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eddiesxangel · 1 month

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Take Me to the Lakes | E.M x Reader ~ 3/6

cw: more angst, 18+ mdni , Male masturbation, little bit of perv eddie, dirty talk, praise/degradation, Daddy!kink won the poll, oral (f receiving), light spanking, fingering, p in v, (no use of condoms but reader says she is on the pill) cum eating, like a teeny weeny bit of anal play but not really…

Master list

cw: 7.8k

Eddie could not believe what just happened. What the fuck were you thinking?! Wearing that! Dancing like that! Getting on your knees for him in front of everyone?!

Eddie had to get out of there; he was only a man. He wouldn’t be able to hide his boner if he continued to watch. You didn’t give him a choice; he had to leave.

The second Eddie saw you in those little shorts with those shoes! Those fucking five inch stilettos that made your legs look so long and lean. Then you bend over in those shorts… and on to of that the song's lyrics were so sexual that there was no way for Eddie to survive.

The image of you was burned into Eddie’s head; it played on a loop as he hid deep in the forested area behind some bushes, trying to relieve himself.

Leaned up against an old oak tree, Eddie stroked his cock. God, Eddie felt like a pervert, but two weeks of pent-up attraction could only go so far. Living in tight quarters with bunk mates, he had no choice but to sneak off to relieve himself. It had been days since Eddie saw you in your bikini, and he hadn’t been able to get rid of the urge to touch himself since.

Eddie thought of your hands, how they ran all over your body while dancing. He was so jealous of your hands. He wished he could touch you the way you touched yourself. To kiss, to graze, to squeeze every inch of you.

He imagined you, in that little outfit you were just prancing in, on your knees for him, he pictured your mouth replacing his hand.

“Oh fuck Princess” he mumbled as he got closer and closer.

When Eddie finished, he walked out from behind the trees and saw two silhouettes standing closely behind the barn. As he got closer, he saw that it was you and Billy. He was kissing your cheek, you were smiling up at him, he said something, and you hugged him.

The jealous rage was returning within Eddie and he could no longer watch…

Were you using him to get Billy? Is Eddie just a prop in your game? Was it Billy that Steve suggested you had a crush on?

Eddie could no longer watch and stormed off.

“FUCK” he yelled when he reached the cabin.

“Jesus Christ, dude!” Steve screamed.

“Sorry, I didn’t think anyone would be back yet.” Eddie shrugged off his leather jacket and crawled into bed.

“You want to talk about it?” he asked.

“No.”

Steve watched as Eddie rolled over and didn’t say anything for the rest of the night.

—

The next morning, Eddie was in no better mood. Worse, actually, because he couldn’t sleep.

A knock at the door pulled him out of his thoughts, but he still didn’t bother to get up. He pretended to stay asleep so he wouldn’t have to get to the door.

Again, another knock came, and no one got up.

Eddie could hear a small “hello” coming from the outside. He peeked his eye open a sliver to see if anyone would get the door, but to his surprise, he was alone.

He must have been too wrapped up in his own sulking to hear them leave.

Eddie looked at his watch, it was 7:46 am. Shit, he had to get up.

Knock, knock, knock.

“What do you want?” Eddie half yelled as he yanked open the door.

He wasn’t expecting to see you on the other side, but there you were, like an angel with two cups of coffee… just like every other morning. You even looked like an angel in your baby blue tank top and white terry cloth shorts that literally said “angel” with blue angel wings on one leg,

Eddie froze, staring at you, waiting for you to respond.

“Oh, uh” you clear your throat. "sorry, I’ll just go.” Your voice was so quiet. You shoved the cup of coffee into Eddie's hand before turning to run away.

Before Eddie’s brain could compute what to say, he swore he heard you sniffle. Eddie went to run after you but Steve blocked his way.

“Dude, what did you do! I see Bambi crying last night, and now I see her leaving our cabin and she is crying again?” Steve came into the cabin rubbing a towel over his wet hair.

“Fuck” Eddie dragged his hands over his face.

“I think I fucked up, man; I snapped at her just now, I had a terrible sleep, and she is driving me crazy.” He finally admits.

“She probably came here to apologize to you.”

“To me? What for?”

“She thinks she made you feel uncomfortable.”

“She made me feel uncomfortable alright, fucking popped a boner in front of everyone like I was thirteen.” Eddie huffed.

“Go apologize, man. She put herself out there last night; she said she felt embarrassed because you had left.”

“No, that’s not what happened!”

“We’ll go fix this because she thinks she thinks you’re disgusted by her…” Steve stepped closer to Eddie to whisper, even though they were the only ones in the cabin. “I am really not supposed to be telling anyone else this, especially you, but when I said Bambi had a crush on someone here, it wasn’t about me or Ashton, especially not Billy, if you get what I mean.” Steve looked around to make sure no one was listening.

“What do you mean? I saw her and Billy together after the show behind the barn. They looked pretty close and cozy to me.” Eddie sarcastically laughed.

“Oh my god, how are you so thick?” Steve said under his breath, but Eddie still heard.

“Hey!”

“Dude, she was only out there because she got upset you left; Coyote saw her and went to comfort her. She wants you, dude! Why do you think she did that dance routine? Do you think she ever has danced like that here? No, it's always soft, pretty little ballet numbers, but this year… You’re here, she dresses all sexy, and dancing to Zeppelin? You don’t think that has anything to do with you? She did that for you and you left. How do you think that made her feel?” Steve was pissed off, upset his friend was hurting, annoyed that you both were still literally dancing around the fact you both like each other.

Eddie stood there, taking in all the information Steve had just told him.

It wasn’t even 8:00 am, and Eddie was still half asleep, but he thought he understood what Steve was saying.

“So you’re telling me she did all that last night for me?” He clarified.

“Yes. Jesus Christ! Now put on a shirt and hurry, we are late!” He said as he walked out the door, leaving Eddie dumbfounded.

—

You try your best to avoid Eddie for the next few hours. You couldn’t believe that this was happening. You had put on your cutest outfit that you brought to camp to help you feel better, but it did nothing for your confidence when Eddie opened the door. His voice was callous and mean, like when talking to the popular kids at school.

You hadn’t ever been the brunt of it before now. You do not react well to people yelling at you to begin with, so Eddie's reaction solidified that you indeed fucked up.

Clearly, coffee was not going to fix things…

It was Monday, dance day, so at least you had the distraction and spent the whole day teaching. However, during Eddie’s group session after lunch, you tried to avoid eye contact with him, as you could feel his intense gaze on you. You tried to stay focused; you really tried, but the pit you had in your chest was making if very difficult.

“Hey Bambi, you going to teach those kids the moves you showed us last night? OW OWWWW!” Nick, another councillor walking by, yelled into the studio, breaking your concentration and your eyes threatened to well up.

“Bite me, Nick!” You spit back at him.

“Oh, I’d love too, baby. Name a time and place.” He then proceeded to wolf whistle at you.

You jump as the second studio door slams open behind you and you see Eddie as he storms out, leaving behind a stunned silence. You watch as he turns his back to you and disappears out of sight. The kids look at each other, unsure of what to do next, but Ashton steps up to take charge, saying they still have to listen to you.

You couldn’t help but want to run after Eddie, but you know that you have a job to do, so you turn your attention back to the task at hand.

—

“Name a time and place.” The second the words left that douchebag’s mouth, Eddie was fuming. How dare he embarrass you like that!

Eddie's legs started moving before my brain could compute what it was doing and before he knew it, Eddie had Nick pinned to the wall, bracing his throat with his forearm.

“I hear another comment from you about Y/N. You’re done!” He sneered.

“Whoah, dude, chill out. I was having some fun,” He defended.

His nameless friend tried pulling Eddie off, but he wasn’t letting go until Eddie heard Nick say it.

“I don’t think you understood me. You talk about her like that again, and I find out? We are going to have a big problem.”

Eddie could feel two pairs of hands pulling him off this Nick.

“Ok, Ed, we don’t want any trouble.” Steve’s voice came from behind,

“You didn’t hear the disgusting thing he said about Bambi.” Eddie was seeing red.

“Okay, dude, take a fifteen. I’ll help Ashton round up the kids for the next activity.” Steve spoke in a calming voice.

“I fuck, shit, ok. I... I don’t know what is wrong with me today… I just needed some space to clear my head.”

Eddie took a short walk to the lake shore, where no one was around. His temper has always needed work.

He pulled out a pack of cigarettes, looking around to make sure Carol was nowhere to be found before he lit up.

As he inhaled, a sense of relief washed over him. Eddie realized he hadn’t been able to sneak a cigarette since last night… that’s another reason he’s been so on edge.

Eddie sat by the water, inhaling the smoke, thinking about how he could fix things with you.

He fucked up, his own pride got the best of him, and he needed to apologize.

Looking around, Eddie spotted some wildflowers, and he got an idea.

—

Today was long, and you were exhausted mentally and physically. After the bonfire, you decided not to join the others and went to read instead. You needed some alone time; being around people twenty-four-seven for weeks on end can get overwhelming.

You walked into your empty cabin and spotted something on your bed that hadn’t been there before you left.

Sitting on your sleeping bag was a note with some purple and yellow wildflowers tied up with twine.

You reached down and picked up the note. It read: I’m sorry. Meet me tomorrow outside the mess hall at lunch if you want to talk.” - Lancelot a.k.a Eddie Munson a.k.a a big Moron

You smiled at the note, picked up the flowers, and put them in a cup of water on the bedside table.

Maybe tomorrow will be better…

—

You were anxiously waiting outside at 11:55 am. The sky was overcast, but the humidity was still lingering. You didn’t go in for food beforehand because you couldn’t stomach it until you knew what Eddie wanted to discuss.

“Good, you got my note.” He smiled shyly.

“Yeah, thank you,” you try smiling back.

“I wanted to say I’m sorry for acting like a jerk the past few days…” he looked down at his shoes, not making eye contact.

“Yeah, you sure were acting like one.” You crossed your arms and rolled your eyes as a defence mechanism.

You wanted to accept his apology, but he must explain himself more.

“Princess, come on, don’t be a brat.” he was stern.

“Why are you being so mean?” You pout.

Eddie couldn’t resist when you made that face, all he wanted was to grab your face and kiss you when you make that face.

“Fuck, I don’t know? I like you, okay. You’re way cooler than I thought you would be, and you’d never be friends with someone like me.”

Friends

“Says who?” You swallow the lump in your throat.

