going through with it could result in his own life being snuffed out.

And that night, as he lay in bed, with you sleeping soundly by his side, he considered what might happen to you if he ended up meeting a premature end. He had several thousand in cash stuffed into a loose floorboard in the closet. You could live off of that for a while.

He just wanted to make sure you were taken care of in the event that something happened to him.

The thought made him uneasy. But as he gazed upon your peaceful form, he knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he wanted to build a beautiful life with you. He wanted to take you away from all of this, away from this hick trailer park, and give you a home worth living in.

But the only way he could do any of those things, was by breaking the shackles that held him down. He had to walk away from the line of work that he was tied up in, and he had to do it now, otherwise, he’d never be free.

So, in the wee hours of the morning, just before sunrise, he slipped away. He wrote you a note, left you a twenty dollar bill to buy yourself breakfast with, and left a featherlight kiss against your temple before he walked out to meet fate.

When you woke a few hours later, you found his note on the wobbly old nightstand beside the bed.

It read, Went to try and fix things. Don’t know when I’ll be back. Buy yourself some breakfast with this 20. If I’m not back in a week, there’s a few grand under the loose floorboard in my closet. Take it and move far away from here, because it won’t be safe for you to stay here anymore.

P.S. I know I’m shit at words, but I just want you to know, I love you. Hope I see you soon. - Rhett.

You stared at his barely legible writing, your chest tightening with uncertainty. What on earth did he mean by if I’m not back in a week? A pit of dread formed in your gut. You knew he was trying to leave his job, but would doing so cost him his life?

You so badly wanted him to have his freedom back, but what good would that freedom do him if he was dead?

You didn’t buy breakfast with the money he left you that morning. You felt much too sick to your stomach, knowing he was deliberately putting himself in danger. But there was nothing you could do about it. You had no idea where he had gone, nor did you have any clue where to start looking for him.

All you were left to do was worry, and wonder if you would ever see the man you loved again.

tagging (those who expressed interest in the concept post i made): @withahappyrefrain @rhettabbotts @ryebecca @up-thereinthesky @peachystenbrough @attapullman @sebsxphia @delopsia @damrlova @floydsmuse @hangmanapologist @bobfloydsbabe @bradshawsbitch @bradshawsbaby @milesmillergf @laracrofted @floydsglasses @westpastor @seitmai-too @topherwrites

#rhett abbott x reader #rhett abbott fic #rhett abbott smut #rhett abbott fanfiction

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ichorai · 1 year

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sorry ; daryl dixon.

track three of BROKEN MACHINE.

pairing ; daryl dixon x doctor!reader (gender neutral pronouns)

synopsis ; you were on your knees, and daryl was too. he wouldn’t look at you—he couldn’t—terrified that negan would bring that bat down on your head if he noticed.

words ; 7.9k

themes ; heavy angst, mild action, doctor au

warnings / includes ; death and violence, negan at his worst, vulgar language, guns/weapons, descriptions of injury/blood, mentions of maggie's pregnancy, negan goes on long ass monologues, poor rick is going Through it, the walking dead s6-7 spoilers (fic starts right at the season six finale), mild sexual dialogue from negan

main masterlist.

Maggie hummed with discontent when you pressed a cold, damp cloth to her forehead. There was a pallid color to her skin, and her temperature was beginning to rise, despite her violent shivers beneath the blanket. The inconsistent, rocking motions of the RV weren’t doing her any favors, either.

“Don’t worry, we’ll get you to Hilltop real soon,” you said, feeling mildly guilty that you couldn’t help her more, despite being a doctor yourself. Alexandria was completely out of medical supplies and this was urgent—if Maggie didn’t get help soon… you’d never be able to forgive yourself if something bad were to happen to her or the baby. “Hang on for me, okay?”

The brunette slanted her lips in a tired smile, eyelids heavy.

Rick knelt down beside you, speaking in a low, comforting tone. “We’re gonna get there. Once we get the medicine from Hilltop, Y/N will fix you right up.”

A small sigh fell from her pale, trembling lips. A thin film of tears warbled over her eyes. She was terrified.

“Oh, Maggie,” you murmured, gently pulling away the short strands of hair sticking to her face.

“How do you know?” muttered your friend, gaze trained on the ex-cop.

“Everything we’ve done… we've done it together. We got here together and we’re still here. Things have happened, but it’s always worked out for us, ‘cause it’s always been all of us. That’s how I know. As long as it’s all of us helpin’ you, we can do it.”

A hot tear meandered down Maggie’s cheek. You nodded gratefully at Rick—he’d always had a way with words that you’d never really gotten a grasp of.

The next hour passed by slowly. You switched between cooling her head, and helping her drink some water, sometimes just holding her hand and telling her that everything was going to be fine. To take her mind off the pain, she’d asked you to tell her about how you and Daryl met, all those years ago long before the dead began to walk.

“I’m glad Daryl’s not here right now, because he always tells the story differently than I do. Well, how I remember it, he and his dick brother used to come to a small convenience store near their trailer park. That’s where I worked. I was around… nineteen at the time? Almost twenty. I was just working a couple jobs on the side to pay off my growing student debt. Daryl was twenty-three, almost twenty-four. Merle tried to cozy up to me—and I didn’t have any of that. I told him to fuck right off. And later that night, just as I was to close up, Daryl came by and apologized on his brother’s behalf. He was real sweet, so I—”

“What the bitch?” barked Abraham from the driver’s seat, effectively cutting your story short and rolling the RV to a grueling halt.

“What?” asked Rick, standing up to look out the window. You followed suit, eyes widening upon the sight.

More than half a dozen Saviors blocking the road with three of their cars—and all of them holding large guns. A lump formed in your throat, and you cast your worried gaze to Rick.

“We goin’ through?” asked Abraham, jaw set.

Rick gnashed his jaw together in thought. “No,” he said. “We’ll talk to them. C’mon. Y/N, you stay here, watch over Maggie.”

Teeth worrying into your bottom lip, you nodded, stepping to the side to let the rest of them file out of the RV, their own loaded guns at the ready.

From inside, you couldn’t hear what the Saviors were saying, but from the smug expression of the one in the center with a hideous pornstache, you knew it couldn’t be anything pleasant for your group.

Three minutes later, they came back in, all looking a bit disgruntled. Rick, most of all.

“What’s going on?” you asked Carl, placing a hand on his forearm.

The young man that you were so fond of grimaced, shaking his head and lowering his voice to a whisper so that Maggie couldn’t overhear. “They won’t let us through. Want half our stuff.”

Your breath hitched. At this rate, you didn’t know how long Maggie could last without the proper care and medicine. And Alexandria was running low on supplies as it is—taking away half of everything would put the community in a pretty dire situation.

“Alright, thanks kid,” you told him, trying your absolute best not to cry from frustration, your nose burning with the effort.

The truck began to pull further away from the Saviors, until they were only but little dots against the horizon.

“Logrun Road’s a straight shot,” said Eugene, repeatedly tapping his finger against the map spread out across the RV’s pull-out table.

Next to you, Sasha shook her head. “We want visibility.”

You pursed your lips, craning your neck to scan the small, faded texts of the map. “Can we go down Shelton?”

Eugene hummed in agreement, drawling out in his thick Southern accent, “Golf course, country clubs, sloping terrain—no bum rush from the bogeymen. We’d see ‘em from a good piece. It is a longer trip by a third but we’d get the scenic safety of clear-cut dingles and glens.”

Both you and Sasha stared at him blankly.

“You’re being serious, right?” asked Sasha.

“As coronary thrombosis,” replied the man across from you, stony-faced. Besides, Eugene was never one to joke around.

Sasha rounded her gaze to you expectantly, waiting for you to explain in normal terms. “He’s serious,” you said. “It’s a longer route, but it’ll be well-sheltered and hopefully keep us hidden from the Saviors. I’ll try to keep Maggie steady until then.”

The two nodded at you, and you pushed away from the table, heading further back into the RV where Maggie and Rick were. She was pale and clammy, but still had enough energy to talk to you, so you took that as a good sign.

Not even ten minutes later, while you were taking measurements of her blood pressure and body temperature, the vehicle came to another rumbling halt.

“Bitch nuts,” cursed Abraham, loudly for both you and Rick to hear.

The Saviors were blocking the road. Again.

You could feel panic seize about your chest, constricting your lungs. The situation wasn’t looking good for Maggie, not one bit—but you couldn’t give up hope. Not now, when she needed you the most. You blew out a shaky breath, absentmindedly wishing Daryl was here with you to give you some comfort of mind.

“We making our stand?” asked Sasha, staring out of the window, where more than a dozen saviors were lined up.

Carl, ever the fiery one, spat out, “Yeah. We end this.”

The blue of his father’s eyes flashed dangerously. “No. Not now. It’s too dangerous for Maggie. They’ve been waiting—they’re ready. We ain’t. With one of us behind the wheel, and Y/N with Maggie, that’d be five on sixteen. We’re gonna play it our way. How we want it.”

Reluctant, Carl nodded.

