Ashes, Ashes | Two | Bradley Bradshaw
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Synopsis: In which Maverick didn’t make it home after the Uranium mission. He’s missing, presumed dead. There are things that have to be done — someone has to take care of the house, the bills.
So, Maverick’s daughter is back in Fightertown for the first time since she was in elementary school. There’s a gaping hole in both of their lives now, and somehow, the world’s supposed to just keep on turning without him.
warnings: bradley bradshaw x minimally descriptive oc avery mitchell. age gap (23/33), smut, angst, hurt / comfort, mentions of character death, mourning, military inaccuracies. This entire fic and my blog is an 18+ space, minors do not interact. Do not repost.
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Bradley rents a bungalow about twenty minutes from base, towards the south of the San Diego bay. He explains, on the drive there, while she is hugging an overnight bag of her things, that he’s been renting it from this sweet old lady for the past four years — but he’s only been living in it for about three quarters of that time, with deployments.
He talks a lot. Shooting halfway amused looks across at him every now and again as he talks over his music, explaining his entire rental history, Avery just lets him go on and on.
Maybe he’s worried that the silence will give her room to start tearing up again, but she knows that won’t happen — it was already a rare occurrence, just the once.
She lets him talk. He doesn’t seem to mind how much attention she’s paying either. Anything other than silence is fine, even if he’s the only one filling it.
The respite comes when he parks in the driveway, hops out, and proudly displays the home to her. It’s white all over and covered in plants, all up the driveway and over the porch. There’s a surfboard sitting on the porch, waxed up and looking ready to go.
Inside is masculine and simple, and spotless. It looks more lived in than Maverick’s place, but in an exceptionally organised way.
Just past the front door, he has an organised entryway with a closet and one of those shoe racks that looks like an end table.
Beyond that, his living area is all open plan. His kitchen is to the left right as you walk in, and the living room is the clear focus. He’s got a big grey sectional pointed at a big tv with a stack of video games beside it.
He doesn’t ask her to take her shoes off by the door, but she copies politely when he kicks his off.
That leaves her, blue and white tube socks, toeing against the chewed up corner of the area rug while he busies himself with fixing the few things he deems to be out of place.
Itching to keep moving, she prods at the fabric, examining the teeth marks, wondering where the dog must be.
“Oh— that was my ex-girlfriend’s dog. I’ve been meaning to buy a new rug.” He explains, furrowing his brows at the spot as he tosses a throw pillow down onto his soft looking grey couch. “Um — so, I do have a guest room, but it’s kind of a gym right now. You can just make yourself at home, and I’ll go get everything out of your way.”
“I can take the couch.”
“No, no, you deserve some privacy at least. I’ll just be a sec — I have sodas and beers in the fridge, glasses are in the cabinet to the right. Help yourself.” He’s a good host, and a better one than she had been yesterday, considering that Maverick’s place is now technically her own.
As he heads for the long, stretching hallway, she shoots a look back down at the mauled rug. With how spotless the rest of this place is, he must have really liked that girl to let her bring her dog here, and to let it chew up his stuff.
She wonders, aimlessly, if he was mad about it. If they argued. If they broke up long ago.
Avery hasn’t had too many relationships of her own. Some mediocre sex and a couple of couch-based movie dates here and there, nothing to write home about.
She sits cautiously, sinking into the pillowy cushion of the couch, taking the time finally to really look around her. The space is bright, with big windows all around and a view of the bay. There’s a sun catcher dancing from the curtain rod, casting rainbows across his wooden floors.
Maybe his ex had bought that, too.
The bungalow is small, but it fits all of his belongings with an abundance of space left. Avery thinks back to her father’s place, always cluttered and spilling over with junk, treasure from his years of travels.
Maybe Bradley is a little bit less sentimental about keeping things.
He rattles around in the room at the end of the hall for a while, huffing occasionally. While waiting on the couch, she considers getting up and offering to help a few times, but ultimately convinces herself against it.
“Alright! Fresh sheets and some space to move, there’s still a bunch of stuff in there but I tried to get it out of your way.” He comes strolling back down the hallway and drops down onto the couch at her side, letting out a heavy sigh.