“Everybody!”

“Ashley is my best friend you’re like the guy version of her!”

“It’s not the same!”

“How is it not the same?!”

You both were now yelling m, frustrated over the miscommunication.

“You don’t get it! You would never in a million years be with someone like me.”

“Eddie ple—"

BOOM

The air was tense as a deafening crack of thunder echoed through the sky. Startled, you let out a scream that was quickly muffled as Eddie's arms wrapped tightly around you, cradling you against his broad shoulder, acting out on instinct to protect you.

The scent of his woodsy pine deodorant and fresh aftershave washed over you, offering a small sense of comfort amidst the sudden roar of thunder.

You looked up into his eyes, you could tell he had so much more to say but as if on cue, another thunderclap rumbled overhead, followed by a blinding bolt of lightning that illuminated the sky. The downpour began in earnest, drenching everything in sight within seconds.

Without hesitation, Eddie grasped your hand firmly and guided you towards the safety of the mess hall, where the terrified children were already screaming in fear.

Your eyes rolled involuntarily at the situation, knowing that your conversation with Eddie would have to wait yet again as you worked to ensure everyone was accounted for and safe during the storm.

The storm had been raging for four hours, unleashing its fury on the hall, making it impossible to leave. The howling wind was like a freight train, and the rain was so heavy that it created a constant drumming on the windows.

The room lit up every few minutes as lightning struck, illuminating it in a dazzling display of light. Suddenly, the power went out, leaving the room in complete darkness. Thankfully, the backup generator kicked in after only ten minutes, providing some much-needed light and comfort.

Despite the chaos outside, you, Eddie and the other counsellors entertained the children, trying to keep their minds off the storm. Eddie had brought his guitar, and he sang every camp song he knew, turning the room into a makeshift concert hall. The children were delighted, and you couldn't help but smile as you watched Eddie interact with them. He had a way of making them feel special, especially the younger ones who clung to him like he was the coolest guy on the planet.

After about an hour, Eddie needed a break. You could tell he was getting tired, and his fingers were starting to ache. You teased Eddie, telling the kids that the “rockstar" needed his intermission.

They groaned but soon found something else to occupy their time. As the storm continued to rage outside, you caught Eddie looking at you several times. You tried not to look up, but you couldn't help but feel his gaze on you. It reminded you of the first night of the bonfire when you had both shared a moment. But now, you were unsure of what was happening between the two of you - it was uncomfortable and strange.

—

That night, you still managed to have a bonfire. The logs were luckily kept in a shed protected from the rain so they were still dry enough to burn even after the storm.

You hadn’t really felt better after Eddie’s interaction earlier… what did he mean by he liked you? Did he only want to be friends? He said the word friend.

You had been a lot quieter than usual, so Robin asked if you were okay. When you shook your head no, Robin pulled you off to the side, sneaking off to the dock while everyone was at the Bonfire.

You needed to vent to her; the agony of not knowing what Eddie thought of you was killing you, and you had to spill your guts to someone who wouldn’t judge you.

“I just don’t understand Birdie; I’ve been giving him so many hints, so many signals! I don’t think he’s into me.” You groaned.

“No, absolutely not. You’re a smoke show. He’d be blind not to like you, Bams… also I might have heard something from Steve.” She smiled.

“AND you’re just telling me now?!” You yelled, then quickly covered your mouth, forgetting you had snuck off and were supposed to be supervising the kids.

“Moose and Lancelot are roommates they talk. And he told Moose he doesn’t stop talking about you; he won’t stop gushing about how sweet and kind you are. He is super protective of you, and he told Moose no one should take advantage of you.”

“What I would give to have him take advantage of me.” You groaned in frustration.

Defeated, you lay backward on the dock, looking up at the stars. At this moment, you were really starting to second-guess your whole school persona. Maybe being a goodie two shoes wasn’t the way to go? Maybe you should have just been yourself from the start.

“Bams, listen, if anything, just think of how we managed to get some last summer.” She wiggled her brows, reminiscing on your extra curricular activities.

“I remember you telling me about that one move you did on Brandon that had him drooling over you?” You smirked at the memory.

Last year, Brandon was just a distraction for the summer, no real feeling, just friends doing one another a favour. You hadn’t really thought about him until now because he wasn’t back this summer.

“Yeah, he was a good time, but nothing more. With Eddie, I just can’t stop thinking about him. It’s like I can’t breathe or sleep without him on my mind!” You dragged your hands across your face.

“Girl, you got it, baaaaaaaad,”

Do do. You really, really do.

“I just don’t get it! I’ve been throwing myself at him for the past two weeks, Bird! I could literally be on my knees begging to be sucking Eddie’s dick, and he still wouldn’t get it through his thick head that that I like him, no correction, I’m in lo—”

“You could be doing what now?” Eddie voice echoed.

You freeze, you feel like your heart is about to fall out of your ass. You’re too scared to look, but Robin tugs you back to a seated position. How much had he heard?

Slowly, you both turn to see Eddie standing there, eyebrows raised, hair pulled back in a low bun, some pieces framing his chiselled face, black sweatpants and a band tee with his red flannel over the top; he stood alone with a marshmallow falling off the roasting stick.

He looked so handsome in the moonlight.

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck” you mumble under your breath.

“I’m going to leave you two… to talk.” Robin stood, and you looked at her with pleading eyes for her not to leave.

“It will be fine, Bams. Just let go.” You realized you had grabbed her shirt sleeve.

As Robin walked away, Eddie slowly made his way towards you and took a seat on the wooden planks, where Robin had just been sitting. He let his legs dangle over the edge, his feet just barely brushing the surface of the water. In any other situation, the sound of the water hitting the shoreline would have calmed you, but now, it only aided your impending anxiety.

Eddie took a deep breath, about to speak, but you beat him.

“How much did you hear?” You pinched your brow bone.

“Enough” was all he said back.

“Well, if you excuse me, I’m going to go drown myself in the lake now. Bye.” You try to quickly stand up to walk away, but he also stands and reaches his arm out to stop you. You feel Eddie hold your hand, and a shiver runs through you; your flesh ignites into a million goosebumps.

Eddie just shook his head and laughed.

“You flatter me, Princess.” He was so calm, much different than this afternoon.

“Well, now that you, uh, know… I’ll just leave you alone.” You looked down at your hands and pulled away.

“Who said I want you to leave me alone?” He questioned.

“I... uh…well, you clearly aren’t interested in me like that , so I thought…” You shrugged your shoulders in defeat, still looking down.

“Princess, I’m sorry if I gave you the wrong impression.” His hand lifts up your chin, and you feel his warm breath on your face.

You try to look away, but something about the way his eyes catch the moonlight makes it impossible to avert your gaze. As you meet his stare, you can see that his eyes are the most beautiful shade of brown you have ever seen. They are soft and deep, and you can't help but get lost.

“Why did you leave the talent show?” You half whispered, too ashamed of the memory.

“I was embarrassed.” he shook his head.

“I’m sorry, it won’t happen again.” You tried turning around to leave again, too ashamed of what you had done.

“No, Princess, you didn’t do anything wrong! I left because I couldn’t stop myself from… reacting to you.” He grasped your sleeve in his hand to stop you from leaving.

“I don’t understand?” You looked at him quizzically and let out a loud sigh.

“Princess, don’t make me say it.” He laughed uncomfortably.

“Eds, tell me… please.” You pleaded.

He looked at you momentarily, then looked down at the water splashing below.

“Princess, you really know how to make a man feel… certain things…” he tried explaining but was vague about it.

“oooookay?” You didn’t get it.

“I can’t do this to you,” he sighed.

“Do what?” You ask even more confused.

“You’re too innocent.” he shook his head.

“Innocent?!” You take a step back.

“Ugh, fine. You really want to know?” he raised his brows.

“YES!” Now you were beginning to get frustrated.

“You gave me a boner, okay!. That’s why I left.” His voice was stern again.

You stood there, dumbfounded.

Here you were all this time thinking you had made a fool of yourself when, in fact, the plan had worked all along.

You couldn’t help but giggle at the ridiculousness of the situation.

“Don’t laugh! I had a big problem and had to take care of it.”

“Oh, I’m sure it was a big problem.” you winked.

Eddie is caught off guard by your comment but his reaction was priceless.

“You should have stuck around; I could have helped you with that big problem.” you bite your lip and taking a step closer.

Your sudden confidence was strong.

“Princess…” His voice wavered.

“Yes, Eddie?” You whispered as you raised to my tip toes to kiss his neck.

“I.. oh god… Princess, I…I can’t do this,” He admitted.

You back away again as he speaks.

“Can’t? Or don’t want to?” You do your best to hold back a quiver of your lip. You don’t understand? Did he have a girlfriend?

“I would have to be clinically insane not to want to. Jesus, I just can’t, Princess, you’re too innocent!” emphasis on can’t.

“What do you mean innocent?” is the second time he has said this.

“You said it yourself! In the game of truth or dare, remember?! I can’t be the one you have your first experience with…” he trailed off,

Your look of confusion dissipates as the realization of Eddie thinking you’ve never slept with anyone before hits you.

“Who said I’m a virgin?” You cock your head and take a step closer to Eddie.

I…uh.. well, you know, I thought because you said no guy has ever made you… you know… and you have a reputation at home of being you know… a good girl.” He pleads his case.

“So because I didn’t let any of those high school boys touch me I must be still pure is that it?”

“Well— "

"They don’t know how to please a woman, Eddie… So what am I to do?" You took a step closer, filling the gap between you. “Let them feel me up, and be done within 2 minutes and leave me disappointed and dissatisfied… trust me, been there, done that.”

Eddie’s eyes blow wide open at your confession.

“I’m not going to have that happen just so Jason or Brad can go off bragging to all their friends about fucking the goodie-two-shoes cheerleader, making me a slut.… No. I didn’t let high school boys touch me. Besides, non of those meathead jocks are my type.”

“W-what is your type?” Eddie swallowed hard, scanning down your body, then back up, staring into your eyes.

“Musicians are kind of my thing, especially guitar players. They’re good with their hands…and I bet you can put yours to good use.” You placed your hand on his chest and pressed up on your toes to whisper in his ear.

A shiver ran up Eddie’s spine, and he was at a complete loss for words.

“Eddie, can you show me what all the other girls at home are dying to know?” you bite your lip once more.

“What’s… that?” He managed to get out.