Slowly, the RV started backing away. Three successive, warning gunshots were fired into the air. You could feel a sick, twisted rage curl up within your stomach.

If Maggie died on your watch—her blood would be on the hands of the Saviors.

You fumbled for another map pinned up on the cork board, eyes roaming over the roads, desperate for another available route. Could they possibly have you surrounded? No—the woods were vast, and the roads were winding—there were so many paths left to take to Hilltop. The Saviors simply wouldn’t have the numbers to stop you.

Wouldn’t they?

The RV came to another stop. This time, there were no Saviors blocking the road, but instead, a line of chained-up walkers. Not wanting to risk damaging the RV by driving through them, the rest of the group filed out to check if the coast was clear. You told Maggie you’d be right back, before hopping out of the RV, lingering by the doorway to narrow your gaze at the restrained walkers.

“That’s Michonne’s,” breathed out Carl, his single eye widening. A lock of her hair was stapled against the center walker’s forehead.

Horror, as black as tar itself, seeped into your chest when you glanced over to the next snarling form, just to see two of Daryl’s arrows embedded into its decaying stomach. Daryl always retrieved his arrows. Which meant… something had happened to him.

“That’s Daryl’s,” you said, loud enough for Rick to hear. “Oh, no, Rick… they did this on purpose. They knew we were coming this way—!”

Just as Rick was about to cleave his axe into the walker’s skull, ricocheting gunfire crackled into the ground, making the dried leaves flutter up with the sudden force, plumes of dust and smoke flying with each bullet.

“Get back to the RV! Go!” yelled Rick. You scrambled up the steps and ran to a concerned Maggie, trembling as you carefully hovered over her, in case any bullets pierced through the walls and accidentally hit her. Carl and Sasha began shooting blindly into the woods, having not a clue where all the shots were coming from. Rick surged forward and thrust his axe down onto one of the walker’s rotting arms, effectively leaving a gap open for the RV to drive through.

The rest of the group rushed inside, and Abraham practically threw himself into the driver’s seat to get the RV moving.

The shots died away after a few minutes. With shallow, inconsistent breaths, you slid off of Maggie, slumping down beside her. She croaked out a question, but it fell upon deaf ears, ringing with static and white noise. A warm tear fell from your burning eyes, and you quickly brushed it away with the back of your palm.

Something happened to Daryl. And it was killing you that you couldn’t help him. That you didn’t even know where he was.

You looked out the window through a watery film of tears, watching the yellow-green fields pass by in a blur. A quick glance at the lowering sun told you that the group was going to lose daylight soon enough, as well.

A strange, creaking noise was coming from below the RV.

“What’s that sound?” said Sasha, worried.

“Undercarriage could’ve caught a bullet,” replied Eugene. “Could be transmission. Could be nothing.”

Agitated, Rick growled out, “They were firing at our feet. They blocked the road, but they weren’t trying to stop us.”

“They want us in this direction,” you murmured, making his wild gaze swivel to you. You gestured to the map. “Rick, they know we’re coming. They know we wanna go North.”

“Meadows would take us East a piece,” said Eugene, “but we can get back on track on Mayhew.”

It would take too long, you thought. Maggie doesn’t have the strength to carry on anymore.

Shaking her head, Sasha said, “We’re down to a third of a tank—we could top off at the next stop, but it’s risky. We can’t have any refills after that.”

A low moan fell from Maggie’s pale lips as a wave of pain washed over her, moving in and out of a hazy unconsciousness. You were quick to check her temperature, blanching at the fact that she was nearly scalding to the touch. You quickly placed the damp cloth to her skin again, trying your best to keep her temperature down.

“Rick, she’s burning up,” you told him, voice thick with worry.

It was then that the RV came to another stop.

This time, there were more saviors—around three dozen, maybe even four.

“Go back,” said Rick, eyes wide and stress evidently painted across his strained features.

Abraham squared his jaw. “We have nowhere to go back to.”

With a shaky breath, you stroked Maggie’s head, your heart shattering into millions of pieces. “I’m sorry, Maggie,” you said, a sob bubbling in your throat. “I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry—I wish I could do something, I’m sorry.”

Disoriented and not having heard a word of your apologetic babbling, Maggie croaked out, “Are we there yet?”

More tears slipped down your cheeks. Rick was by your side, placing one hand on your shoulder and the other on Maggie’s arm. You stifled your sobs with your palm, and Rick replied in your stead.

“Yeah, Maggie. We’re—we’re getting there.”

The woman’s eyelids fluttered lethargically. “Were there… I heard shots.”

Rick’s expression softened. “Yeah, the Saviors—they’re gone now. We’re gonna get you there.”

A ghost of a smile tilted the corner of Maggie’s lips up. “I know.”

“You’ll be okay,” you told her, sniffling. “The baby’s going to be okay. This isn’t the end.”

“There’s more,” agreed Rick. “There’s gonna be more, I promise.”

A beat of silence.

“I believe in you, Rick,” she hoarsely said. Maggie’s gaze slowly moved from Rick to you. “In both of you.”

Maggie was asleep again. You made sure to give her plenty of water and what was left of the antibiotics you had saved—but that was the very last bit of supply you had. There was little else you could do for her other than getting her to Hilltop for the proper medicine and treatment she needed.

“So what’s the play?” asked Abraham. “They’ve cut us off every turn we made.”

“She needs medicine,” said Rick, desperation lacing each word. “She’ll die without it.”

“We only have two plausible routes North from here. They’ve cornered us,” Sasha whispered, gaze trained on the map.

Hopelessness laid uneasy on all of your shoulders.

“They’re probably waiting for us right now,” said Aaron.

Eugene gritted his teeth. “So, they’re ahead of us. Heck, probably even behind us. But they’re not waiting on us, per se—they’re waitin’ on this rust bucket. They don’t know the moment-to-moment occupancy of said rust bucket. And the sun sets soon.”

“We need to leave now if we want Maggie to make it to Hilltop,” you said, voice trembling with a myriad of guilt, anger, and frustration. “We carry Maggie, and we go on foot. Through the woods. They can’t block us there.”

Eugene took the RV in hopes of tricking the Saviors. Everybody else in the group set off into the woods, taking turns carrying Maggie on the makeshift stretcher, bundled under two layers of blankets. The sun had long set, and the whispering winds were cold this time of year.

“Just let me walk it,” she rasped, voice scratchy and throat dry.

“No,” you were quick to reply. “You’re in no condition to walk right now, Maggie. It’s only a few more miles. Just rest up a bit more, okay?”

Though she didn’t look happy, Maggie didn’t protest any further, letting her tired eyes slip shut once more.

After a couple more minutes, Aaron stepped in to carry one end of the stretcher for you, telling you that you also needed to rest your arms for a second. With a grateful nod, you reluctantly let go, falling into stride with Carl.

“Are you okay?” the young man asked, his hand brushing yours, his nonverbal way of saying that he was here for you if you needed him. “I’m sure Daryl and Michonne are fine. They’re fighters. Maggie’s going to be fine, too.”

You sent him a fond, but tired smile. “Yeah, I hope so, kiddo,” you told him, cuffing his shoulder affectionately. The thought of Daryl out there, probably worried sick for you as well, made your stomach twist into knots. “I really hope so.”

It was at that moment, a shrill whistle sounded out from the darkness of the forest. The group halted in their tracks. One by one, more whistles were added to the ear-splitting melody. It sounded like there were dozens, if not a hundred voices surrounding you.

“Go!” yelled Rick. “Go!”

The rest of you broke out in a sprint, and you grabbed Carl’s hand, winding around tree trunks and hopping over overgrown roots, ignoring the stinging scrapes of twisting branches against your face.

The whistling only continued, growing louder, louder, louder—

Until you came face to face with the source itself.

Car lights suddenly flashed open, momentarily blinding you. You drew Carl closer to you, instinctively protecting him, but it was no use. They had your group surrounded. Saviors, hundreds of them, gathered around you with leering expressions. All of them were clutching guns.

Raw fear curled around your lungs when you saw Eugene on his knees not too far from you, tears dripping down his face.

Rick looked destroyed. Devastated.

You were shaking so hard that your knees began to buckle beneath you.

Finally, the whistling began to dwindle away.

From the crowd, stepped out a familiar face—the man with a hideous pornstache that stopped the RV on the initial route.

“Good,” he called out. He swept his arms out in a faux inviting gesture. “You made it. Welcome to where you’re going—because you ain’t goin’ anywhere ‘til we’re done with you. We’ll take your weapons.”

When he pointed a gun straight at Maggie, you immediately did as he said, pulling out the pistol wedged in your belt. There was a knife inside your boot, but you weren’t too keen on giving that up yet. You tossed your pistol on the ground just as Abraham threw down his rifle. The rest of the group followed suit.

Trembling, Rick spat out, “We can talk about this—”

“We’re done talking,” interrupted Pornstache. “Okay. Get her down, and let’s get you all on your knees. Lots to cover.”