She screws her mouth up a little, looking across at him while he rests his eyes, long, dark eyelashes brushing his warm cheeks. His long legs, covered by worn denim, stretch out far enough that he has to bend them around his coffee table.
When one hand comes up to card through his mussed curls, she catches sight of the tattoo inked across the expanse of his bicep. LXXXVI. ‘86. She starts to think on it, letting him enjoy his moment of peace, when he shifts and startles her enough to drag her eyes away from his flexing arm.
“Thanks, for everything,” Avery manages to still sound a little cautious in her tone, even when she’s rushing to speak. “Staying last night, driving me around today, letting me stay with you. I really appreciate it.”
He smiles without opening his eyes, reaching out and letting his hand pat skim across the seam of her jeans, patting at her knee platonically.
“Any time.” He breezes, cool.
The first night is uneventful. Avery sleeps restlessly on the futon in Bradley’s spare bedroom, turned home gym.
She pretends that she doesn’t see the numbers on the sides of the weights, and pretends also that she doesn’t give a little bit of her imagination to the way that tattoo must move when he lifts them.
When she wakes up, Bradley is gone and there is a note on the kitchen counter explaining that he went for a run. He was gone for two hours, trying to run far enough that the sick, hot, thudding feeling in his chest would stop.
Back at the house, Natasha stops by and spends the afternoon. She lets herself into the place with her key, which sits on her own keychain like she’s had it for a while. Watching a sitcom from the armchair while they sit beside each other on the couch, Avery notices that the two of them are very close.
She wonders if Natasha happens to have a dog.
Sleep doesn’t come any easier for either one of them the second night. When he finally catches sight of the red, flashing declaration on his alarm clock that it is now 2:01am, Bradley gives up.
He tries to be quiet as he’s getting up, careful not to wake Avery. They’re in much closer quarters in his place than they had been back at Maverick’s house, her door is right opposite his across the narrow hallway.
He pads down the hallway, rubbing at his eyes, tossing up whether he’s going to try to drink something warm and go back to bed, or if he’s just going to stay up. He can’t keep not sleeping.
He almost heads straight for the kitchen, freezing in his tracks as he finally takes note of the blue light coming from his living room, and the sound of women’s voices. It takes him a second, even though he’d been being so considerate on her behalf, to remember that he has a guest over.
“Ave?” He mumbles.
The TV immediately falls silent. She winces from her spot on the couch, craning her neck to try to see him at the edge of the hallway.
“Just me. I’m sorry! Did I wake you?” She sounds worried. He’s still half asleep.
He shakes his head as he steps out from the shadows and heads for his kitchen. “No, I just wasn’t expecting you to be up. I couldn’t sleep.”
He passes by pretty quickly, concealed behind the kitchen island in just a few steps. Still, she saw him. Illuminated only by the light of the television, wearing a tight pair of black boxer briefs and dog tags around a silver chain. Long, muscled legs and tapered hips.
Sure, he was good looking before, and clearly fit — but she wasn’t expecting what had been under those slightly loose t-shirts.
Her mouth is dry as she mumbles out a soft, “Me either.”
“D’you want a tea?” He stands with her back to her now, reaching around in the darkness of his kitchen. She stares, unblinking, at his back.
“You drink tea?”
“Sometimes,” He cranes his neck to look at her over his shoulder. “That’s not weird.”
Her lips almost quirk, and she gives him a confirming shake of her head. “I didn’t say it was. Do you have green tea?”
He scoffs without looking. “Of course I have green tea.”
This whole lack of sleep thing isn’t new to him. It comes with the grief, but it’s there even when he feels like he isn’t grieving anymore. Since he was a kid, Bradley has had thoughts that keep him up at night, thoughts bad enough to stir him from peaceful, pleasant dreams.
He’s tried every tea in the catalog.
He carries the two mugs across the living room without once noticing the way he’s been stared at. He sets hers down on a cute little wicker coaster on his coffee table, walking past and dropping down onto the corner of the sectional.
His legs stretch out and he shifts and twists until he finds himself comfortable. “What’s this?”