“Oh, come on, Eddie. Like you don’t know?… I’m not the only one people at school use to talk about.”

“Oh, I know what people say about me. I’m a freak.” His tone was so serious.

“Not that.”

“Yes… that,” he hesitated.

“There is a rumour going around thatall the girls want to know.” You bite you lip. “Even if they don’t want to admit it; we all are curious.” Your hand slipped from his chest down his toned stomach to the waistband of his sweatpants

“Curious about what?” his breath was laboured.

“That you’re really… well equipped.” You tilted my head up to him, giving him a coy smile.

Eddie was still breathing heavily; he was getting more and more aroused by the second. Never had he thought he would get to see this side of you.

You could feel the pressure building in his pants as you pressed your body into his.

“From what I can feel, Eddie…” your hand ran down to his bulge from his waistband where it had been resting. “The rumours don’t disappoint.”

You raised up onto your tip toes again and tilted your head to place a gentle kiss on his neck.

“Come on, Eddie, you going to prove me right? Fuck me like I know you can? How I’ve been dreaming about?” You whispered in his ear, breath hot on his neck, praying that you once again were not coming on too strong, but at this point, you’d had enough runaround; it was now or never.

Something switched on inside Eddie. He was animalistic, almost primal. All the pent-up tension and flirting led to this moment. He didn’t think when grabbed your hand and ran. He needed to find you two somewhere private, and fast.

You realize he was leading you towards his van. So many nights you dreamed about him taking you into the back of it and ravaging you. You couldn’t help but giggle behind him as he pulled you towards the parking lot.

“Shit!” Eddie mumbled under his breath, realizing his keys were back at the cabin.

“I think I know a better spot.” You grabbed his hand and led him towards the other side of the lake opposite the bonfire.

It was almost 9:30. Robin could cover until it was free time for counsellors.

You brought Eddie to a hidden part of the campgrounds; through the clearing. Right beside the shoreline was a smaller abandoned cabin.

“This is a secret not a lot of people know about. It used to be another cabin used for bad campers, who need time outs or a break from everyone, but we don’t use it anymore.” You explained.

Inside was a double-size bed frame and mattress, some shelves, and a chair. It was a little dingy, but it would do.

You locked the door behind you; god forbid, a camper came exploring before bed.

You take a breath and walked over to Eddie, who was already sitting on the edge of the bed. You situated yourself so you are standing between his legs. Your faces were pretty much level in this position. Eddie sat there gazing up at you as you grabbed his hands and guided them to your waist, then slowly, you brought your hands up to the back of his neck.

“I hope you know I’ve wanted this since the tenth grade,” you whispered, still scared to admit it.

Eddie groaned and brought his lips to yours with a feverish wanting. You hadn’t felt a kiss like this ever. You swear you saw fireworks as your heart fluttered. The kiss was so good you couldn’t help but let a small moan slip.

Eddie started moving his hands down from your waist to your hips and across your ass. Feeling brave, he gave it a squeeze, and you giggled at the innocent action.

You bring your knees up on the bed to straddle him. You could feel his excitement immediately as you gently shifted your weight down on his lap.

Your lips never broke, only when you went to take off your hoodie and shirt.

Eddie admired your breasts that were situated right as his eyes level, he bent down to kiss and suck of the tops of your tits and he kneaded them in his hands.

You needed more, you wanted more so you began to grind your hips into him, again and again. Eddie moaned into your mouth, and you parted your lips letting him slip in his tongue. He tasted like cigarettes and s’mores.

You break the kiss and start working a trail of kisses down his neck.

God, the countless hours you’d daydream about leaving hickeys was finally a reality.

Your kiss trialled down and found the spot just under his jaw that made him moan your real name. It sounded so sweet coming from is lips. That you sucked on that one spot until you were satisfied with your mark. You wanted to claim him as your own. You trailed your hands down his chest until they were situated between you. You felt the cotton of his pants tented in your hand as you palmed his cock.

Eddie grabbed your hips and ground into you with more pressure, making you let out a breathy sigh.

“More, Eddie, I need more.”

“More what, baby? Tell me what you need.”

“You, please, I need you to make me feel good.”

You can feel the tension in his shoulder release.

He flipped you over, your back landing on the mattress, and he hovered over you.

“Such a good girl, using your words for me.” he pulled off your sweatpants, exposing your black lace panties. "You going to let me be in control?"

"Yes" you whisper.

"Tell me what you want." he conmanded

“Please touch me, Eddie.” You had never felt this wet before. You led his hand to your pulsing heat, but he stopped at the hem of your waistband. He took charge when he hooked his fingers in and yanked them down. You were glistening; you could feel the string of wetness being pulled with your panties.

“Oh, baby…I knew you would have such a pretty pussy” he whispered, not breaking his eye contact.

The longer Eddie prolonged touching you the more brattier you became. You were a wreck. You needed any relief. You were almost crying; it was pitiful.

“Please, baby, I need you.” You whine.

Eddie leaned down to kiss you again before he moved to your neck.

Your breath hitched as he finally put his hands where you needed him most. He took no time to find your swollen clit; his fingers grazed over you in quick small circles with the perfect amount of pressure. You were putty in his hands.

“Oh baby, you’re so wet already? I’ve hardly even touched you; you’re just that much of a slut for me, hmm?” he spoke as he continued to kiss your neck.

“Yes,” you whimpered.

“Yes, what?” he pushed two fingers up, pumping into you.

Another pitiful moan fell from your lips as he stretched you out, but then he stopped moving his hands.

“I want you to say it.” His eyes were dark, almost black.

You were so turned on by this side of Eddie that you might explode.

“I’m… you're slut” you’re breathless.

"I'm you're slut... what?

"Sir?" you question.

"Close but not my favourite... no," he smirks. "Only certain girls get to call me this... it's special. You're special." His tongue flicks the skin of your neck and you shiver.

"What you're going to address me as is, Daddy. Is that okay with you, baby girl?"

"Yes, Daddy," your head was spinning.

“Good girl.” He pulled out his fingers; you almost protested but saw he was removing his shirt, so you waisted no more time to remove your bra.

“What was it you said, baby? You could be on your knees begging for my cock? We’ll look who’s on their knees for this sweet little pussy.”

Eddie didn’t give any time to react because he licked his tongue from your weeping hole to your clit.

“Oh my god,” your hand gripped his hair, and your eyes rolled back into your head.

“Not god, baby, just me.” He winked, and you tried to roll your eyes at his ridiculousness, but he cut you off by latching back onto your clit.

Eddie ate your pussy like he was worshiping you. You felt the oh-so-familiar pleasure that you only feel when you’re alone, build and build.

“Holly shit, Eddie,” you moaned and he stopped.

"Am I going to have to punish you?"

"No, I'm sorry."

"That's okay, I'll forgive you this time." Eddie latched his lips back down on yours quickly; your orgasm was building as his skilled tongue worked your pussy.

“You’re such a good girl, come on baby, I know you can do it” he replaced his mouth with his fingers, and he easily slipped two inside, his words making your pussy clench.

“Oh, you like being called a good girl, don’t you, sweetheart.” He cooed in your ear.

"Yes, Daddy." You moan his name repeatedly like a prayer.

“Oh, you definitely like it; I can feel you squeeze my fingers whenever I say it.” He mused.

“Please… stop teasing me; I’ve been waiting for this for so long,” you begged him.

“Oh, have you now? Tell Daddy more.” Eddie pumped his fingers slowly; it was agonizing.

“Please just fuck me, Eddie! Please, I’ve wanted you from the first time I saw you. I need you, only you, please.” Your admission came out as a whisper.

“I’ll take good care of you, Princess. But we will have to work on the Daddy thing.” He kissed you so softly at first, then it turned into something so much more passionate; he slipped his tongue in, and you accepted it willingly.

He was so addictive, like your own personal drug. You’ve felt your first hit and you needed more.

Eddie trailed his hands down your body as he continued to kiss you. You can’t help but grinding your hips against his cloth-covered pelvis, leaving a wet sticky mess in your wake.

“Please, I want your cock so bad, give it to me, it’s ok I’m on the pill.” You begged, realizing he probably didn’t have a condom.

He pulled out his cock out of his pants so fast your eyes widened at the size, the rumours were in fact true.

You instinctively went to reach for him; mouth already salivating. Eddie watched you lick your lips, but he pushed you back down on the bed.

“Next time, sugar,” he kissed your neck again. Fully knowing if your mouth went anywhere near his cock he would be cuming at a speed that would definitely embarrass him.

“Next time?” You gasp.

“Oh yeah, Princess. Not giving you up just yet.”

You gasped once again, only this time his mouth latched onto your own when he finally pushed your legs wider so he could run himself through your wet pussy folds.

He slowly eased his way in. It burned how he stretched you out, but it was so good that you wanted more. He was long and thick, the biggest you’ve had yet.

When he bottomed out, another feral noise was unleashed from your lungs.

“That’s it, baby, let the whole camp know what a slut you are for me.” He started slowly thrusting so you could adjust properly to his size. His words only made you more aroused.

You kissed him again and begged for more once your body adjusted to Eddie.

He unexpectedly grabs both of your ankles and throws your legs over his shoulders, and his thrusts start to speed up.

“Oh, look at you taking Daddy's cock so well; your little pussy is sucking me in so good.” You looked down the valley of your breast at him, watching as he fucked into you.

“Fuck oh! My god! Yes!” You reached for him; he leaned down, bending your legs to your ears

You’re thanking the heavens right now that you’re this flexible because the new angle was even deeper. Your mouths latched on to one another, and you kissed him hard.

His thrusts were deep but not enough; Eddie could sense that it was going to take a little bit more work to get you off because he was already close.

“Turn over, baby, show me that perfect ass.” He let go of your legs and sat up.

Quickly you turned over, ass on full display. You gasped as a hard SMAK echoed through the room.

“Had I known you were this much of a slut for me, I would have had you months ago.” He growled.

“Would have let you fuck me back in high school”

You feel him bend down, nipping the bottom right side of your ass cheek, exactly where the little heart tattoo was.

“God, you’re sexy.” He breathed between your legs before shoving his face neck into your pussy one more time.

You wiggled your ass into him letting gone another moan.

“Can’t get enough of this fucking pussy” Eddie’s eyes roll back in his head.

“Eddie, baby, I need your cock so bad.” You whine as he lines himself up at your soaking entrance. You could feel your slick dripping down your inner thighs; you were so wet.