“She can’t,” you snarled, stepping in front of Maggie protectively. “She’s sick, she can’t—”

“Oh, she’ll be far worse than just sick if you don’t get her on her knees,” the man easily rebutted, eyes roaming over your protective form.

Lips trembling, you turned around, and with Abraham on her other side, you helped Maggie limp off the stretcher and gently set her down on her knees. Your eyes glistened and warbled with unshed tears. Maggie could only shake her head, as if telling you that it wasn’t your fault.

Terrified, Rick glanced around at the rest of the group. He’d failed you. All of you.

“Gonna need you on your knees, sweetheart,” said Pornstache, slowly dragging the end of his gun up your cheek with a salacious grin.

With a withering glare, you sank down beside Maggie, Rick on your left side, breathing haggard and lips quaking. Sasha and Abraham followed suit. Carl was the last, fists clenched by his sides.

“Dwight!” whistled Pornstache. “Chop chop! Bring out the others!”

A blonde man with half of his face horribly marred by what looked to be a severe burn injury, stepped forward, yanking open the back of a truck.

And, to your horror, he dragged out your boyfriend, covered in blood—blood that you could only pray wasn’t his, even though you knew deep down that that was only wishful thinking. Following Daryl was Michonne, Rosita, and Glenn, equally distraught.

Daryl caught your eye for a brief second, pure terror within his irises. He looked over you to make sure that you were alright, and you did the same with him, a tear slipping down your cheek.

I love you, you mouthed to him. He dipped his head once in understanding, before forcing his gaze away, not wanting to give the Saviors anymore reason to torture either of you.

“Maggie…?” Glenn painfully rasped once he caught sight of his wife in such a state. He tried to make his way to her, but the Saviors grabbed his arms and forced him down, guns digging harshly into his back.

“Alright!” exclaimed Pornstache. “We got a full boat! Let’s meet the man, eh?”

He knocked twice on the door to the RV you were in not even an hour ago.

The door slowly swung open, squeaking on its hinges.

And out strode a tall man clad in a leather jacket, a bat covered in barbed wire hanging off his shoulder. He took his sweet time making his way towards the group, feet languidly dragging along the gravelly dirt, and a smirk accentuating his smug expression.

“Pissing our pants yet?” he drawled, voice tapering into a light chuckle as he stepped out into the light, smiling down at your group on your knees. “Boy, do I have a feeling we’re gettin’ close. Mm, yeah—it’s gonna be pee-pee pants city here real soon. Now which one of you pricks is the leader?”

Pornstache pointed at Rick. “It’s this one here.”

The man with the bat grinned wider, before stepping right in front of Rick, who craned his neck to glare up at him. “Hi there. You’re Rick, right? I’m Negan. And I do not appreciate you killin’ my men. Also, when I sent my people to kill your people for killing my people… you killed more of my people. Not cool, man. Not cool. You have… no fuckin’ idea how not cool that shit is. But I think you’re gonna be up to speed shortly. Mmh, yeah. You are so gonna regret crossin’ me in a few minutes. Yes, you are.” A dangerous, wolfish grin flashed across Negan’s face. “You see, Rick, whatever you do, no matter what—you don’t mess with the new world order. And the new world order is really very simple. So, even if you’re stupid, which you may very well be, you can understand it. You ready? Here goes—pay attention.”

He lowered his bat off his shoulder and slotted the barbed end right below Rick’s chin. You held in your breath, your entire body wracking with tremors. Though you knew you needed to stop, you couldn’t help but chance glances at Daryl every so often, your concern for him rapidly growing. Some of that was his blood, it had to be—his eyes were sunken with exhaust and his chest, the very chest you would fall asleep on every night, was rising and falling unevenly, making you believe he was hurt, but you just couldn’t see what was hurting him.

“Give me your shit… or I will kill you. See? Simple as that.” Negan pulled the bat away from Rick, and began walking around the group as he spoke. “Today was career day. We invested a lot so you would know who I am and what I can do. You work for me now. You have shit, you give it to me. That’s your job. Now, I know that is a mighty big, nasty pill to swallow. But swallow it, you most certainly will! You ruled the roost. You built something, Rick. You thought you were safe, I get it. But the word is out. You are not safe. Not even close. In fact, you are pegged—more pegged if you don’t do what I want. And what I want is half your shit. If that’s too much, you can make, find, or steal more, and it’ll even out sooner or later. This is your way of life now. The more you fight back, the harder it will be. So, if someone knocks on your door… you let us in. We own that door. You try to stop us? And we will knock it down. You understand?”

Rick swallowed heavily. Narrowing his keen eyes, Negan cupped his ear and leaned down closer to the kneeling man.

“What? No answer? You don’t really think that you were going to get through this without being punished, now, did you? I don’t want to kill you people. I just wanna make that clear from the get go. I want you to work for me—and you can’t do that if you’re dead, now, can you? I’m not growin’ a garden. But you killed my people—a whole damn lot of ‘em! More than I’m comfortable with, honestly. And for that… for that you’re gonna pay.”

Your hands curled into fists on your knees. You knew what was coming. And you’d be damned if you were going to let it happen.

“So, now… I’m gonna beat the holy hell outta one of you.” Negan inhaled sharply, as if he enjoyed prolonging the torture. He bent down once more, showing off the barbed bat. “This right here—this is Lucille. And she is awesome. All this… all this is just so we can pick out which one of you gets the honor!”

Negan stopped in front of Abraham, who straightened and glared defiantly at the smirking man. In thought, Negan subconsciously rubbed his bearded jaw with one hand at the sight of Abraham’s own mustache. “Huh. I gotta shave this shit.”

On he strolled, before halting in front of Carl. “You had one of our guns. Hm. You got a lot of our guns.” Carl only scowled at the man. “Shit, kid. Lighten up. At least cry a little.”

Chuckling, Negan moved on.

You could feel one of your eyes twitch when you saw his shoes stop right in front of you. His bat was beneath your chin in an instant, forcing you to look up. The sharp metal on the bat painfully scratched against your jaw, and fresh tears pricked the corners of your eyes.

“My, my, you’re a pretty thing, aren’t you? What’s your name, darlin’?”

Hatred simmered within your chest, but you forced your expression to remain indifferent.

You quietly told him your name, wincing when his bat dug deeper into your neck and he ordered you to say it louder. You repeated yourself, voice cracking. A single tear meandered down your cheek and slid down your chin, dripping onto Lucille.

Negan hummed, nodding in satisfaction. “Now that’s what I want to see, folks! A little emotion around here—Y/N’s got the gist of it!”

“Kill me,” you gritted out, making the rest of the group’s eyes widen. You could feel Rick’s stare burning holes straight through you, but you refused to meet his gaze, staring straight up at Negan. “You can kill me. Just don’t hurt them. Let them go. Maggie, on my right, she’s real sick and she needs medicine—if she doesn’t get the proper treatment soon, she’ll… she’ll…”

The man in front of you barked out an amused laugh. “She’ll what?”

“She’ll die,” you snarled. “So kill me. Get it over with—and let them go.”

And for a split second, you let your eyes return to Daryl, one last time. He wouldn’t look at you—he couldn’t—terrified that Negan would bring that bat down on your head if he noticed.

But it was all futile. He noticed anyway.

He followed your gaze over to Daryl, lowering his bat to gesture between the two of you.

“Ah… you two are a thing, ain’t ya? Damn. And here I thought you were available for takin’, sugar.” Negan tossed his head back and chuckled with mild disappointment. “God, look at you bein’ all heroic, offering yourself up for the chopping block! No, no, darlin’, this ain’t a game of who gets to be a martyr and save their friends. You don’t decide what’s happening here. I do. You think I don’t know you’re the doctor of the group? My people have been reporting to me—they know you’ve been the one taking care of Little Miss Sickly over there. No… you’re far too valuable for me to kill. We need more people like you, darlin’. Plus, I wouldn’t want to bash in your pretty little face, now, would I?”

With a hum, Negan stepped away from you, fixing his gaze upon Maggie.

“Jesus. You look shitty. I should just put you out of your misery right now—!”

“NO!” screamed Glenn, scrambling onto his feet and lunging at Negan. Before he could even begin to make contact, Dwight grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, threateningly shoving Daryl’s crossbow into his face.

Maggie cried out—both from a fresh wave of pain seeping through her bones, and from the sight of her husband being dragged back to his spot like a ragdoll.

Huffing out a sigh, Negan grunted out, “Nope. Nope, nope, get him back in line.”

Glenn screamed, choking back a sob. “No… don’t. Don’t!”

Negan could only smile. “Alright, alright, listen. Don’t any of you do that again—I will shut that shit down, no exceptions! First one’s free—it’s an emotional moment. I get it. Mmh. Sucks, don’t it? The moment you realize you don’t know shit.”

Rick trembled violently beside you. Tilting his head, Negan glanced between him and Carl, realization dawning upon him when he noticed the physical similarities between the two.

“This is your kid, right? Ohoho, that is definitely your kid!”

“JUST STOP THIS!” yelled Rick, so sudden that it made you flinch.