She sets her gaze steadily on the television, her hands in her lap, wondering if he’s this brash with all of his house guests. With a swallow, she shrugs her shoulders. “Oh, it’s just this TV show about a columnist in New York in the nine—“
“Are you explaining Sex and the City to me?” Bradley sounds bewildered, his face stark as he stares at her across the couch. Avery’s lips tug at a smile, and she almost forget the nerves she’d been feeling.
Until, the light from the television catches on the silver of his dogtags. Her gaze drops, like a flicker, to his bare, toned chest — and she swiftly looks back to the television.
“You’ve seen it?” She asks softly.
He’s beyond good looking. He’d always been okay looking, he’d had a nice smile in all of those pictures she had seen. But now, the roundness of his cheeks is gone and he has grown into his nose, his lips are a shade of pink that would be a bestseller in cosmetics.
Avery curses herself; she had been pretty successfully pretending not to notice that he had gotten good looking. Then, he comes strolling down that hallway and making her tea from his apparently extensive collection, having the nerve to sprawl across his own couch looking like that.
Across from a girl who hasn’t seen any action in the better part of a year too.
She almost scowls.
“Every episode,” He answers gleefully. At first, she thinks of Natasha or that mysterious girlfriend with the badly behaved dog. Then, he adds, “This was my mom’s favourite TV show, ever.”
And suddenly, she feels a little guilty for acting like those muscles make him some kind of ladies’ man. Just because the rest of them have been, she guesses.
Bradley seems like a nice guy. He slept in a bed clearly meant for a child all night last night, and he let her take the first shower this morning, he chased her across the parking lot and offered to fix all of her problems in one fell swoop.
Maybe that’s because of some kind of debt he thinks he owes to Pete, and maybe it’s just because that’s the kind of man he is.
She glances across, watching him chuckle at a classic Samantha one-liner and take a sip of a raspberry herbal tea. Wrinkling her nose, she settles back down into the spot she had been relaxing in, and lets herself zone out again.
They watch a couple of episodes. Unlike earlier, Bradley doesn’t feel the need to talk. He likes the quiet, mixed with their frequent chuckles. It’s an okay thing, to not have to fill that silent void.
Avery is the first to excuse herself to go back to bed, and she hasn’t once mentioned his little Calvin Kleins or the way they make his thighs look.
As she walks away, Bradley catches himself. He hadn’t much thought about what she might wear to bed, or what she’d been wearing when he first sat down with her. Her hips wiggle in her stride, her fitted pyjama shorts hugging her ass as she heads for the guest room.
The material of her loose t-shirt is tucked in at the back. Those cotton shorts hug her hips and show off just the tiniest glimpse of her round ass, from where they have ridden up a little.
He looks away before she’s even out of view, but it doesn’t change what he had been thinking. She’s Pete’s kid, for gods’ sakes. Not much of a kid anymore, but still, it wouldn’t be right.
Man, Maverick would hate it, too.
Bradley wishes, silently, that he was here to scold him. Pete would square his shoulders and get that rare and serious look on his face, warning Bradley to keep his hands to himself. And Bradley would smile and taunt him, saying, “Don’t worry, Mav, I’ll be the perfect gentleman.”
With her dad gone, it just makes it worse.
These next few weeks are going to be hard, and the least he could do is think with his head to keep things simple between the two of them. He heads back to bed late enough for it to almost not be worth it.
He wakes to the sound of chaos over the comms, that same last conversation, those snowy peaks behind his eyelids.
Mouth dry, heart thudding, his eyes are still shut when he stumbles out into the hall and twists the bathroom door handle. It jams, and he remembers. The sounds of water coming from behind the door stops abruptly.
Peeking her head around the shower curtain, already wincing, Avery calls back out to him. “Sorry! I’ll just be a second!”
“No — sorry, take as long as you want.” He calls back, shaking his head and heading for the kitchen. Restless and anxious, he splashes cold water across his face and thinks about Pete.
He saw Mav do this insurmountable times. He remembers all of the mornings that Mav would wake up gasping, shaking, and he would head straight for the bathroom, bolting the door. He’d come back out okay again. He wonders if Mav still did it, even all these years later.
If he still heard Goose’s voice through the comms, calling him out of his dreams.