When Eddie slipped back into you, your hands give out, and your face falls into the mattress. He slipped his hand around to play with your clit as he pounds into you from behind.

He was so deep, you felt so full. He was the best you’ve ever had. Maybe it was the emotions behind who it was, or maybe he was just that good; one thing is for sure: you would never give this up for anything.

“That right, baby, who owns this pussy.” His dirty words only turned you on more.

Your orgasm was so close. The way your body was tightening, your teeth gritted as you tried to hold it together.

“Yo—oh god yes…. fuck” Your eyes rolled to the back of your head as his thrusts only quickened and went even deeper if that was even possible.

another SMAK

“I said, who does this pussy belong to?” You could hear him speaking through his teeth.

“FUCK… you! Daddy! It’s all yours! Only yours! I want to be yours,” you screamed in pleasure.

“That's fucking right” The tips of his fingers dug deeper into your hips, using you as he pleased, and you let him. At this point you would do anything for him the way he was making you feel in this moment.

You were getting close; you heard him spit and felt something wet hit between your ass cheeks, and he grazed a finger over your tight, puckered hole, a new sensation you’d never felt before. Your head lolled back and moaned his name.

“Yeah, baby, you like it when I play with your little hole? Who knew you were a little slut for me?”

Me. I did.You think.

“Only for you, feels so good baby” you panted.

“Keep talking like that, Princess. I’m close; I know you are, too. Tell me, how my cock makes you feel” his breath was becoming laboured.

“Feels…so good, I’ve never! Never had anyone make me feel this good.” It was the truth.

He hunched over further, grabbed your chest, and lifted your upper body so your back was pressed parallel to his chest as he continued thrusting up into you. The new angle is even more satisfying than the last.

He grabbed your breast and was playing with your nipples, pinching and squeezing with one hand and mimicking the same on your clit with the other. Eddie kissed down the side of your neck, and you could feel the hickeys forming, not caring at the moment what people would say in the morning about the marks.

“Im so close,” you barely made out as a whisper.

“Come, baby, be my good girl; come for me.” His voice was deeper, sultry. You grabbed his wrist of the hand that was on your clit to brace yourself.

Your body quivered as your orgasm hit you, unlike any other you could give yourself.

Your legs gave out, and you fell to the mattress, ass still in the air for Eddie to keep going until he had his way with you. Almost overstimulated, Eddie finished pulling out of you at the last second.

You can hear moaning from above as the hot liquid coats your ass and lower back. Laboured breathing started to become even as the cum was dripping between your cheeks.

You were about to sit up and get cleaned when you felt Eddie grab your ass cheeks and stick his tongue on your tight hole to lap up his mess.

“Holy shit,” you take in a sharp breath no one has ever touched you there before. You liked it.

Once he was finished, you rolled over to look at Eddie for the first time after everything the two of you had just done. Feeling dirty and a bit self-conscious, you let out a giggle. A bashful look crossed your face before you, and you looked away as soon as the two of you made eye contact.

“I hope that wasn’t too much.” He brushed the hair from your face behind your ear.

“No, I liked it,” you whispered.

“Next time someone asks who was the last person who made you cum you can say your knight in shining armour, Eddie Munson” He winked.

“Shut up!” You giggle.

You sat up, trying to find your discarded clothing, when you peered at his watch.

“Shit, it’s already twenty after eleven, we need to get back to the cabins! You rushed up gathering your clothing.

—

On your way back to the cabins, Eddie reached out for your hand. In some odd way, that felt more intimate, considering where they were minutes prior.

“So you going to tell me about that tattoo?” He wiggled his eyebrows

I laughed, “Um, not much to tell? I got a fake I.D. and went and got it with Ashley. She has a matching one.” At that moment, you thought Eddied eyes were about to pop out of his head.

“In the same place?” He questioned.

“Yep.” You nod.

“Oh, what I would give to see that.”

“There are many things we’ve done together you would pay for.” You stifle a giggle. Trying not to laugh at the innuendo.

“Go on..” his brows raised.

You thought about telling him, but did I want to break the innocent girl allusion fully? Or drag it on?

“Hmm, I don’t know if you can handle it?” You teased.

“Come on, I need to know now; you can’t just say something like that!”

“Fine, but only because you earned it… you cannot tell Ashley, you know, but how do you think I got so good at kissing?” You winked.

Eddie dropped to his knees. His dramatics never failed to make you laugh.

“Come on, get up. We can’t get caught.” You pulled him up and you continued to walked back to the cabins.

When you returned, the lights were on, so you knew the girls were waiting up for you.

“So… this is me,” you say stupidly.

“So it is…” Eddie looked around awkwardly.

“Um, goodnight.” Would he kiss you? would this just be a one-night stand?

Your thoughts were cut off by Eddie’s lips back on yours. You sink into the kiss as his lips moulded into you. You let out a soft moan and he pulls away.

“You can’t do that to me, princess, or else I’m going to pick you up and take you back to that cabin.” He sighed.

“I’m sorry,”

“So I know we’re stuck in the middle of nowhere at work, but can I take you out on a date sometime?”

“I would love that,” you smiled.

You reached on your tip toes to give him one last kiss before slipping back into the cabin.

“Goodnight, Eddie,” you whispered.

“Oooo goodnight Eddie,” you can hear Robin mocking you from the other side. You roll your eyes and hear Eddie laughing.

“Goodnight ladies.” He gives you a wink before you shut the door.

You turned around and waited a good ten seconds before you could hear Eddie enter his cabin before you let yourself squeal while jumping up and down. The girl’s reactions were priceless.

“Tell us everything!” Nancy clapped with excitement.

“I don’t even know where to begin.” You flopped onto your bed with a sigh.

“That good huh?’ Clover giggled.

“I don’t think I’ll be able to walk tomorrow.” You laughed.

“Details now! but not too many details.” Robin sat down in front of the bed like you were about to read a bedtime story.

“Well, I can definitely say he’s the best I’ve ever had.” You fanned yourself with your hand.

“Did he make you cum?” Robin flat-out asked.

“Ooh, definitely,” you laughed, still on your post-orgasm high.

“Bitch! How big? Tell me when to stop.” Clover was moving her hands father and father apart. I waited as she slowly brought her hands to create a gap that was about 9 inches.

“Stop!” I said once she got there.

“Shut up, no way!” Nancy gasped.

“We saw him in that bathing suit. There is no way he is hiding all that!” Robin laughed.

“Trust me, girls, it’s big,” I sighed.

You decide to get up and get ready for bed when you hear a gasp.

“Oh my god, what is he a vampire?! He ate your neck!” Robin’s eyes were wide as you took off your hoodie.

You ran to the bathroom mirror to check out the damage.

“Holly shit! What am I going to do?!”

It was bad. Three large hickeys covered your neck, and there were more on your chest that would one hundred percent show when you put on any of your bathing suits.

The girls came up behind you to observe for themselves in the bathroom mirror.

“I’ll grab some spoons and ice!” Clover shouted.

Five minutes later, she returned with some ice and spoons in a bag.

You tried to eliminate the bruising for twenty minutes, but it seemed useless.

“Maybe we can do face painting tomorrow, and no one will see?” Robin suggested.

“I don’t think that will work, Birdie, face painting is the day after tomorrow.” Nancy sighed.

“Guess I’ll have to wear them with pride,” you nervously laughed.

You know the guys will not let you live this down until they see you tomorrow morning.

—

“Goodnight, gentlemen.” Eddie was floating on could nine as he strolled into his cabin.

“Where the fuck were you, dude? You owe us big time covering for you!” Ash got out of his bunk.

“Shit, sorry, man, thank you.”

As Eddie sits down, all the guys can hear is muffled squealing from your cabin.

“The hell was that?” Steve’s head shoots up from his bunk.

“They probably saw a spider or some shit.” Billy huffed and rolled over.

Eddie couldn’t help but laugh at himself because he knew the true meaning behind the excitement.

“Dude, so where were you? Ashton asked.

"I will not kiss and tell.” Eddie kicked off his boots and got up to find his pyjama pants.

“Yea right” Billy snorts.

“Dude! Holy shit, who did that to you?” Eddie heard Steve speak as he stripped off his shirt, revealing his naked torso.

“What do you mean?” Eddie laughed.

“Dude, did she attack you?” Ashton's eyes bulged out of his head at the bruising you had caused, attracting the attention of the other two bunkmates.

“Quit checking me out, man,” Eddie laughed.

“Dude! Who did you get with?” Billy asked excitedly.

“I’m not telling,” Eddie smiled as he walked to the bathroom and shut the door.

He could hear their muffled guesses while brushing his teeth, shaking his head at their guesses.

“Bambi, it was 100% her!” Ashton was fighting with Billy.

“No way, man, it was Sarah!” Billy was in such denial.

“Bicker all you want. I’m not telling,” Eddie chuckled as he exited the bathroom.

“Fine, we will just see who else has some early hickeys in the morning.” Steve winked and climbed back into his bunk.

Shit, you’re going to kill him… well worth it.

Next chapter

Tags: @winchester-angel @josephquinnsfreckles @lemme-slytherin-that-dick @emma-munson @littlexdeaths @siriuslysmoking @peachysink @nailbatanddungeon @leelei1980 @daisy-munson @taintedcigs @take-everything-you-can @strangerstilinski @bl0ssomanddie @seb-buckybarnes @chickenandsheep-blog @lokis-army-77 @ali-r3n @erinekc @impmunson @snowflowersstars246 @micheledawn1975 @princesatracionera @bells-28 @kellsck @guineveresghost @ezzynf @oneforthemunny @brxkenartt @ktiutsa @sofiaadela

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson angst #eddie munson fan fiction #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fan fic #eddie munson #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x oc

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barefoot-joker · 2 months

Text

Snake in the Garden Pt 4~ Yandere!Lucifer X Reader

Hey, guys! Welcome to Snake in the Garden Part 4! In this chapter we meet a few new characters, so I hope I got their personalities right. I do hope you all like the new chapter as I had a lot of fun writing it. As always, enjoy and I hope you have a great day/night!

Words: 2395

Warnings: Swearing

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

I heaved as I ran through the streets of Hell. I couldn’t get enough air to my lungs and my legs were growing weary of the journey. However, I kept my eyes on the marquee and just kept going. You’re almost there, Y/n! Come on! Soon you’ll be free!