Equivalent in volume, Negan bellowed back, “HEY! Do not make me kill your little future serial killer! Don’t make it easy on me! I gotta pick somebody—everybody’s at the table waitin’ for me to order, hm?”

The man whistled out a shrill tune, one that sent a shiver dance down your spine.

“I simply cannot decide. But I got an idea.” With that, he pointed the bat at Rick. “Eenie.”

He moved to you, before narrowing his eyes, and skipped over to Maggie. “Meenie.”

Abraham. “Minie.”

Michonne. “Mo.”

Glenn. “Catch.”

Daryl. “A tiger.”

Rosita. “By.”

Eugene. “His toe.”

Sasha. “If.”

Aaron. “He hollers.”

Carl. “Let him go.”

And so on he went.

My mother told me to pick the very best one. And you… are… it.

Your heart dropped when the end of his bat stopped in front of Abraham.

No. No… no… no…

“Anybody moves, anybody says anything, cut the boy’s other eye out and feed it to his father, and then we’ll start! You can breathe, you can blink, you can cry. Hell, you’re all gonna be doin’ that!”

And with that, he swung the bat back and brought it clean down on Abraham’s head.

Screams erupted from around you. You could feel your vision blur over with your tears, and you closed your eyes shut, not wanting to see such a gruesome sight, curling in on yourself as you listened to the repeated, sickening squelch of Negan’s bat repeatedly hitting your dear friend. Negan gloated and laughed and jeered. You cried and sobbed and flinched with every strike.

His blood—Abraham’s blood—splattered on your face. You could feel it.

Warm, moist, and thick. Dripping down your cheek.

“You guys… look at my dirty girl!” proclaimed Negan, jutting out the bloody bat for all to witness. The monster of a man tilted his head at Rosita, whose eyes were horrified and bloodshot, dripping with fat tears. “Sweetheart… lay your eyes on this!”

When Rosita began to cry harder, Negan hummed. “Oh, damn. Were you… were you guys together? That sucks. If you were, you should know—there was a reason for all this. Red—and damn if that isn’t a good name for him—he just took one, or six, or seven for the team! So take… a damn… look.”

Rosita refused to move her gaze from Abraham’s mutilated corpse.

And, much to your horror, Daryl growled out as he surged forward on his feet, landing a clean punch against Negan’s jaw. You screamed out his name when three Saviors grabbed him and beat him back onto the ground, pinning him tightly against the gravel. A sob wracked through your frame and you could feel your stomach twist into itself. Daryl was still struggling against them, clutching his side as he panted out.

“No!” yelled Negan, clearly furious. “Oh, no. That—is a big no-no. The whole thing—not one fucking bit of that shit flies here!”

Terror clutched at your palpitating heart when Negan shoved Lucille right up into Daryl’s face, smearing Abraham’s blood all over him.

Dwight strode up and pointed Daryl’s own crossbow against the back of your boyfriend’s head. A sob fell from your lips. You couldn’t watch this—you just couldn’t.

“Daryl,” you cried out, hiccupping through your words. “Negan… no. No, please, don’t! I’ll do anything, please! Not him. Please, not him!”

Amused at your pleading, Negan casted a sidelong glance to you, before grabbing at Daryl’s hair and pulling him upright. “See what you did there, Buckaroo? You got your little partner all upset! Look, they’re crying their eyes out, worried for you.” Negan got back up on his feet. “Get him back in line,” he barked, though his eyes were trained on you.

And in two quick strides, he was back in front of you, gripping your face tightly between his gloved hand. “Look at you, darlin’, all covered in blood. Would it be weird if I say it makes my dick hard as fuck?” You scowled, trying your best to pull your face away from his uncomfortably rough grip. “Ah, ah, ah, sweetheart—your boyfriend here didn’t listen to me earlier. I said the first one was free, didn’t I? And what does that mean? Second one’s got a price, hm? I said I’d shut that shit down—no exceptions. I don’t know what kind of lyin’ assholes y’all have been dealing with… but I’m a man of my word. First impressions are important! I need you all to know me. Know that I’m not joking around with this shit. Now, if you weren’t a doctor and you weren’t so fuckin’ hot—I would’ve bashed your head to pieces without battin’ an eye! But, lookie here, I’m faced with another dilemma. I need to kill another one of you to get my point across.”

A wail bubbled up in your throat and you began to claw at Negan’s fingers now painfully squeezing your jaw. “No… please, please… don’t, please—!”

“And I want you, darlin’, to pick which one of your little friends I kill.”

“No!” you spat, breathing shallow and panicked. “Me—just kill me, Negan—you don’t have to hurt anyone else, please, please, let them go, you—”

Getting irritated with you, Negan shook your face until you stopped blubbering. “You’re not listenin’ to me. Pick. Someone. Not you, and not your little boyfriend. I want him to live with the fact that one of his friends died because of him. Pick someone. Anyone, sweetheart. You’ll be doin’ em a favor, honestly. They get to save the rest of you from a miserable death! Now, doesn’t that sound appealing?”

A beat of silence. Negan stared you down, and you glared right back.

“Eat my shit,” you snarled out.

Narrowing his eyes, Negan finally relinquished his hold on you. You gasped for breath, chest heaving, stabilizing yourself with your hands on your thighs. “Goddamn, you’re feisty! Might have to keep you around after this—holy fuckin’ shit. Mmh, alright… fine, then. Since you won’t pick—I’ll just have to kill your precious patient’s boyfriend, hm?”

Before any of you could react, Negan spun on his heel and arced his bat through the air, right onto Glenn’s head. Again, and again, and again.

A piercing scream echoed across the forest. Maggie’s scream.

Your mouth dropped open as a silent cry scratched down the sides of your throat.

Glenn was still alive, somehow, after all those bashes. Blood caked his entire skull and part of his head was caved in—to your nauseating horror, one of his eyes had come out of its socket.

“Buddy, you still there?” exclaimed Negan in astonishment, bending down to inspect his handiwork. “I just don’t know… seems to me like you’re tryin’ to say something! But you just took a hell of a hit! I just cracked your skull so hard, your eyeball popped right out! And it is gross as shit!”

After all that, Glenn managed to slur out, “Maggie… I’ll find you.”

Sobs rang throughout the clearing. The rest of the group cried tears for Glenn—without him, all of you would’ve been dead three times over.

“Awh, hell. I can see this is hard on you guys,” said Negan. “I’m sorry. I truly am. But I did say… no exceptions!”

With that, he brought down his bat again. Over, and over, and over.

Maggie cried so hard her voice started to give out.

Daryl, your beloved Daryl, flinched with every stroke of the bat, his eyes red and puffy with tears. You could see it already—the guilt behind his gaze. He thought it was his fault Glenn was killed.

You shut your eyes again.

“Lucille is thirsty! She’s a vampire bat!” proudly declared Negan, as he swung one final hit on Glenn’s long-dead body. “What? Was the joke that bad? Tough crowd, huh?”

“I’m gonna kill you,” whispered Rick once Negan was done. Rick had blood splattered all over his face, as well. Abraham’s blood. Glenn’s blood.

Negan squatted down beside him, tilting his head. His bat was dangerously close to you. “What? I didn’t quite catch that, Rick. You’re gonna have to speak up.”

Squaring his jaw, Rick drew in a sharp inhale. “Not today… not tomorrow… but I’m gonna kill you.”

Negan sucked at his teeth. “Jesus,” he softly said. “Simon. What did he have? A knife?”

Pornstache raised his brows. “He had a hatchet. An axe.”

Snorting, Negan shook his head. “Simon’s my right-hand man. Having one of those is important. I mean, what do you have left without ‘em? A whole lot of work. You have one? Maybe one of these fine people still breathing? Oh… or did I…”

The man waved the bloodied bat in front of Rick’s face, taunting him.

“Sure, yeah. Give me his axe.” Pornstache handed Negan the small weapon and Negan smugly slid it into his belt. Suddenly, Negan grabbed the back of Rick’s jacket and yanked him up, practically dragging him by the scruff towards the RV. Your breath hitched, wanting to stop him, but all the guns trained on the backs of your friends made you freeze. All you could do was lower your head and stave away your raucous sobs.

“I’ll be right back, folks! Maybe Rick will be with me! And if not… well, we can just turn these people inside out, won’t we? I mean… the ones that are left!”

They were gone for hours.

During those hours, part of you wanted to go to Maggie, comfort her, check if both she and the baby were alright. No doubt she was in a tremendous amount of both emotional and physical pain. The other part of you wanted to go to Daryl, curl up in the safety of his arms and cry into his chest.

But you couldn’t do either. Not with the Saviors pointing the barrels of their rifles to the back of your skulls.

The sun was already beginning to rise, tinting the sky a sweet, soft shade of blue. A stark juxtaposition to the dark red blood steadily drying on the rocky ground.

When Rick got back, Negan ruthlessly threw him down in front of the group. He looked exhausted. More than that—he looked dead inside. The light behind his eyes was gone.

“Do you know what that little trip was about?” asked Negan.

Rick looked around wildly, as if making sure that everyone else was alright.