The thought makes him shudder. The bathroom door unlocking makes him flinch, looking up sharply.
Avery steps out of the bathroom, her hair still dry and tied back, droplets of water still beading along the skin and flowing under the plush blue towel she had taken from the linen closet. He had told her to help herself, but he’s staring at her now and she’s second guessing herself.
He stands at his kitchen sink, his hands braced against the countertop, his knuckles white. She barely even notices his little Calvin Kleins. Her brows knit together as she takes a step toward him, barely visible around the corner.
“Hey… are you okay?” Her face creases with concern, lingering in the hallway so that he can see her just enough.
He remembers to let go of the countertop.
“Yeah,” He breathes out, unconvincingly, reaching up and shaking a hand through his tangled curls. He takes a second, trying to gather his thoughts enough to keep the conversation moving. “Were you still thinking you’re gonna need a job while you’re here?”
She blinks, her scrunched up face relaxing as she takes another step closer, cocking her head at him.
“Um, yeah. I think so.”
He nods. “Get dressed. We’ll go see my friend in a bit, can see if it’s something you might be interested in. Maybe, then we’ll take your car to a mechanic this afternoon.”
Out of the house, he feels like he can breathe again. It’s just sleeping, that’s all. When he’s really awake, he can control it all a little better, it doesn’t get to him as much.
He drives the same way he had yesterday. Three fingers around the bottom of the wheel, seventies music playing. Today, the windows are down. Avery makes a pretty good passenger — she doesn’t ask him to change his music and she doesn’t put her head in the way when he’s trying to check his mirrors.
Mainly because she isn’t once watching the road, but that’s okay.
She looks around the city like she’s seeing it for the first time. Mav lived her for longer than she’s been alive — and the entire place seems foreign to her.
Bradley knows both of his parents’ hometowns like the back of his hand, and he still hasn’t ever lived in either one of them.
“Did your dad ever tell you about Penny?” He asks so calmly, drumming his fingers along the wheel, Ray-Ban caravans sitting across the bridge of his nose.
The look that Avery shoots him gives him more than enough of an answer. She sets her phone down in her lap and studies him, frowning slightly.
“Who’s Penny?”
Shit. Bradley shakes his head and his voice pitches up a fraction. “Oh, she and Mav were just good friends for a long time.”
A product of one of Maverick’s ‘good friendships’ herself, Avery doesn’t need Bradley to explain to her what that means. It makes her a little less excited to get to wherever he’s taking her.
With one quick glance across, he catches the little frown settling across her lips.
“She owns that bar on Breakers Beach. We drove past it yesterday when we saw Admiral Simpson?” Bradley prompts her, glancing across at the passenger seat. She nods along. “I texted her yesterday and she really wanted to meet you, said you can have some shifts there if you want them.”
Avery wrinkles her nose, trying not to frown across at him when he’s doing his best to just be helpful.
“What? — What’s that look?” He prompts, looking across at her with an amused smile toying at his lips.
“She’s like a long time ago ex, right? She wasn’t dating Pete recently?”
Bradley thinks on his answer for a moment. He isn’t surprised that she figured out there was something between Mav and Penny, he would have figured it out too.
But, he had heard of Mav’s experience with Penny Benjamin a long time before he had actually gotten to meet Penny Benjamin. Really, he’s surprised to find that Avery has never heard of her, she and Mav were really on and off for quite a while.
He guesses that Mav kept that kind of thing from her.
Which means that he would want Bradley to keep the fact that he had seen Mav and Penny leave the bar together three times in the weeks leading the mission to himself too.
“Yeah. Like a long time ago.” He confirms.
“Alright, okay — yeah, this’ll be good,” Avery sounds more like she’s giving herself a pep talk than like she’s replying to him. He shoots her a smile and a nod anyway. “Thanks, again, by the way. You’re cool for setting this all up.”
Cool. Not the kind of compliment he’s usually searching for from a pretty girl, but he’ll take it.
Reaching across the centre console, he gives her knee a quick squeeze. “Not so bad yourself, Mitchell.”