I didn’t take the time to look at the demons surrounding me but my ears caught all of the screams, moans and conversations as I passed. A couple of times I was grabbed at, but I just shoved them away and continued my trek. When I reached the gate of the hotel I stopped to catch a breather, my hand grasping the iron bars to steady myself. I looked back from where I came, the palace a tiny speck in the distance. I wanted to pat myself on the back but I knew I wasn’t in the clear. Until I was back home Lucifer could rear his head at any moment. Speaking of the Devil, I wondered how long it would be till he noticed I was gone.

Taking in a few more breaths, I walked up the cobblestoned hill to the front door. The marquee shone a bright red and I felt like I was bathed in blood. Stopping at the front door, I marveled at how intricate it was. The stained glass formed a circus tent pattern and the rim held a golden tint to it. Bringing my hand up, I knocked on the glass, a knot forming in my stomach. What if all this work was for nothing? Would the Princess even listen to my case?

I didn’t have much time to think when the door opened. In front of me stood a tall, lean man dressed all in red. Among his red and black hair, black deer antlers stood and what I assumed to be his ears straightened in surprise. His red eyes felt different compared to Lucifer’s, his feeling more sinister. His grin seemed to grow wider as he looked me up and down. “Hello, my dear. Welcome to the Hazbin Hotel. I’m Alastor, the hotel’s facility manager. How can I be of-”

I rushed past him and slammed the door shut, my nails digging into the golden wood. “-service to you?”

I spun around to face him, my eyes blown wide in panic. “I need to speak to Charlie! Please, it’s an emergency!”

I clasped my hands tight in prayer and tried to make myself look as vulnerable as possible. “Charlie isn’t here at the moment, I’m afraid. She’s out on some business with Vaggie. The two of them should be back soon though.”

I groaned and hung my head in despair. How long will she be gone?

I lifted my head back up and let out a slight shriek at how close the deer man was. He was practically on top of me, our noses almost touching. “Though I could speed along the process if I was told what constitutes an emergency.”

I hadn’t noticed it before but as the man spoke his voice held a static to it, almost like an old radio. “Listen, Alastor was it? I don’t feel comfortable sharing that with you.”

“Hmm. I guess you’ll just have to wait then. Husker, make this sinner feel at home.”

I looked to the left and saw a bar that looked way too out of place. Blue boards made up the walls and floor while the dark oak bar top sat in the middle. The cat demon, Husker, looked up from drying a glass and sighed. Alastor wrapped his arm around my shoulder and dragged me over to the bar, shoving me at a stool. I sat on top of it and gulped as the radio man kept eyeing me from his post nearby. “What’ll you be havin’?”

“Oh, um, a water is fine.”

“Not much of a drinker, eh?”

“No. Besides, I don’t really drink around strangers.”

Husker shrugged and turned his back to me. When he returned to my side, he placed a rocks glass in front of me on the bar top. I grabbed it and sipped my water. “So, I couldn’t help but overhear you’re in an emergency. Got some loan sharks after you or somethin’?”

“Oh no, much worse. It’s a long story.”

“I’ve heard my fair share of long stories as a bartender.”

“I just don’t feel comfortable sharing. I’d much rather wait for Charlie.”

“I can respect that. Hell is a rough place and if you’re not careful it can swallow you whole. I learned that the hard way.”

He sighed and continued to dry glasses. As I sipped my drink, I glanced over to see Alastor still staring at me. That maniacal grin never leaving his face and his eyes cool and calculating. “So um, what’s Alastor’s deal? Why does he keep staring at me like I’m fresh meat at the butchers?”

“He’s always like that, scoping out the new guests. But a word of advice, don’t make a deal with him whatever you do. You think your life is horrible now, you got another thing comin’ with him.”

“I see.”

Suddenly I felt something grazing my ankles. I peered down to see a very short woman with a red bob, a stripe of yellow hair in front of her one giant pink eye. My eyes widened upon seeing the silver blade in her hands. The female looked up and a giant grin spread across her thin lips. “You're not meant to be down here, are you?”

“Huh?”

“You smell…human. Sinners have a certain scent and you don’t have it. We’ve got a live one, guys!”

She hopped into my lap and grabbed the top of the nightgown. I gulped at how the knife was slightly pointed at my throat. “You’re pretty for a live one, not that I’ve seen many like you before.”

“T-thanks?”

“How rude of me! I’m Niffty! I clean.”

She shook me back and forth. “A live one, hmm?”

Suddenly I felt a hand tighten on my shoulder. I looked back to see Alastor, the end of his smile reaching well past his eyes. “You didn’t quite introduce yourself to us, did you, my dear?”

“Leave her alone, Alastor!”

“Tsk, tsk, Husker. I just want to know what I should call our newest arrival.”

“I, I, I-”

I stopped when I heard the front door open, two voices chatting as they came inside. I had never been more thankful for a door to open. “Oh, hey guys! What’s going on,” The tall blonde asked.

She looked so similar to Lucifer so she must be Charlie. “We’ve got a live one, Charlie! And to think she was trying to hide,” Nifty replied.

The Princess turned her red gaze to me and I quickly threw off the deer and housekeeper. I got down on my knees and looked up at the blonde. “Please Charlie, you have to help me! Your dad is fucking crazy-”

“Oh you must be Y/n!”

My heart dropped. No. No, no, no, no. How much does she already know?

Lucifer’s daughter scooped me up to my height and pet me on the head. “It’s so lovely to finally meet you! My dad has sent me several pictures but you look much prettier in real life. But what are you doing all the way out here? Shouldn’t you be planning a wedding?”

“That’s my problem! I don’t want to be here! Please, you’ve got to help! I’m begging you!”

I could feel tears come to my eyes as I pleaded my case. Charlie’s eyes softened and she placed her hands on my shoulders. “Here, let’s take a walk. Vaggie, can you put our shopping away?”

“Of course, honey.”

“Come on.”

The blonde took me by the shoulders and led me up the grand staircase. We went up a few floors before stopping in a room that resembled a library. Charlie ushered me to sit in one of the leather armchairs and then she followed my lead. “So tell me everything. I’m sure my dad left out a few key details.”

I did. I told her how the two of us had met up until I had been forced to say yes to marrying him. While I told my tale, she didn’t say anything. She just hummed at key parts. “So can you help me?”

“I want to, I really do. However, my dad-”

“Fucking kidnapped me, Charlie! Do you really want me to go back to that?!”

She opened her mouth to say something when suddenly her phone rang. She pulled it out of her red suit jacket and her eyes widened. “Oh no.”

“What?”

“It’s my dad.”

“Shit! I’m not here!”

“But…”

“You see the good in others don’t you, Charlie? Can’t you see the good in you helping me?”

She bit her lip before sighing. She clicked the answer button and held the phone to her ear. “Hey, dad. What’s up?”

Lucifer didn’t even need to be on speaker as I could hear him shouting from the phone. “Charlie dear, thank goodness you picked up! Look, I’m in serious trouble and need your assistance.”

“What can I do for you?”

“My darling bride Y/n is gone! Vanished! I left her to her own devices and when I came back she’s left me! I thought someone took her but then I found this rope hanging out the bathroom window and have you seen her? I don’t know how long she’s been gone for and I don’t want her out and about by herself. Hell’s too dangerous!”

Charlie and I made eye contact and I begged her to not give me up. Her grip tightened around her phone and I could see the battle going on in her head.

“Sorry dad, I haven’t seen her. I’ll keep an eye out though.”

“If you do find her please make sure she’s unharmed. I want my dear apple to be in one piece after all.”

“You’ve got it. But, hey, I’ve got to go. Vaggie’s calling me. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Okay, thank you sweetie.”

“You’re welcome. Love you. Bye.”

She disconnected the call. I let out the breath I was holding. She did it. She actually was going to help me!

“Okay, I know somebody who can get you back to Earth. But we’d better hurry. My dad sounds like he’s getting close.”

“Thank you so much, Charlie! I really do appreciate it!”

“Hurry now!”

She summoned a dark trenchcoat and fedora from thin air. I quickly put them on and out the front door we went. Our walk felt just as long as when I had run to the hotel, but this time demons didn’t seem to bother us. It was probably because the Princess of Hell was with me. We continued walking until we stopped at a very large mansion. Out front was a cobblestone drive and a fountain spraying water. Charlie and I walked up to the double set of dark blue doors and she knocked. They opened to reveal an imp butler, a small white mustache hiding his lips. “Hello, Princess! What can we do for you?”

“I need to speak with Stolas. It’s urgent, Pringles!”

“Follow me.”

We strutted inside and the little butler led us to a study. “I’ll let him know you’re here.”

“Thank you, Pringles.”

“Of course, Princess.”

The door shut behind him. The study was quite large with several bookcases housing thousands of novels near the walls. A desk with a tall, navy and gold chair sat behind a dark oak desk. The place seemed very fitting for a Prince. As we waited I found myself playing with my engagement ring. I willed myself to stop but my fingers kept rubbing it. Don’t get cold feet now, Y/n. You’re almost home free.

I heard the navy blue door open and I turned to see a very tall, skinny owl man. He wore a dark red jumpsuit with a wine red cape draped on his shoulders. White and black feathers made up the collar and they mingled with his own gray feathers. A smile found its way to his beak when he spotted us. “Charlie! It’s so good to see you, my dear!”

The two hugged and when he pulled away, he looked at me with his four red eyes. “Who might this be? A friend of yours?”

“Stolas, this is Y/n. My dad captured her and brought her down to Hell. We need to send her home to Earth.”

“Ah, so this is the infamous Y/n I’ve heard about. It’s a pleasure to be meeting you.”

He bowed. How many people has Lucifer told about me?

“But why would you want to go back to Earth? You’re getting married in a few months.”

“Because I don’t belong here! I was fucking kidnapped and am becoming a bride against my will! Please Mr Stolas, let me go home!”

“Have you and Lucifer made a contract together?”

“Huh?”

“I mean have you signed anything that he has given you?”

“No, I don’t believe so.”

He bowed his head. “Then I can help. Just let me get my Grimoire.”

He held up his hand and a blue and gold book came flying towards him. The book looked heavy as it floated in the air but the owl Prince paid it no mind. He flipped through each of the pages until he landed on one. “Y/n, if I do this for you I cannot guarantee your safety. I know Lucifer. He’ll be looking for you until you’re in his grasp again.”

“That’s fine. As long as I can go back.”

“Very well.”

He chanted out a spell and before I knew it a purple portal materialized before my very eyes. “Go quickly now. I can’t hold this open for long.”