“Speak when you’re spoken to,” Negan hissed.

Begrudgingly, Rick bowed his head. “Okay… okay.”

Negan wolfishly grinned, though there was a dark glimmer to his irises that you misliked. “That trip was about the way that you looked at me. I wanted to change that. I wanted you to understand. But you’re still lookin’ at me the same damn way. Like I shit in your scrambled eggs, and that’s not gonna work!” Once again, Negan squatted down beside Rick, that smug expression still plastered across the man’s coarse features. “So… do I give you another chance?”

After a moment’s pause, Rick hacked out, “Yeah. Yes.”

Satisfied, Negan clapped Rick on the back, before getting back up onto his feet. “Alright! Here it is, the grand-prize game. What you do next will decide whether your crap day becomes everyone’s last crap day… or just another crap day. Get some more guns to the back of their heads. Level with their noses, so if you have to fire… it’ll be a real fuckin’ mess.”

You could feel cold metal graze the very top of your temple.

“Kid, come here,” said Negan, making your heart plummet to your stomach. Rick’s expression shifted to one of pure dread.

Carl didn’t move.

“Kid… now.”

With cautious movements, Carl stood up in front of the taller man.

“You a southpaw?” asked Negan while he unbuckled his belt, pulling it out of its loops.

“Am I a what?”

“A lefty,” clarified Negan.

Carl scowled. “No.”

“Good,” retorted Negan, before grabbing Carl’s left arm and tying the belt around his bicep. “That hurt?”

Gritting his teeth, Carl bit out a negative.

“It should. It’s supposed to.” Negan smirked, knocking Carl’s cowboy hat off his head. “Alright, get down on the ground next to daddy, kid. Spread them wings!”

Slowly, Carl lowered himself down beside Rick, his cheek pressed flat against the dusty gravel.

“Simon, you got a pen?”

Pornstache nodded, brandishing a marker from his pocket and tossing it over to Negan. The man uncapped the black pen with his teeth, flashing you a wink and spitting out the cap somewhere to the side. He kneeled down by Carl to draw a straight line just below the junction of his elbow.

“Sorry, kid,” he said, not sounding sorry at all. “This is gonna be as cold as a warlock’s dick, as if he were hanging his ballsack above you and dragging it right across your forearm! Gives you a little leverage, don’t it?”

Stammering, Rick muttered out, “Please… please don’t. Please don’t.”

Negan tilted his head, lightly chuckling. “Me? Oh, I ain’t doin’ shit. Rick… I want you to take your axe and cut your son’s left arm off—right on that line! Now, I know you gotta process that for a second. That makes sense. Still, though—I’m gonna need you to do it, or all these people are gonna die. Then your kid dies. Then the people back home die. Then you… eventually. I’d keep you breathing for a few years just so you could stew on it!”

“You… you don’t have to do this,” pleaded Michonne. It was the first time she’d spoken since she got out of the truck. Seeing Carl splayed out in front of her, practically her son, made something inside her snap. “We understand. We get it, we—”

“You might understand! I’m not so sure Rick here does. I’m gonna need a clean cut right there on that line. Now, I know this is a screwed-up thing to ask, but it’s gonna have to be like a salami slice. You remember those, right? Nothin’ messy. I want a clean, forty-five degree cut. Give us somethin’ to fold over. You got Y/N right there to fix him up nice and good. The kid’ll be just fine. Probably.”

Rick was just about losing his mind, rocking back and forth, murmuring incoherently beneath his breath. Sweat dripped down his bloodied face, his hair, mixing with the salty tears leaking from his crazed eyes.

“Rick. This needs to happen now. Chop, chop. Before I crush the little fella’s skull myself.”

Swallowing down his sobs, Rick choked, “It can—it can… it can be me. It can be me. Wh… you… you could do it to me. I c-can go with—with you.”

Negan smiled at his desperation. “No. This is the only way. Pick up the axe, Rick. Not making a decision is a big decision, let me tell you that. You really wanna see all these people die? Because you will—if you don’t PICK UP THE FUCKING AXE!”

Rick began sobbing uncontrollably.

“Oh, my God,” said Negan, pulling at his face wearily. “You gonna make me count? Okay, Rick—you win. I’ll start counting. Three!”

“PLEASE!” screamed Rick. “IT CAN BE ME. PLEASE!”

“Two!” Negan kneeled down and slapped a sobbing Rick across the face, before grabbing his cheeks, not unlike he did with you hours before. “This is it, Rick. Make a decision. One!”

With a gut wrenching scream, Rick’s trembling fingers curled around the handle of his axe.

“Dad…” whispered Carl. A tear slipped down your cheek as the events unfolded in front of you. “Just do it.”

Rick cocked his arm back, seconds away from bringing it down to cleave Carl’s hand off.

But Negan grabbed Rick’s wrist at the very last second, stopping him.

The man smirked, pleased with himself. “You answer to me. You provide for me. You belong to me. Right?”

Frantically, Rick nodded his head.

“SPEAK WHEN YOU’RE SPOKEN TO! You answer to me. You provide for me!”

“I’ll provide for you!” cried Rick.

“You belong to me! Right?” hollered Negan.

Hiccuping a sob, Rick bobbed his head. “Right.”

“Now that… that is the look I wanted to see.” Negan grabbed Rick’s axe from him and stepped away. “We did it. All of us, together. Even the dead guys on the ground! Hell, they get the spirit award, for sure! Today was a productive damn day! Now, I hope for all your sake… that you get it now. That you understand how things work. Things have changed. Whatever you had going for you before… that is over now.”

Negan clapped his hands together, sighing out in relief.

And strangely, you were slightly relieved, as well. Maybe he was done. He wasn’t going to kill any more of you. This was all over for now.

Right?

“Dwight,” said Negan. “Load him up.”

To your shock, Negan pointed Lucille straight at Daryl.

“See, he’s got guts. Not a little bitch like someone I know,” Negan told Rick. “I like him. He’s mine now. You still wanna try something? Not today, not tomorrow? I will cut pieces off of… what’s his name?”

“Daryl,” said Pornstache.

“Wow. That actually sounds just about right. I will cut pieces off of Daryl and put them on your doorstep! Or, better yet, I will bring him to you and have you do it for me.”

“No…” you croaked out, when Dwight grabbed your boyfriend and dragged him back to the truck as if he were a wild animal, crossbow pointed at his chest. Maggie sobbed from beside you. “No, Daryl… please, no, don’t—please don’t take him from me!” you cried. “Please, I need him… Daryl!”

Negan smiled down at you. “Mmh. Alrighty, then. I’ll take you, too. Come on.”

A gasp lodged in your throat when he suddenly grabbed your arm and yanked you upwards.

“No, wait, I’m the only doctor they have, they need—Maggie needs m—!”

“I don’t give a rat’s flying blue ass,” growled Negan, shoving you in the direction of the truck, where Daryl watched you with wide, scared eyes. You craned your neck around to look at Rick and Maggie and the rest of the group—your family—one last time, unsure of when, if ever, you’d see them again. “You’re mine now. Got a whole lot of shit you can do for me, that’s for sure, darlin’. Load ‘em up!”

One of the Saviors pushed you into the truck just as Negan yelled out, “Welcome to a brand new beginning, you sorry shits! I’ll leave you a truck. Keep it—use it to cart all the crap you’re gonna find me. We’ll be back for our first offering in one week. Until then… ta-fuckin’-ta.”

You collapsed straight into Daryl once you were inside, thundering sobs spilling from your lungs. He wrapped his burly arms around you, smelling of dirt and blood and motor oil. No words needed to be said. No words could be said.

The both of you had lost so much today.

And now… you’d lost your freedom, as well.

Daryl began crying into your shoulder, and you could only hold him all the tighter.

#daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon fanfiction #the walking dead fanfiction #twd fanfiction #daryl dixon angst #daryl dixon oneshot #twd angst #daryl dixon imagines #daryl dixon drabbles #negan smith x reader #negan x reader #rick grimes x reader #daryl dixon fluff #daryl dixon ff #daryl dixon fanfic

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leclvrc · 1 year

Text

life lately ♡ cl x reader

summary: of wag charles and the slowest of launches

yourusername

liked by charles_leclerc, f1wags and 18.331 others

yourusername won an award today but the real prize sat opposite me all evening <3 (he forced me to write this)

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f1wags 👁👄👁 who is the he in question and why is it charles

pierregasly 🔥

liked by yourusername

honeybadger omg she liked Pierre's comment 👁

yourbestie so that's the reason u ditched me early??

yourusername girl why are you so loud

comments have been limited on this post

yourusername

liked by yourbestie, charles_leclerc and 34.289 others

yourusername life lately 💞

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yourbestie we need a girls night soon!!

liked by yourusername

charleswdcagenda it's the way charles likes the posts but doesn't post shit himself for me

honeybadger you're so real 😭

f1stannie so people are piecing it together via a few likes and... a silhouette without a face 💀

alpinewcc and i thought i was delulu 🤣

carlo55ainz you guys are so annoying clogging her comments

fashionandfood that pizza and the wine EXCUSE ME that is peak romance

fashionandfood and her fit 🔥🔥🔥

charleslechair the implications of the pizza and candles and wine and the silhouette.. I'm feeling so single

scuderiaferrari

liked by carlossainz55, charles_leclerc, yourusername and 189.298 others

scuderiaferrari who's ready for another season to start 🔥

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carlossainz55 vamos! 👊🏼

tifosi55 I'm so excited PLEASE tell me you built a rocketship for our boys

liked by scuderiaferrari

fe44rri I've never been less ready for something in my life

yourusername let's see if your drivers live up to the hype 😉

charleslechair hello? 👀

alpinewcc imagine the scenes if she dated carlos all along 😂

honeybadger BRING. IT. ON.

scuderiaferrari

liked by charles_leclerc, yourusername, arthurleclerc and 281.389 others

scuderiaferrari and the first qualifying session of the season comes to an end! charles snatches pole position ahead of carlos in p3. tomorrow will be an exciting one 👊🏼🔥

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charleswdcagenda bro knows he can comment and make posts right...

honeybadger i don't think he does 😭

tifosi55 YES, let's go boys!!!!! get that w!!

fe44rri mercedes was so fast today I'm nervous

yourusername starting to think they ARE worth the hype 🤕

yourbestie I thought you have an online meeting rn? 😤

yourusername wifi sucks in these trailers 😒

honeybadger HELLO TRAILERS DO U MEAN MOTORHOMES?

liked by charles_leclerc

yourusername

liked by scuderiaferrari, charles_leclerc and 83.928 others

yourusername heard there's a race around here somewhere?

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scuderiaferrari happy to have you with us this weekend! 👊🏼

charleslechair not the blurry ass charles pic where he looks like a gremlin 😭 she's his gf alright

fe44rri she did him so dirty but,,, I'm here for it

honeybadger imagine thinking she's serious and keeping him off socials bc of her job and then she turns around and posts him wearing a my gf is hotter than you shirt QUEEN

georgegussell no you don't understand... I'm OBSESSED

yourusername i aim to please 💞

honeybadger HOLY SHIT????

fe44rri so she's smart hot funny works and supports him... unfortunately have to join the stannies and say that i love them

charles_leclerc 💞

liked by yourusername

honeybadger omg so he can work his socials after all!

charles_leclerc

liked by yourusername, scuderiaferrari and 398.189 others

charles_leclerc to quote a wise woman... life lately 💞 @.yourusername

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honeybadger IT'S HAPPENING EVERYONE STAY CALM

yourusername cute and gives credit where credit is due? maybe you are a keeper after all 😌

liked by charles_leclerc

charleslechair this is calling me single 2819 ways

pierregasly finally calamar 😂

charles_leclerc some of us want to enjoy time alone with their girlfriend

yourusername we spent 2 months holed up in my flat baby

georgegussell BABY?? CHARLES' PETNAME IS BABY???

pierregasly you don't want to know, trust me

scuderiaferrari we must have missed the part where you went jetskiiing 😁

fe44rri it's so vile how hot people just find each other and fall in love

charleslechair everybody clap he remembered his insta password

tifosi55 @ god when is it my turn

#f1 instagram au #charles leclerc image #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc x reader #**mine

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steddieas-shegoes · 1 month

Text

wasting company time

for @corrodedcoffinfest warm up round prompt 'get a job'

rated t | 736 words | no cw | tags: they're idiots and i love them, especially gareth, he is my most special boy

🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸

If Gareth had to help one more person today, he was going to quit his job.

Which he couldn't. He was the only one in the band who currently had an income.

Eddie had been fired for missing too many shifts because of shows, Jeff was too busy with classes to also have a job, and Frankie was waiting for the right thing to come up. Gareth sucked it up and worked nearly full time at the diner.

He couldn't cook for shit so he was a waiter, and being a waiter was not his ideal position. The waitresses he worked with wore short skirts and flirted their way to decent tips. That didn't exactly work for Gareth, who worked the shift when mostly truck drivers came through with exhaustion seeping from their pores and gruff voices barely even placing an order before ignoring him.

The bell rang above the door and Gareth groaned.

"Have a seat anywhere!" He said from behind the counter, taking an extra minute to gather himself before having to help.

"Nah, you're gonna come with us."

Gareth looked up to see Jeff, Eddie, and Frankie standing at the counter, grinning from ear to ear.

"I'm clearly working. I don't get off for another hour."

"You don't need to work anymore."

Gareth was not gonna get his hopes up. They may be smiling and encouraging him to leave his job, but they all were irresponsible sometimes, even Jeff.

"Did you all get jobs?"

"We all have a gig. A decent one. One that pays," Frankie leaned against the counter. "One that requires us going on a little tour."

"You're telling me we have nothing for two years and suddenly we have a tour? With who? Where?" Gareth folded his arms across his chest, frowning. They were fucking with him.

"We didn't have nothing for two years, we had shitty gigs. Everyone starts with shitty gigs," Eddie argues. "And one of those shitty gigs had someone who works with a metal band who's going on tour in a month. They opened for Sabbath on their last tour. We're so fucking in, baby."

Gareth still couldn't believe it.

How did they land that? How did anyone see their Hideout show and think 'yeah, those are the guys we need'?

"I don't understand."

"Take off the apron, even though it's doing wonders for your hips," Eddie wiggled his brows playfully. "And come to the trailer. I've got everything there for us to look at with a lawyer."

"A lawyer? We can't afford a lawyer."

"Correct. But Steve said Nancy could take a look at it and make sure the language isn't trying to fuck us over," Eddie poked Gareth's cheek. "Jeff's mom said her brother could look at it, too, but he technically is an insurance lawyer so it may go over his head."

"Nancy Wheeler is gonna read a contract to make sure we don't sign our lives away?"

"Precisely," Frankie nodded.

"Anyone better for the job?" Jeff asked.

He had a ridiculous crush on Nancy, so of course he would think she could do it easily.

"A real lawyer maybe? Someone who is used to reading contracts?" Gareth was not quitting his job for this.

"Okay, well, do you have real lawyer money hiding somewhere in that apron?" Eddie threw his hands up.

"What's your obsession with this apron?" Gareth teased. "I just don't wanna end up jobless and then not even have this gig to fall back on."

"It's your damn hips! I said!" Eddie rolled his eyes. "If I promise to find a lawyer, will you please quit this stupid job?"

"If you can find a lawyer willing to work for free to look at that contract, I will quit this job and give you my last paycheck."

"Deal!" Eddie ran from the diner immediately, leaving Jeff and Frankie shaking their heads.

"He's never gonna find one," Jeff said.

"I know. I'll see you guys in the morning for practice."

Frankie waved and walked back out the door, but Jeff stayed for a moment.

"Hey, I know you're being cautious. But also, I think this would be good for us. We should probably give it a go."

Gareth looked behind him at the line cook shoving a french fry into his mouth, then at the one guy asleep at a table in the corner.

"Yeah, alright. Let's give it a try."

#corrodedcoffinfest #corroded coffin #eddie munson #jeff stranger things #gareth stranger things #freak stranger things #except he is frankie TO ME #stranger things

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eddiesbigolepp · 2 years

Text

the usual

synopsis: eddie munson frequents the sunrise diner every thursday after hellfire, just when his favorite waitress’s shift starts.

pairing: eddie munson x trailer park!reader

warnings: flirty eddie, swearing, fluffy eddie, sweet little dynamic

word count: 1444

a/n: i honestly don’t know what day hellfire club is so pls don’t cancel me LMAOO

8:03, eddie looks at his watch and shakes his head, slamming his car door behind him and racing into the diner. he sighs in relief when he sees his seat is still open, not that the diner is that full on a thursday.

he hoists himself onto the stool as soon as you come out of the kitchen.

“you again,” you mutter and he laughs.

“what? did you miss me?” he jokes leaning his face into his hand.

“it was so quiet before you walked in, i even finished some of my homework,” you quip back holding up you physics worksheet.

“good, now you have some entertainment,” he chuckles reaching over the counter to grab a glass. he holds it out to you and smiles, “i’ll take a coke, and the usual.”

“whatever munson,” you roll your eyes and walk away, but he doesn’t miss the small smile tugging at your lips.

“be quick! i’ve gotta tell you about my campaign!” he calls out as you scribble down his order and head to the kitchen.

you come back with a burger and fries in your left hand, coke in your right and you place it on the counter. he came in every thursday, you always made sure the kitchen had his food made by at least 8:10.

“wow, a pretty waitress and quick service. its almost like you were waiting for me,” he beams as you grab him some napkins and a straw.

“hush, its only because you’re the only one here.” you say and snatch a fry from his plate.

“hey! im paying for these,” he whines, pulling his plate back and starting to assemble his burger.