Briefly, his palm lingers there. It’s just because he’s focusing on turning into the parking lot, but it’s still his large palm hugging the curve of her knee for a minute longer than it should have.
Completely over the thick protection of her jeans, but she stares at the touch anyways. Then, she dares to look back up at him. Totally relaxed as he pulls into a spot up front like it’s his own personal one.
One more squeeze, and he takes his hand back and swings open the door. The parking lot is surprisingly busy for the middle of the week at noon.
Avery follows him out of the vehicle, gingerly matching his pace as he heads inside. It’s once he’s spotted that she falters.
“Rooster!” Someone even taller than he is comes marching up right away and throws his arms around Bradley. Bradley hugs him loosely, greeting him with an aloof but firm pat of the back.
“Payback.” He greets quietly.
“Wasn’t expecting to see you. How are you holding up?” His warm eyes bore into Bradley, his head bowed slightly and his voice sincere. He hasn’t spotted her yet.
“I’m alright,” Bradley sounds convincing enough, but this Payback guy hadn’t seen how rattled Bradley had looked this morning. “This is Avery.”
Finally, Payback’s gaze flickers to the girl standing behind Rooster. Halfway tucked behind his shoulder, staring at him through her lashes, looking totally lost and sheepish.
“Mav’s kid?”
In the short time Bradley has known her, he knows that’s not the kind of response she would have wanted to get.
Swinging his arm out and throwing the heavy limb around her shoulders, Payback watches Rooster drag the stunned girl out from behind him and present her at his side. “It’d pay you to learn your new bartender’s name, Fitch.”
He’s looking Avery right in the eye, and he already can see that Bradley’s going to have to be reminded that not everyone likes the heavy handed approach to affection he can have.
Still, he smiles at her like he means it and nods his head respectfully.
“Already got it, it’ll be good to have you around, Avery.”
A small smile works its way across her lips, grateful if not anything else.
“Nice to meet you.” She answers him quietly, stiff against Bradley’s side. He pats her back and urges her forwards.
“Here, this is Penny. Penny, meet your new bartender.”
Penny Benjamin is tall and striking, standing behind the bar with her eyes already on the new bartender. There’s a recognition and affection in the blue of her gaze that tells Avery she was lied to just a moment ago.
That’s a woman who cared deeply for Pete Mitchell.
It puts a bad taste in her mouth, a pit in her stomach, a sudden coldness about the possibility of this job. Even if just for a short time, for however long she’s here, she’s just going to be an extension of the man she had always felt so far from.
Penny cocks her head to the side, just a bit. Sure, she can see semblances of Pete in the girl across from her, but it’s the rigid, flighty look in her eyes that catches Penny’s attention.
Across from her is someone with something to prove, and a character they’ve been playing for a long time now. That’s what feels most familiar.
“It’s nice to meet you.” Avery says stiffly, trying to sound like she means it.
Penny nods, smiling. She glances towards Bradley, then back to the girl still tucked under his arm.
“You too. Let’s talk.”
As Jimmy takes over the bar duties, Bradley’s left with the prospect of facing his friends when Penny and Avery disappear toward the back deck.
He scratches at the back of his neck, shooting one last look at the two of them over his shoulder, and wondering what he’s supposed to say to all of those guys.
One by one, he could manage… but all in a group like that? — He hasn’t seen most of them since it happened.
It’s Natasha that he can trust to catch his eye first, giving him that kind of look cautious parents give their kids when coaching them on a bike. She worries a lot for someone who swears that she doesn’t care about the meatheads she hangs out with.
He heads for her as coolly as he can manage, hoping that the other guys know not to give him a hard time today. They don’t, they never would.
His therapist says it’s a defensive thing, the way he waits for people to say the wrong thing. When he’s hurt, he expects it, almost. He’s trying to get out of it.
They can all give him credit for that.
Even so, it doesn’t take long for conversation to fade from small talk to the newest, most exciting subject.
“So, she’s staying at your place?” Natasha’s the first one to bring up the missing party, picking up on a comment about the two of them arriving together.
Bradley shakes his head and fiddles with his root beer bottle. “No, she’ll be over at Mav’s place once we get her car fixed up. It’s a real piece of shit, I don’t even know what they’d do to make it run any better.”