“Thank you, both of you. I appreciate it!”

“Go!”

I walked through and not a minute later the portal closed behind me. I looked around and smiled. I was back in my house in the hallway. I laughed triumphantly and threw off my disguise, making my way to the living room. I stopped when I heard the crunching of what sounded like…chips? I looked over to my couch and I felt my eyes widen.

“There you are! It took you long enough!”

~~~~~~~~

TAGLIST

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i-write-boop-spoops · 1 year

Text

Blue Oak NSFW Alphabet

It’s been like… a year and a half since I’ve done anything blue related (so sorry!) but by popular demand (aka a friend begging me to) here is some spicy, spicy stuff about the motherfucker himself.

Proofreading? I hardly know her!

NSFW under the cut

A = Aftercare (what are they like after sex?)

He really likes to just lie there for a second and just bask in it, in that post orgasmic haze. He’s a bit sensitive after too, so he will just hold your hand for a bit before cuddling you. He does really enjoy showering with you after, even if it’s just an excuse to touch you again.

He does brag a little afterwards (though he always earns the right to ;) )

B = Body part (what is their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner?)

Blue LOVES himself, literally he could say any of his body parts – but if he had to narrow it down, really had to scrutinize himself and weigh it all up, he’d go with his thighs. Yeah, his thighs, speckled with hickeys from you~

On you, well there’s the trouble again, he thinks you’re so fucking hot all over that he has difficulty deciding (he’s greedy like that). Buuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuut, if he’s really thinking about it, he’d have to go with your butt ;)

C = Cum (anything to do with cum)

Likes cumming inside, mainly because he’s not arsed to pull out, you just feel so good around him. That, and he’s a huge fan of cumming on your stomach or ass.

Oddly enough, he doesn’t like finishing on your face or chest.

D = Dirty Secret (a dirty secret of theirs)

Way more of a sub than he’s willing to let on. It’s something you really have to coax out of him. But once you do…. well, things start to get quite interesting 👀

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Fancies himself as more experienced than he actually is. His body count is in the double digits, mostly casual relationships amd one-nighters. While he’s definitely no novice, he still has more to learn, which he is totally eager to do with you!

F = Favourite Position

COWGIRL!!! Omg it’s cowgirl 100% He gets to look at your gorgeous body and hold your hips and do barely any work! It was practically made for a smug bastard like him.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment or humorous?)

He’s such a little shit, so of course he jokes and laughs and gets you giggling by saying something silly. Even in more intimate and raw moments, he still manages to keep things light-hearted.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes?)

His hair’s a little darker down there, coarse and curly, but he likes to keep it trimmed.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? are they romantic?)

Even as funny as he is, he can still be so very sweet, so very heartfelt, when the situation calls for it. Intertwining his fingers with yours, whispering I-love-yous against your lips as he slowly glides in and out of you.

Can’t see him spreading rose petals all over the place, but he would light candles if he’s feeling fancy

J = Jack Off (masturbation headcanon.)

Oh, he loves to masturbate. Especially if he has you as his audience. Intentionally lets you walk in on him jerking it.

Obviously a huge fan of mutual masturbation too.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks.)

Surprisingly he’s more on the vanilla side. That being said he does love a bit of hair-pulling and marking. Though I also wouldn't put it past him being a bit of an exhibitiomist.

L = Location (where are their favourite places to do the do?)

He could go for it anywhere honestly – he’s a globe-trotter. And he’s shameless too. Beaches in Alola, a bush along a route, behind the bleachers at the Viridian City gym, even in his grandfather’s lab (yes, he is that horny). As long as no young eyes are present, and you’re not fully out in the open, he’s game.

Speaking of him travelling, you two have gotten plenty of noise complaints from other guests at the hotels you stay at 😂

M = Motivation (what turns them on and gets them going?)

Back-talk, being a brat, ribbing him, he loves a good challenge, loves beating an opponent even more.

But also, you being shy, being cute and sweet and flustered – makes him want to see how flustered you can get.

Also, short shorts/skirts and leggings.

N = NO (is there something they wouldn’t do? what are their turn-offs?)

Although he can be a bit of bully (though you like it when he is) he never goes to far to the point of degrading you or physically hurting you – he could never.

This goes vice-versa too.

O = Oral (do they prefer giving or receiving? how skilled are they?)

You better make his hair so messy, you better tug on it as he’s between your thighs. He will go down on you like he’s desperate – and act all cool and like you’re the desperate one the whole time.

He’s so smug when you go down on him, acting like he’s doing you some great favour by giving you the chance to suck him off. While he’d never force you to, he definitely prefers you on your knees.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough or slow and sensual?)

He’s often fast, often a bit desperate despite how he carries himself, but he rarely veers into being rough. Slowness, and sensuality, are less common, but he definitely indulges in that from time to time.

Q = Quickie (what is their opinion on quickies over proper sex? how often do they have quickies?)

He LIVES for quickies. 80% of your fucking is literally a quick banging before you go off to do something. He likes the fun and spontaneity of it all, plus there is something so good about you being half-dressed.

That being said, he does also love longer sessions, especially in the morning or on a lazy afternoon.

R = Risk (are they willing to experiment? do they take risks?)

He’s not really experimental, he likes what he likes and isn’t one to branch out. The only thing he does risk is getting caught - actually he gets off on the idea. (Well… it depends who’s catching you two, Red’s fine… his grandpa though? That’s a no-go)

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Rarely does he ever go for one round, it’s usually two to three. He’s having fun, and well, you just look so good all blissed out and naked, he can’t help himself!

He lasts longer than his reign as champion. Is that even a brag though?

T = Toy (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

While his collection isn’t prolific by any means, he does have a couple things, some for you, some for him. He is particularly a fan of anything that vibrates

U = Unfair (how much do they like to tease?)

He is SUCH A TEASE. An absolute motherfucker. Never giving up, never giving you want you want until the very last moment – and you love it!

V = Volume (how loud are they? what sounds do they make?)

He loves to grunt and moan and mewl and groan, he’s never shy about how you make him feel. He isn’t very loud though.

He intentionally gets louder to piss off anyone in the next room – and to embarrass you.

W = Wild Card (a random nsfw headcanon.)

I would not put it past him to invite Red to watch you guys sometimes… maybe join? 👀

X = X-Ray (what’s going on in those pants?)

Bigger than average, almost enough to qualify for BDE but not quite, circumcised too

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Pretty high, he’s a horny little bastard. Ideally he would have you twice a day, every day.

Z = ZZZ (how quickly do they fall asleep afterward?)

He’s not really one to fall asleep afterwards, unless it’s been a particularly long day. Plus he doesn’t like going to sleep all sticky and sweaty, so that also deters him from hitting the hay right away.

#blue oak #blue oak x reader #blue oak headcanons #green oak #green oak x reader #green oak headcanons #request #blue motherfucking oak #green motherfucking oak

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halcyone-of-the-sea · 2 months

Text

CAT-EYES

PAIRING: Runaway Groom!John 'Soap' MacTavish x F!Thief!Reader

SYNOPSIS: What begins as a normal day of stalking the back road for wealthy carriages, turns into a walking nightmare spanning three days. Who is this finely-dressed man stumbling about your woods?

WORDCOUNT: 13.3k

WARNINGS: Blood, injury, light gore, pining, intense banter, sarcasm, insults, kind of enemies-to-lovers but eh, angst, protective!John, light hurt/comfort, bittersweet?, etc.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

You were sitting in the branches again.

Lightly swinging your legs from over the sides, the rough bark at your spine shifted as you let out a tiny sigh into the chilled air. In your ears, you’re hearing the bugs fly past, and the large hart about fifteen feet away pushing through the undergrowth—built body just barely there as the puff of his hot breath wafts upwards.

Twirling the arrow between your fingers, your bow sitting carefully in your lap, you close your eyes and listen.

The years had come and gone and yet you remained here in this small corner of nowhere—resting in this old gnarled oak tree with its branches and leaves giving protection from the elements when nothing else would. Sure, you had a small home to call your own in these very woods, but your windows didn’t give a view of the back road to the East. Barely anyone took it now, and you think you’re partially to blame for it, but, well, perhaps those pesky nobles shouldn’t have been too prone to flashing their coin.

So it was their fault, and on your failing honor, the money always went to a good cause anyway. Who wouldn’t want a poor woman to eat?

But, no. There are rules that every thief follows, no matter how unsavory. You never killed anyone; you never harmed them, either. Just the money—a brandished dagger or an arrow to the side of a carriage wouldn’t hurt anything besides pride, and many of those you stole from had enough to last them multiple lifetimes.

“Greedy fellows,” you sigh under your breath before you stretch like a cat, arching your spine and spreading your arms high above your head. The few rays of sun you get through the leaves dance across your face, but still, the thick layer of cold air is present all around.

Shuffling a bit in your shoulder-wrapping, you yawn and fall back once more—licking your lips and thinking of warm stew and fresh bread from the inn down in the town. Shivering, your fingers move to play with your bow, tapping along the bend of wood as the trees are brushed by a soft breeze. The hart below huffs louder still—hooves crushing across the fallen twigs, and you think it’s a bit strange the thing is still here despite your scent clearly in the air, but your eyes are more focused on the road than an animal.

Until it speaks.

“Hells fuckin’ bells, this damn get-up is going to be the death of me,” the words are barked out quickly—laced with heated anger as a branch is slapped by heavy hands.

Startling, your head snaps below you rapidly; heart jerking inside of your chest so suddenly that you nearly send yourself off the side of your perch. Scrambling for your bow to make sure it doesn’t clatter to the dirt of the Earth, you force down a loud gasp at what you see.

“Bastard things,” meets your ears as you stare open-eyed at a bulky man as he stumbles out into the small clearing below your tree, looking behind him as he pants. Your jaw goes slack at the extravagant apparel clothing this sudden stranger—a red, black, and blue tartan thrown over his shoulder, pinned with the silver image of a great boar head, and the kilt has more than one bramble stuck into it as it swishes with his turn.