“yeah and i put the order in early, the least you could do is share.” you laugh, snatching another.

he can only watch you munch in his food as you walk down the counter to do god knows what. he watches in awe, not truly believing that he hangs out with the prettiest girl in hawkins each thursday.

the two of you talk for what seems like hours about his campaign, sharing his food and even sharing his drink. the diner so dead besides the two of you and the occasional truck driver who came in for a coffee. the sound of your laughter and conversation filled the air nicely though. you ask questions and even give him a few ideas for his next campaign and he can’t help but smile at the thought if you joining.

“what time do you get out of here?” he asks, checking his watch, 10:57 it read. he swore it had inly been thirty minutes.

“around eleven-thirty. we close at eleven but i’ve got to wipe down the tables and clean up.” you explain taking his dirty dishes and putting them in the sink behind you. “then i’ve gotta walk home.”

“i cant let you do that, let me take you,” he says, warm smile spread on his face. “i promise, i wont kidnap or murder you.” he laughs holding his pinky out for you.

“you sure? its a little far,” you say looking down at his hand.

“where is it?” he questions, pulling his pinky back a little.

“i uh..” you start turning around toward the sink, then facing him again, “foresthilltrailerpark” you mumble under your breath.

“didn’t catch that, sweetheart,” he says, leaning in over the counter again.

“i live at forest hills trailer park,” you sigh running a hand through your hair.

“don’t be embarrassed, i cant believe i never saw you around there, so do i.” he answers chuckling a little. you shake your head and laugh yourself.

“oh thank god, everyone else doesn’t even talk to me because i have a job, spoiled brats.” you complain.

“finally someone who understands,” he smiles and holds out his pinky again and you lock yours with his.

your eyes flash to the clock behind him and come around the counter to the front. “im technically not supposed to have you in here after hours, so get to cleaning big boy.” you say, motioning to the rag and spray behind the counter.

“already putting me to work, haven’t even asked me out on a date yet.” he laughs, hopping over to grab the cleaning supplies.

“hey! don’t do that!” you laugh turning to face him quickly, “this is a fine establishment!” you giggle, and open the seining door for him.

“sorry, it just looked like fun,” he says, smile on his face as he explains himself. “i’ll work extra hard, i promise.” he beams looking down at you. you two make quick work of the tables and chairs and eventually you two meet in the middle.

he watches you wipe the sweat off your forehead with your forearm and sighs. you look at the clock and a smile forms in your face. “11:17, maybe i should get them to hire a busboy,” you beam, taking the supplies from his hands and walking behind the counter.

“i’d love to, doll, but i work at the auto shop by the general store.” he says, elbows on the counter as he watches you put away the spray bottles under the sink.

you turn in your heels to face him and giggle, “eddie munson in coveralls and grease all over his hands..? i could get used to that.”

“what? do you like a man in uniform?” he smirks cocking his head to the side.

“and if i do?” you retort, pushing off the sink behind you and walking forward to meet his face across the counter.

“maybe i’ll come in on my lunch break one day,” he grins, hands digging into his pockets in search if his keys. “you ready to go?” he says, holding up his keychain.

“oh yeah! let me grab my bag and say bye to lou!” you say, running through the swinging doors to the kitchen and emerging two minutes later. he smiles at you, opening the glass door and hearing the familiar jingle of the bells as you two walk away to his van.

the ride home is full of laughter as you dig through his tapes and share your opinions. he learns that you grew up on metallica and dio, just like he did. he tells you about his uncle and how he practically lives alone too.

“so, you gonna invite me over sometime soon?” you question when he finally stops in front of your trailer.

“i was thinking of maybe saturday? if you dorm work of course.” he says, putting his van in park.

he quickly hops out of his seat and closes the door behind him. you go to open your door and he comes around the front of the van quickly. he holds the door closed with his hand and shaking his head at you, laughing through the glass window.

he opens the door for you, holding his hand out to help you out of the car and sighs, “let me walk you home?” he jokes, chuckle rolling off his tongue.

“yes please, its late and im scared.” you giggle squeezing his hand in yours. he walks you to your door, reluctantly, not wanting to let you go so soon.

“guess i’ll see you around pretty lady,” he smiles brushing the hair out of your face quickly. its a move he doesn’t even expect, but the blush that dusts your cheeks gives him the reassurance he needs.

“i hope so, rockstar,” you beam up at him, reaching up to press and kiss to his cheek. you turn to unlock your door and leave him in a daze leaning against the railing to your stairs.

once you close the door, he brings his hands to his hair and shakes his head. the biggest smile spreads across his face as he laughs to himself, in shock that that just happened.

“eddie?” the sweetest voice pulls him out of his daydream, it makes his stomach drop. you caught him thinking about you. “im free saturday, at twelve, after work. meet me there?” you ask in a quiet voice, opening the door a little more.

his eyes open as he looks at you under the harsh porch light. you still look gorgeous to him anyway.

“yes!” he says all too quickly before blinking quickly. “i mean, sure… i’ll be there,” he tries to save himself coolly.

“good! ill see you then,” you smile kindly and blush even darker.

“oh and y/n?” he starts before you close the door, grabbing your attention.

“yea eddie?” you answer sheepishly.

“i hope this,” he pauses pointing to the cheek you kissed, “is part of the new usual.”

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie stranger things #stranger things #eddie #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x cheerleader!reader #perv!eddie #stranger things x reader #stranger things imagine #stranger things smut #stranger things 4 #st4 #eddie munson st4 #st4 eddie

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charliehoennam · 1 month

Text

beyond the badge pt. 1

a/n: request made by @harmonity-vibes. had been thinking about this specific plot for a long time and this lovely angel gave me the inspiration i needed. this will divided into three parts because it's simply too big lmao that's what she said. s/o to @strangergraphics-archive for the cute divider <3

pairing: david loki x f!reader

summary: his fianceé is abducted and a distraught david realizes some rules must be broken in order to save the one he loves.

warnings: 18+, dark themes such as language, violence, eventual smut, suicide, death, physical injuries, threats, abuse of power and blood.

SHARING IS CARING, SO REBLOG IF YOU LIKE IT

two | three | four | five

What was once a home filled with love, laughter and passionate moans is now hollow and empty.

The haunting silence of the house only fuels his self-hatred. He can’t stop blaming himself because he knows, deep inside, that he could’ve avoided all this mess if he had only listened to you.

When a dead body showed up in the river by the old mill, David was quickly assigned the case. It might have taken him a couple of months, but he successfully found the man responsible for a such a horrendous crime.

The man was Frankie Donovan, a bus driver and self-made drug dealer. You would’ve never guessed by simply looking at the man, due to his scruffy appearance and uneducated demeanor, but he had successfully made around 500 thousand dollars from producing and selling meth.

It might not have been much to some people, but to a man who grew on the country skirts of Conyers, bouncing around from trailer park to trailer park and addict parents, that money was more precious to him than his own life.

No one would’ve believed that Donovan was capable of making so much money. Most people underestimated him either because of his job, his poor background or, what appeared to seem like, his friendly nature. He might have fooled many, but not David.

In the empty house that belongs to both of you, David stands in front of the foggy bathroom mirror with a towel wrapped his hip.

He stares at his stoic reflection and takes in the physical effects your absence has had on him. Dark circles under his bloodshot eyes. Hollowed cheeks from the loss of appetite. The prickly 5 o’clock shadow growing out that he refuses to waste time shaving.

The lingering heat from his hot shower constricts the air around him. He leans down to splash some cold water on his face, hoping that it will provide just a little bit of relief. Although the water soothes him on the surface, it fails to subdue him within.

He runs a trembling hand over his face to try and keep his composure, but he’s losing it. His breath shortens as the room spins around him. What feels like rocks settle in his throat. His chest tightens with rage until he finally explodes and punches the mirror before him repeatedly.

“It’s your fucking fault!” he repeatedly shouts at himself.

Dangerous shards shatter into the sink and onto the counter. David doesn’t feel it just yet, but blood drips from his knuckles over the shards. He takes a look at his hand. His fit of fury let out a bit of the steam that he had pent up inside him, but it’s not enough to make him better.

Nothing will make him feel better until you’re home, safe and sound. He promised he would always keep you safe and he feels like he failed you. There's nothing that can silence that thought in his mind.

Once he’s poorly rinsed and wrapped his knuckles with gauze to stop the bleeding, he drags himself into the bedroom that lingers with the scent of you and haphazardly chooses a few items of clothing. He doesn’t bother with the usual button-up shirt. A simple black thermal, a pair of pants and usual boxers. He tries to get dressed as fast as he can.

David hates being in the house for too long, but he tries to avoid the bedroom as much as he can. Not only does everything there remind him of you, but it’s all still the same as you left it before you went to work that day and he wants to keep it that way.

The uncertainty of the future fucking terrifies him. He doesn’t know if you’re alive, he doesn’t know if you’re hurt. His colleagues are doing their best to find you, but the fear he secretly has of you not coming home is ever present. So, he keeps the bedroom the way you left it to create a false sensation that you’re somehow still there almost like a ghost. Like you're still coming home, even though he's not sure you will.