“Mav loves cars — and he lets her drive a shitbox like that?” It’s Javy who scoffs that out, the only one still talking about the Captain who had taken a shine to him in present tense.
Bradley just shrugs. This isn’t the place to unpack whatever went down between Mav and Avery. He doesn’t know enough, even if he wanted to talk about it.
“She came all the way down here by herself?” Callie asks. She doesn’t say it, but she’s referring to the fact that her mother came all the way out to Lemoore to try to move her into the barracks like it was college when she was that age.
Bradley shrugs again. He hasn’t heard much about Avery’s mom in the past twenty years, he isn’t even sure that he ever met her — certainly wouldn’t be able to pick her out of a crowd. All he knows is the gossip he’d gotten from his mom when it was all going down.
“How’s she doing?” Bob asks, his blue eyes deep and sincere as he searches Bradley’s face, knowing better than to ask the same question.
“Okay, I think.” Bradley muses, thinking of how quickly Avery had questioned the recovery efforts yesterday. “I dunno how close they were, but it’s always gotta be hard. Just… trying to make it a little easier on her, I guess.”
They all nod, slowly.
And then Avery comes marching back inside, her chin high and her hair a little wind-swept, making a beeline right for the closest thing she’s got to a friend in this town.
“Hey.” Bradley offers her a smile, and reaches out for her. His hand grazes the back of her bicep, and she smiles more genuinely than she has in the past two days.
“Hi.”
He catches sight of himself being watched, and takes a look back over Avery’s shoulder to find Penny looking. Her blue eyes flicker down to his hand on Avery’s arm.
Pursing her lips, she rolls her eyes and shakes her head, and Bradley’s mouth almost falls open. There’s no way she thinks that he’s hitting on Avery. He’s just being friendly.
Penny knows Bradley well enough to know that. He’s always been a very affectionate guy. Still, the look that she gives him is one that certainly, and silently, tells him to keep his hands to himself.
He blinks, and finds his friends looking back at him expectantly.
“So, you’re taking the job?” He checks, shaking off Penny’s watchful eyes and settling back into what he knows. Avery nods her head at him.
“Starting tomorrow.”
Tomorrow. That’s way soon. He’s going to have to make sure he doesn’t keep her up until four in the morning watching the misadventures of Carrie Bradshaw tonight.
“Well, guys, say hi to your new bartender.”
He brings the bottle of rootbeer back up to his lips and shoots a quick glance back over Avery’s shoulder. Penny stares back, unfazed, as he narrows his eyes back at her.
What does she know about anything, anyways?
…
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cw: footjob/foot humping, stalking, kidnapping, drugging, extremely one-sided mdlb (he literally only refers to u as mommy), implied(?) noncon, obsessive behavior, no specified character; but he’s genuinely crazy over u, 700 word paragraph of him explaining why he did what he did lolol (also don't mind the image above, reader doesn't have a specified race, i js thought it was cute)
wc: 2,076
a/n: this was kinda rushed bc i’ve been working on smth that’s taking me way longer than i originally anticipated that it would! (im still not even halfway done 💀.) the idea of this just randomly popped in my head while i was scrolling on pinterest to find cute little icons for my blog, hope u enjoy !! (again, there’s no specified anime/game character that this is about so u can imagine whoever you’d like!)
this wasn’t okay. nothing about it was. you don’t even much remember how you got in this position; in a filthy room, sitting at the foot of a hard sheet-less mattress, with some guy holding your ankle & pressing your socked foot against his hard cock.
he had his head resting on your plush thigh & you felt his hot breath fanning over your clothed skin. so badly you regretted wearing thigh highs today. all you wanted was for your legs to be warm throughout the day… not to invite some creep to come & start humping your foot like some animal.
his moans actually started off as cute little whimpers & whines. but as he got closer they were just… guttural. this had to have been his first time touching a woman, the thrusts of his hips were sloppy & uncoordinated.
“f-fuck! i’m so fucking c-close!” he rasped, your eyes widened upon hearing his words. there was no way you were about to let him cum on your foot.
you attempted to pull your foot away from his grasp which only caused him to moan louder as he thought you were trying to help him finish or something. so you tried again, but that proved useless due to him still holding onto your ankle.