He has a sporran as well, made of dark furs with three tassels hanging, the metal also silver, as your experienced eyes can tell as they narrow in confusion.

“What in the hell…” You breathe quietly, leaning just a bit more over the edge of your branch slowly.

There were black belts and buckles, rich shoes of leather, and your gaze slowly drags to the hanging body of a sword strapped to his waist, swinging as the man rests his feet and looks down at himself with a deep annoyance. There wasn’t an inch of him not coated in dirt, mud, or sweat—all that deer-ish panting and huffing escaping his mouth in condensed clouds.

“Fuckin’,” he stops himself from continuing the curse, holding up his hands as he glares down at his form. “Jesus, this’ll never come out at this rate.”

This comment made your lips twitch, eyebrow-raising as your sharp vision filtered from one detail to the next—learning the brown shade of his cut hair and the strange way it’s kept long down the center, and short along the sides. He had a strong build to him, and the boar broach, while it may be something to distinguish a family line as he seemed wealthy, perfectly reflected the individual.

He was a being of muscle and stubborn willpower. All tusk and bristled fur.

Your eyes linger a bit longer on the silver of that broach—the thing that glints in the light alluringly. You hum under your breath, tilting your head softly. Yet, your impression was made, and your wits are about you as sharply as they always had been.

This was a formal outfit, for a formal occasion. So, why was this important man trampling through the woods where you were set to ambush the next unassuming noble on the road? Why was he looking over his shoulder so tense-like? Your curiosity had piqued the second you’d figured out the rabid crunching from the bushes wasn’t a deer but instead, a wealthy-looking man who wasn’t, you admitted, too hard on the eyes.

Blinking, you smile, fingers twitching over your bow as the stranger brushes his vest rapidly, growling down at the large mud stains.

“Lost, then?” Your voice makes him startle, skull whipping forward to the tree trunk until you whistle and lean forward; moving your bow to push away the cover of leaves. “Up here, now,” blue eyes immediately lock with yours and you hum, chuckling, at the moment of shock that shines through. “Poor bastard, look at you and all that mud. You’ve been through hell, mate, eh? By the state of you, I’d say you fought a bear and found yourself at the end of an unfortunate outcome.”

Your words are smooth—nearly sly just as they always are. There’s intent leaking out of every one of them until all that remains is a layered purpose, like that of a butcher peeling away flesh from a hide. You have to process that skin: lay it to a rack to let it dry before it can be stretched to the desired firmness, and, finally, softened.

You took as much pleasure in the mental hunt as you did the payoff. Where there’s money to be earned, there’s also knowledge—you were a thief of all.

The man watches you with wide eyes, those blues glinting as they blink, glancing around rapidly to check for any others like you that may be hiding. He steps back, a hand brushing his sword, and you think to yourself slowly, he’s smart.

You breathe down chilled air. Before he responds he checks to make sure it’s not an ambush—the man understands he’s out of his element here. He’s on edge.

The both of you stare at one another, before your face shifts, brow-raising up on your forehead.

“What, did I startle you?” Legs looping to hang off the same side, your body feels lighter than a feather as you send yourself over the edge, knees taking the brunt of the force as your head catches up to your stomach—grunting as you hold your bow heavily in one hand. The jostle moves the limbs of your arrows, kept in a quiver at the small of your back.

Standing fully, you huff and set an easy smile to your lips, all teeth.

“My apologies, Lord.” Your free hand finds your heart, and you bend your spine forward. “I couldn’t help but see you down here below my tree.”

“Best to stay where you are,” the stranger grunts, only giving you enough of a glance to deem you unthreatening, apparently. Your form straightened. He watches you warily on the next go-around, attention always drifting to every snap of a twig off into the trees or the breeze shifting the leaves. “No need to apologize,” is the hurried reply, caught on a rough accent and a hissed gravel huff. “I’ll be on my way once I get my bearings. I don’t have time for conversation—and you should find your way home before long.” Eyes dart. “It isn’t good to be out today...or tonight, I’d say.”

If possible, your intrigue gains strength like a saint in Heaven.

The man’s square face raves in a clench of his jaw, tongue darting out to wet his lips.

“Are you sure you’re not lost, Lord?” You continue, undeterred, and shift your bow to sling it over your shoulder. “I live in these woods, I’d have no trouble directing you to the road. It isn’t far.”

“It’s John,” he grunts, glancing over, out of sorts. He was tired—his limbs were shaking with exertion even if he didn’t realize it yet. You think that perhaps if he were more focused, he’d ask why a woman had just landed in front of him from the branch of an Oak; dressed in trousers and a tunic, with just a woolen wrap to keep out the chill. Dirt over her face and a cunning edge to her words. Or, maybe he did know, you wondered, and simply didn’t care at the moment.

“Just call me Johnny. And,” he shakes his head firmly. “No. Go home to your husband, Bonnie, this doesn’t involve you.” He blinks, staring with a line across his forehead, stubble pulling along his cheeks. “I know this place—there’s a road just to the…” he turns his head to the direction of your trail, blinking at the coverage of thick foliage. “Fuck,” the dark-haired stranger growls, blues sparking up in a feral display of desperate weight.

You can only see the winding bends if you have a vantage point—that was why you chose your tree in the first place. Your smile grows.

“It’s that way, Lord,” you breathe, pointing in the opposite direction of the road, back to the small path of brambles and bushes that leads closer to your home instead. “We pass my property on the way, I can offer you some drink for your troubles.” A chuckle wafts the air. “You look like you need it.”

There’s a large moment of hesitation, in which you begin to wonder if this prize might be too big to catch, but, then, as there’s a flash of something over John’s face, he grits his teeth and sighs.

“Aye, fine,” he nods, looking to the side as he lowers his tense shoulders and clears his throat. You’re offered a sincere expression that borders on strained guilt. “Thank you, Dearie. I…” John pauses, frowning. “I hope I didn’t scare you too much when I burst through the trees like that—I’m in a bit of a rush if you can’t tell. I need to make for the shore.”

“My,” you huff, shifting your body and motioning him to follow—he does, setting his feet carefully ahead of him with experienced movements; keeping a respectable distance away. Johnny wasn’t new to the woods, then. He knew where to place his feet, at the very least. “The shore? That sounds exciting.” You conclude, hiding your creased brows as you stare forward. “Making for the South? I’ve heard handfuls are leaving for the weather.”

Looking over your shoulder, you make sure he keeps on your trail as you push through the bushes. “More agreeable, they say. Less rain.”

John chuckles, though he’s still visibly aware of everything around him. He spares you a look, a small smirk taking over his slightly chapped lips. “Keep talkin’ like that, and I just might.”

You’re surprised by the genuine laugh that fights in the back of your throat. Humming under your breath, you shrug it off as simply as a dog does a fly. It was painfully obvious neither of you trusted the other.

John’s eyes were stuck on the back of your head, and yours were eager to slide back to his form on the off-chance you had to use the dagger strapped to the meat of your thigh, carefully hidden under your trousers and accessible via a cut in your pocket. He was all muscle, and already you know that any attack coming to you would be unwise to try and retaliate—slash and retreat was a much better escape plan.

You could outrun him.

“So,” your words bleed curiosity, eyes imploring as you glance over your shoulder. “Why are you out in the woods, Johnny? In such a nice outfit as well. Is there something going on around here?”

The dark-haired man tilts his head your way, sighing long. “A wedding, actually. Horrible thing, if I have to comment on it.”

Your lips twitch.

“Oh, aye. I’d heard about it in town not two days ago—something about a marriage of advantage? Who was the unlucky pair, then?”

John clenched his jaw, hand coming up to push at the smear of dried blood on his cheek, which you’d just noticed wasn’t dirt and instead the result of a branch slap. Pale cheeks were wind-bitten. Lungs heavy. You narrow your gaze before stopping the surge of questions in your mouth.

“Some poor bastard, that’s who,” he responds slowly, mostly under his breath, before blinking. “How much further is the road, Dearie? No offense,” he grunts, staring seriously at you “but I'd rather not be here for much longer.”

The boar broach winks at you.

“Not far,” you smile coyly. “Forgive me, Lord John—”

“Just Johnny—”

“—But I do hope you’re not a fugitive.”

Blue eyes widen, sure feet faltering.

“.... Negative, Bonnie, no, I’m not running from the law. You don’t have to worry about any of that with me,” he breathes, and not once does he look away from you. You have to commend the man, he seemed an honest fellow, and those, you knew, were very rare indeed in your time. “I just need to get out of these woods. You’ll never hear from me again after I’m gone.” He takes a breath, looking past you. “You have my word.”

“Is it worth believing?” You push, smirking. “There’s few dressed like you that I can say it is.”

John licks his lips as you both pass a fallen tree, standing more side by side than previously now that the density of bushes had dispersed. He huffs, sending you a side-eye before he seems to study your face, brows pulling jokingly.

“I don’t think my answer would make much of a difference, would it?”

You pause, enjoying this man’s company more by the second. “No, it wouldn’t.” The both of you stare, before you grin and pull your sharp gaze away, chuckling. “Follow me,” you motion a hand. “Before you fall into a mud pit and completely ruin what little is left of your outfit that’s sellable—” You fumble, faking a cough as you clear your throat and finish off with tension now in your spine, “Salvageable.”

“If I’m bein’ honest, Bonnie,” Johnny grumbles, either not noticing the mistake or simply not registering it. “I wouldn’t fuckin’ care if it got covered in horse shit.”

—

You open the door to your home, shifting out of your bow and setting it against the wall with your quiver following to rest beside it as two siblings should.

“You’re lucky,” you hum, “I just went to the well this morning—freshwater is in the basin, cups on the table.”

John’s eyes give a firm once-over, fingers fidgeting above his sword’s hilt. He nods once, moving into the doorway, and immediately goes to where you describe and grabs onto a carved cup, tilting it in his hands.

“Thank you,” he mutters sincerely, hand dipping into the collection of water. “Eh,” John puffs a laugh, “I’d imagine I would still be stumbling along if it wasn’t for you, little Lady. These woods are larger than I remember them.”

“You come from around here?” You ask, brushing down your wool wrapping as you pull at the burs in the fiber. “Don’t recall your face in the town, though I’m not there often.”