It’s been almost two days since you’ve been missing. The captain made it very clear to David that he could not, under any circumstances, take the case due to his close relationship to the victim. Being off your case drives him insane, but it’s not enough to make him stop looking for you.

He might not be able to professionally investigate, but it doesn't stop him from questioning the local thugs in the neighborhood about the recent kidnapping. After coming to a dead-end last night, he spent the rest of the night driving aimlessly, hoping he might find you somewhere.

He came home for a quick shower before resuming his illegal search for you. He’s tired beyond belief, but his mind can’t concentrate on anything else besides his missing fianceé.

Sat on the edge of the bed you used to share, he looks over at the engagement ring still sealed in a plastic baggie on your nightstand and reaches over to hold it in his hands. Letting his head hang low, he lifts his bloodied hand and holds his forehead in it. His head pounds as memories flood his thoughts.

When a call about an abduction came in from a co-worker of yours, David could feel his heart sink down to his stomach. He didn’t want to jump to conclusions, but the thought that you could’ve been the one kidnapped scared him to death.

He is in another town, a more populated, small and neighboring town who’s courthouse Conyers was appointed to. David hadn’t been aware of the newly opened case until he made it back to his car and saw 3 missed calls from his captain.

When he arrives at your workplace’s parking lot, he climbs out of his car so quickly that he doesn’t even remember to close the door to take the keys out of the ignition. It all feels like a dream, like nothing is real, everything around his is far from touch and he’s floating through the air

“Tell me it’s not her,” he begs already fearing the worst as he marches towards the blockade of police officers preserving the scene.

“Loki, I’m sorry, but you can’t be here right now. I can’t let you through.”

O’Malley has to hold him up as David’s knees give in and sits him on the curb. Kneeling in front of him, he instructs David to breathe as the air thickens in his throat.

“I-I gotta find her, captain. I gotta-“

“What you gotta do is let us do our job, Loki. You can’t work on this case and you know why. Tell me what you know.”

The truth, at the time where he can barely remember his own name, is that he doesn’t know who could have taken you. He’d put away so many bad guys already and, just like the Keller-Birch case, kidnapping were becoming more and more often in the small town of Conyers.

David is in no condition to answer most of the questions that his boss needed to ask. At least, not right there.

“David, let’s go back to the station. We can talk better there.”

“No. I’m not fucking leave. I need to be here. I need to find her!” he insists, wide eyes locked on the scene as the forensic investigators search the area.

His watchful eye notices one of the investigators lift something up from the ground after taking pictures of the object. As the woman places the small item into a plastic bad to preserve for DNA or prints, he quickly stands on his feet. Despite the dizziness that strikes him suddenly, he pushes his way through the uniformed cops, but there are too many of them to hold him back from the scene.

“Get the fuck of- Let me go! That’s her ring! That’s my fianceé’s fucking ring!” he shouts at the investigator while being restrained.

She looks at O’Malley who nods and allows her to show David the evidence. Walking towards David, he finally calms down enough and complies in order to make sure it is yours. And, just as he fears, it is indeed yours.

His hands tremble as he looks at the plastic evidence baggie containing your engagement ring. He closes his eyes as dread floods his chest.

The ring is technically evidence and is actually supposed with the forensics team to process, but David stole it from the scene to bring it home with him.

Tears drip against the plastic. He just wants you to come home.

The buzzing cellphone he'd left on your nightstand snaps him back to the present. Quickly wiping his tired blue eyes, he looks over at the phone placed beside his gun and badge. The thought of taking his weapon to his head to end the agonizing pain and guilty flashes in his mind.

Before he finds the courage to reach for the firearm, his gaze drifts and lands on a book you had been reading when you were home and he recalls one specific conversation you had had one night.

“You got a strange call today on the landline.”

You’re sat on the bed with your back against the headboard and a book in hand.

“Yeah? What’d they say?” he asks lying tiredly on the bed beside you.

Lifting your arm to make way for him, he nestles himself into your side with his strong arms locked around your hips while his face nuzzles into your waist with closed tired eyes.

“I dunno. I mean, I do, but it was just strange,” you lower your book, combing the fingers of your free hand into his luscious brown hair. “The guy just said told you to call him back or you’d regret it.”

“Probably just a prank call, sweetheart. Nothing to worry about.”

“But they asked for you. They said your full name and they know you’re a detective. Isn’t that a bit too personal?”

“I’m a cop, babe. That information is public. Anyone can find that out if you know where to look.”

You nod and stay silent as you try to continue reading, but it’s unsettling.

“I’m just saying,” you start as David groans tiredly. “Why would someone call and threaten you? Not to mention you just recently closed the Donovan case.”

Rolling over onto his back, he looks up at you from his side of the bed.

“Babe, Donovan is a small-town meth head. He doesn’t have the balls to come after a cop.”

“It’s just a strong coincidence, David.”

A lightbulb goes in his mind. Finally, a lead he could work on. How the hell didn’t he think about this before?

He shoots up onto his feet to get dressed and, just after he slides his boxer briefs on, his phone buzzes again with another incoming text.

Due to his close relationship with you, O’Malley didn’t allow him to take the lead on the case. If it had been anyone else, he wouldn’t have thought twice, but he knows the close relationship could impair David’s judgment. David’s already known for his temper and the last thing he needs is him risking the case because he didn’t follow procedure.

Instead, Chemelinski’s been assigned as the lead detective on the case. And, influenced by their close friendship, he’s ignored the direct and important order O’Malley had given him of keeping any new information from David.

The way he sees it, David’s a smart detective. If it hadn’t been for the close relationship, the case would’ve been his because he’s the only one that has solved and closed difficult disappearance cases like this.

“Evidence found at Penn Aire Motel, 46th and western. No vics”

“Didn’t hear this from me”

He wastes no time replying to his co-worker’s texts. His heart pounds with hope and adrenaline as his mind races with a thousand thoughts, wondering what kind of evidence they found. Even without a body or blood, assumptions can still be made based on the scene which is why he needs to be there.

Speeding in his car, his stomach churns contemplating what he might find once he’s there. He knows the procedure in case of dead victims. If you were dead, he would’ve already heard about it, so he’s hopeful it’s not the case.

As his car pulls up, O’Malley sighs already feeling the heavy headache setting in of having to deal with a distraught David.

“Who the hell told him?”

Chemelinski shrugs avoiding his accusing eyes, but mutters it wasn’t him as David quickly marches over to the captain, ducking under the yellow ‘do not cross’ tape with curious eyes scanning the scene to understand what’s going on.

“Loki, I told you-“

“I know, I’m off it. I know, I just wanna know what you found.”

David keeps a strong facade with hands up in surrender as O’Malley approaches him.

“You know I can’t share that information with you. You’re involved with the victim and it ca-“

“Yeah, I fucking know it can cloud my judgement! I know!” he shouts back.

O’Malley watches him take a deep breath to compose himself. He understands how stressful this is, especially for a detective.

“Captain, I-I’m losing my fucking mind. Please, j-just tell me something. I-I need something.”

He can’t ignore David’s pleading blue eyes or the crack in his voice. David’s a strong man who’s endured some of the most awful things life could throw at anyone. It takes a lot to scare him to this point.

He informs David that they’d tracked down the car from the location of your kidnapping. After identifying the vehicle with the help of local security surveillance footage, a dispatcher had ID’d it after receiving a call about an abandoned car in a rundown motel parking lot, just off the freeway.

No one saw you at the motel; the clerk working the desk that night said a man checked in alone, but a maid who had been getting off her shift mentioned she saw the man – who was staying in the room in question – putting something in the trunk of a different car before driving away in it alone.

The forensic investigation is still processing the scene, but the unit was able to find a small earring in the truck of the car, which was now in a small plastic bag labeled evidence in O’Malley’s hands.

O’Malley would’ve asked him if the earring was familiar, but the way David froze and stared down at the small accessory with swelling tears in his eyes is enough to confirm his belief.

He’d given you the beautiful jewel on your first anniversary. He remembers how happy you got when you opened the gift and saw the sparking, delicate pair in the small velvet box. His heart broke a little when you mentioned no one had ever given you jewelry before. You loved them so much that you wore them proudly every day to work.

He never thought he’d be the one having to identify a personal item of a victim.

“Y-yeah,” he sniffles blinking away his tears. “That’s hers.”

“We’re gonna find her, Loki. Loki!”

David can’t stand it anymore. The ring found at the site of the kidnapping and the newly discovered earring leads him to believe they weren’t left there on accident. He knows these are items you treasure more than anything and you would never take them off unless you were at home to avoid the risk of losing your precious accessories due to their sentimental value.

They’re breadcrumbs. They’re clues you’re leaving behind, calling out for him to save you. He needs to take matters into his hands.

#david loki #david loki x reader #david loki x you #david loki x y/n #detective david loki #david loki fic #david loki imagine #david loki fanfiction #jake gyllenhaal #jake gyllenhaal fic #jake gyllenhaal imagine #jake gyllenhaal fanfiction #jake gyllenhaal fanfic #prisoners #prisoners fic #prisoners imagine #david loki prisoners #prisoners fanfiction

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