“you’re s-so good to me mommy!~ you’re even trying to help me cum-FUCK! iloveyouiloveyouiloveyouiloveyou!” tears of both fear & confusion began to well in your eyes. who was this man? why is he calling you mommy? why is he humping your foot? why does he keep saying he loves you? why wont your mouth move? why can’t you say anything?
how many times can you say ‘i love you’ in 30 seconds? someone should’ve counted because that had to have been a world record or something. as he came, he desperately rutted his aching cock on your foot even faster than he was before.
he must have been feeling absolute euphoria because drool began to fall from his mouth & onto your leg, seeping through the fabric & onto your skin. but despite how grossed out you were there was nothing you could do about it; your body wouldn’t move.
once he finally came down from his high, he finally let go of your ankle & removed himself from your legs. your lip quivered & the tears that were originally only welling in your eyes began to spill uncontrollably, yet no sounds left your mouth.
he got up off the ground with jerky movements, panting like a dog. a big stain a few shades darker than the rest of the fabric on the front of his pants & finally noticed that you were crying. he leaned down & cupped your face with his rough hands & began kissing you. much like his thrusts, the kiss was also sloppy & uncoordinated.
you didn’t kiss back because you couldn’t but he didn’t seem to mind as he forced his tongue into your mouth. licking everywhere & everything that he could reach. your fingers twitched as your mind kept yelling at your body to move, push him off, or do something useful.
after what felt like an eternity of him sloppily kissing you, he finally let your face go, a string of saliva connected to both of your tongues.
“huh? why’re you still crying? that usually works in movies..” he said in a confused tone. he pushed you back so you were now laying on what you assumed to be his gross bed. he then got on top of you & began leaving wet, open mouthed kisses on your throat, which felt anything but good.
you hadn’t noticed it before, but now you were painfully aware of what you were wearing; pink lingerie that was way too tight & scratchy literally everywhere that it touched your skin. his haphazard kisses trailed down to your damnear exposed breasts.
“fuck mommy… i’m getting hard all over again, do you wanna help me again?” so badly you wanted to scream the words ‘fuck no, i don’t even know you’ but the only sound that left your mouth was a choked whimper due to his body weight atop of yours.
he smiled giddily before saying, “i’ll take that as a yes, thank you mommy!” he practically ripped the lingerie from your body & pulled his cum soaked pants down just below his balls. he stroked himself to the sight of your bare body & crying face below him for a little bit before moving up, caging your upper body between his thighs, pressing both of your breasts together & sliding his dick between them.
he let out a high pitched whine, not waiting even a second before immediately thrusting his hips. like before, he had no rhythm at all.
“your probably w-wondering who i—fuck— am.” you weakly attempted to nod your head.
“from the first time i saw you, i knew i needed you in my life. we attend the same college but we don’t have any lectures or classes together. but, you & your bitchy friends sure do love to go to the boba shop i work at. i see you on campus all the time but your always with your bitchy friends so i never approach you. even if you weren’t with them all the time i probably wouldn’t have the confidence to talk to you anyways. i mean— just look at you. everything about you is perfect, your face, your body, your smile, your hair, your life, you always smell so good, your personality.. i could go on for days! but in all honesty, i hated you at first. hell, id even thought about killing you at one point. everything about you was just so sickeningly sweet, being kind to useless nobodies like me, i just couldn’t understand it, so i hated you for it. but as time went on, the more my hatred turned into love… & then that love turned into infatuation & obsession. i’d follow you around everywhere you went, in hopes that maybe you’d finally notice me but you never did. i couldn’t just go up to you & tell you that i was in love with you & everything that you did, so i started stealing your things. the things started off small; your pens, pencils, hair clips, notecards etc. so small you didn’t notice apparently, so i moved on to way bigger things, took more drastic measures; your clothes that you’d change into after a shower in the gym, your money, your school ID. i’ve even broken into your house a few times, i can’t even count the amount of times i’ve jerked off on your bed while smelling & sucking on a pair of used panties that you wore on super hot days. i’d always collect my cum & pour it into your moisturizer or skin care, i even installed a camera in your bathroom to watch you shower & notice just how much fuller & thicker your hygiene products were than the last time you used them. it made me so hard to watch you not notice everything that i took from you or came on. sure you questioned it, but you’d never even imagine that you had an obsessive stalker. when you wore those thigh highs to my job this morning i couldn’t help but sneak a few sedatives into your boba. i accidentally put too many so you passed out almost instantly, your dumbass bitchy friends didn’t even think twice when i told them i could help & when i carried you out of the shop & into the backseat of my car. they seriously could’ve helped you, but they didn’t , so if your gonna blame anyone blame them. i drove all the way home rock hard because the moment that id been dreaming of for months was finally happening. you don’t understand how many times i’ve fucked my fist, imagine it was your mouth— or really any hole of yours for that matter. but all those nights i spent imagining didn’t matter anymore, because i had the real thing right in my backseat. i basically sped all the way home. & once i finally made it the first thing i did was undress you & marvel at your naked body. obviously i’d seen it on camera but it didn’t compare to the actual thing. it’s so perfect, you’re so perfect. as much as i wanted to keep you naked, but i know how much you hate the cold so i dressed you up in that lingerie. fuck, it was so sexy. i kinda regret ripping it just now but you look way better without it on. since i knew i wouldn’t be able to contain myself, i took so many pictures of you in the sluttiest of poses. you kept falling so your a little bruised up but you’re still beautiful either way. when i was just about done with your photo shoot i laid you down on my bed & you begin to stir, i didn’t know how you’d react when you woke up so i injected a little bit of ‘medicine’ into your bloodstream. it temporarily paralyzes you, & makes your brain all fuzzy. oh, & it also works as an aphrodisiac. i know this is probably a lot to take in, but trust me, i’m doing this for you. despite how popular you were & how perfect your life was, you hated every moment of it. but everything is different now that you’re my mommy & i’m your good boy. trust me, you’ll be happy forever.”
you listened to every word that left his mouth, you would’ve been flattered by the amount of kind words he’d said if he hadn’t literally just admitted to thinking about killing you, stalking you, stealing your things, breaking into your house, jerking off & fucking cumming in your skin care, drugging you, kidnapping you & doing things to your unconscious body.
somewhere during his tangent, he’d stopped thrusting his cock between your tits & settled on just playing with & teasing one or your nipples while stroking your cheek with his free hand, though his length was still twitching between your mounds.
you assumed him stroking your cheek was supposed to comfort you but all it did was make everything so much more worse. you haven’t cried this much in years, this cant be your new reality, you refuse to accept it.
you don’t quite recall passing out. but you did wake up in an entirely different room than the one you were in before unconsciousness overtook you. this room was the exact opposite as the one you were previously in, it was clean, nicely decorated, & smelled of flowers. it also somewhat resembles your own bedroom but a few things were off.
you weren’t even able to enjoy or find comfort in it before your head started pounding as memories from earlier today flooded your mind. you shot up from the comfortable bed, despite your entire lower half aching & scrambled to untangle yourself from the sheets, only to find your right ankle chained to something that wasn’t visible from underneath the mattress.
panic began to set in & you frantically tugged on the chain. tears of frustration began to well in your eyes as it just wouldn’t budge. your cries grew louder & louder, loud enough to attract the attention of your captor.
he practically broke the door off its hinges as he slammed it open. “what’s wrong mommy?” he had the nerve to ask, acting as if what was happening right now was completely normal. you didn’t respond, only staring at him with tears still spilling from your eyes.
he got on the bed & sat down next to you. he yawned before pulling you into his chest. “shhh, shhh it’s okay mommy, your good boy is here for you. you’ll be okay, everything will be okay, i love you so, so much, go back to sleep my beautiful sweet angel.” he kissed you on atop your head multiple times & rubbed your back.
despite how fucked up this entire situation was, you seriously couldn’t help but snuggle into his arms & lean into his touch. even though he’d literally kidnapped you & probably took advantage of you unconscious form you still fell asleep in his arms, too tired & confused to even begin to realize just how big of a mistake you’d been making.
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