“Hm,” he takes down the water, and you watch his Adam’s Apple bob as droplets slip from his lips to drop off his chin. Once he had drunk the entire cup, he removed it and wiped at his mouth with his forearm, blue eyes peeking above it. “I…wasn’t in town usually. Not really my place—the forests outside of my property took most of my attention.” He confesses, head tilting as the strange cut of his hair flops along with his skull. “Those, I could run blind.”

“I’m sure,” you puff a laugh.

While the air was somewhat calm, there was still an underlying hesitancy: Johnny didn’t know who you were, and you didn’t know what he was running from. Both were important questions that needed to be answered. Yet, John seemed the casual type.

“Doubt me?” His eyes narrow, a smile brewing.

“I never said that,” you walk past him, also grabbing a cup before dipping it into the basin. Your finger points. “But it would be interesting to test.”

“Unfortunately,” John breathes, setting down his cup, “I’m occupied at the moment.”

“A groom would be,” you tilt your head, casually sipping at your drink. “Your wife must be fucking fuming right now.”

The room flips on itself, and the man is instantly frozen.

Johnny stares, shocked, and you see his feet instinctually ready a stance to either blot to the door, or to take up his sword. His expression is layered with secrecy.

“...What was that?”

“I said your wife must be fucking fuming,” you say louder, slipping your hand into your pocket and shrugging to make it seem meaningless—your dagger’s hilt is smooth under your flesh. “Or did you not finish the ceremony? Betrothed, then, Johnny Boy?” Your eyes glint. “Hell, the event must have been absolutely laced with wealth. Did you have wine imported? New fabrics for your wedding clothes? I’d almost be disappointed if you didn’t.”

“That’s none of your business, Dearie,” he levels, glare heavy and firm while his face is stoic. You can clearly see his body wound up like a wild dog. “I think we’re done here.”

He backs up quickly, legs taking him to the exit until you’re suddenly right behind him, and the man feels the sharp press of a blade into the back of his spine.

Your lips are at his ear, and you chuckle. “Sorry, but we’re not done until anything valuable is in my hands and not on your body.”

“If you wanted me naked,” he growls, glaring from over his shoulder, as his form is rod-straight. “You could have just asked, Little Thief.”

“I’d call it heavy persuasion,” you chuff. “Sounds better, don’t you think.”

“I don’t have time for this,” Johnny barks, teeth gnashing. “Put the knife down before this gets ugly.”

“I’m not entirely sure I want to,” your answer meets the air. “There’s enough silver and fine fabric on you to feed me for an entire winter, even when the deer move to better grounds.”

John grits his molars, his neck bent as his fingers twitch at his sides, slipping along to his sword slowly.

“Money? That’s why you’ve got a bloody blade on me? Christ, my day just keeps getting better and better.” You glare, anger moving behind your eyes.

“Some people have to work for what they want, you—” Your hand is slapped to the side as John spins, and your dagger is sent along the floor in a loud clatter; a hand finding your upper arm as you gasp, and, suddenly, there’s the chilled edge of a blade at your throat.

Wide-eyed, you gape at John as the man smirks at you, yet his orbs are infected with annoyance.

“When you draw a knife on someone, you best know how to use it.” The edge is slightly pressed deeper and your body refuses to move. “You put it at the neck, Cat-Eyes.” John frowns, glaring. “Knew there was something about you—down to the bow and arrows.”

“What,” you growl out, a low embarrassment stemming in your gut as John’s puffs of breath move along your face. Your face burns, and your fingers jerk with anger. “A woman can’t have hobbies?”

“Not when I find ‘em up trees waiting to ambush any bastard that comes by wearing silver.”

“Mate,” you sneer, eyes glimmering. “At this point, you can keep your damn silver. It’s more of a reward to watch you stumble like a fool through the woods five feet from the road.” Johnny’s face tightens, yet there’s little time to fight like children anymore when the sound of breaking branches is echoing off the windows of the house.

Both of your necks whip to the door, yours a great deal more carefully as you’re slightly nicked by the sword's edge, but the drip of blood is voided. High voices carry over the air.

“Find him!”

“His tracks lead through here—get the hounds on it!”

“Here!”

Your brow raises, smirk getting larger as you chuckle under your breath. “Better get on your way quickly, then.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Johnny snarls, all at once ripping his sword from your neck yet keeping his ruthless grip on your upper arm. He looks nervous now—his eyes jumping from one place to another, thinking. “Where’s the damn road, you minx.”

You shrug, eyes sharp. “What road, Lord?”

The strong man rages, eyes burning with a thousand suns as the sword is taken from your neck and re-sheathed in one motion—a second hand staples itself to your waist, gripping tightly. You blink, saliva swallowed down thickly at the dig of heavy fingers into flesh as your heart stutters.

“You’re going to tell me,” John levels, shifting the both of you back as the sounds of fast footsteps are echoed by the bay of dogs. “As much as I would enjoy being away from you in any capacity at all,” you smile humorously to him through his dead-tone monologue, “I need a guide out of these woods and across the land. If you won’t help willingly, I’ll just have to make do.”

You blink, confused.

“Make do?” Your body is taken up, and you shout as you’re ruthlessly flung over the man’s shoulder with a hiked toss.

Johnny’s smirk is lost to you, but his chuckle is not as he dashes to the door and slams it open, taking a quick left and looping the house—diving into the foliage as if a fish to water. “Unhand me, you brute!” You scream, clawing and hitting at the man’s back—kicking even, as your knee speedily finds his ribcage. “Ow!” John laughs, his grin highly amused as he turns back to look at you. The shouts from the trees get larger, but that doesn’t help you much as you’re both soon going deeper and deeper into the woods. “Jesus, you have a pair of legs, don’t you?”

“If I were marrying you,” you bark down at him, struggling with all of your might as your home disappears from view. “I’d be running instead of the other way around!”

“Well,” Johnny calls, his sword bouncing off of his hip. “It’s a good thing you’re not, then, isn’t it, you bonnie little thief? Your husband would be dead and all of his coin in your dirty pockets!”

“Stop calling me a thief!” You send a closed-fisted slap to the top of his head, and he grunts, balking to the side. “Learn how to handle a fucking lady!”

“Lady?” He breathes heavily, shoving into another bush as leaves get tangled in his hair—twigs stuck in yours as you scowl rabidly. “If you’re a lady, Bonnie, then I’ve got a beast waiting for me back at my ceremony.”

—

He stopped when the light of the sun was low, and your constant attack of his spine left an array of large, fist-shaped bruises on his skin.

“Easy,” John grunts, dropping you with a huff to a down-turned stump.

It isn’t long before you shoot back up, hands clawing for his throat. “Hells Bells!” The man ducks, boyish glint in his eyes as he darts to the side, stepping out of the way as you stumble on tingly legs.

“I’m going to skin you alive,” you yell. “Piece of utter dog shite!”

“Now that’s a bit strong,” John breathes, panting from his mad run for his single life. “Don’t you think?”

You take one step forward, and he takes two back—stuck in a game of cat and mouse. Your eyes are like tiny fires, illuminated with only anger and hatred.

“Give me one reason why I should even attempt to help you,” your screams rise above the trees, hands splayed as John puts his hands to his knees, taking down breaths as sweat dribbles down his neck into his vest. “You-you,” your tongue fumbles, “kidnapper!”

“Technically, it would be an abduction, Dearie.” You slap him across the face and see the man’s cheeks go red from the blow. Shoving your nose nearly right into his, you sneer.

“Correct me again, and it’ll be your balls I hit next.”

He swallows, blinking, before he smirks and pairs it with a chuckle as his eyes spark. “Yes, Ma’am.”

You growl as he holds up his hands, moving one to rub at the back of his neck and itch at the shaved portion of his scalp. That damned smirk—you despised it.

“Get me to the closest port,” John settles, getting to business as his expression mellows out. “And I’ll make it worth your while, I give you my word.”

“What?” You laugh, shaking your head in exasperation the longer the silence falls; realizing how serious the man is. “Oh God in Heaven, this has to be a joke.”

“Anything you ask for, you can have from me when this is over,” he sighs, crossing his arms over his chest and shifting his mud-caked shoes. “I don’t need more than the fee to secure a spot on a good ship sailing away from here, and whatever is left I’ll give to you if you want it. You win in this situation, and I’m not trying to hide it from you.”

Your sharp eyes hone in, unwavering in its heat.

“Christ,” Johnny breathes, “I’d even give you my damn socks if that’s what it takes—I need to get out of here. Quickly.”

You stare, sneering. “Is your betrothed a damn witch or what?”

Blue eyes blink, and his words are firm as they meet air. “Are you taking up my offer or not, Cat-Eyes?”

“Of course, I’m taking the offer!” You bark ruthlessly, rolling your eyes as you kick at the dirt. Rocks and grass fly as darkness settles heavier. “I’m not a fool.”

“Well,” he sighs in relief, looking to the shadows along the ground. “I can’t say you’re that, either, but you are certainly something.”

You narrow your eyes at Johnny but don’t waste your time any longer as you turn and study what you can see.

You had grown up here—in this land. The woods knew you just as much as you knew them. Already you could pinpoint a general map of this section based on the large cracked boulder to your right, and the tiny cluster of trees across the way. You knew the way to town, and from there, the port.

“It’s a three-day walk,” you grumble, side-eyeing the man as he moves to lean against a trunk. He wouldn’t be moving through the night—you didn’t complain on that front either. “You grab at me like that again, and I’ll—”

“Let me guess,” Johnny raises a brow. “You’ll hit me in the balls.”

Your thin lips tell him all he needs to know.

Shuffling past him, you frown and pull your wrapping closer, shuffling your chin into it. No fires for warmth, you know—not with people on your trail.

“I want an explanation,” you turn and dig into him, walking closer as John looks to the side. “If I’m sticking my neck out, I want answers as well as coin.” Poking him in his chest, you force your neck to find his gaze. “Why are you running?”

Johnny sighs, licking his lips as he nods with a low, “Fine.”

You tilt your head, and John moves back to sit against the stump, moving out his hands in an honest display.

“I was told I needed to marry and produce heirs if my house was going to survive, aye?” He states, and you know the story well. “My parents are gone, and my sisters are all married, but my estate is barren of anyone besides myself and the staff. To keep the peace, I gave my word that I would join into a union to secure my assets for my bloodline.”

It was all so formal, the talk of a wife and children—you never understood it. Why couldn’t people simply marry who they love and leave it at that? All this bloodline and assets. Don’t they ever get sick of it?

“What’s your last name, then,” you ask. “McDuff? Mackenzie?”

“MacTavish,” John shakes his head, rubbing his hand up and down the back of his neck. Blue eyes stay with yours. “John MacTavish, I have lands to the North.”

Your brows tighten, arms going to cross themselves. “You’re running from your home because of a union you can freely exit?”

“It isn’t free,” he grumbles, shaking his head firmly and setting his jaw. “My father’s wishes for his children were written down and sealed. I was to marry a daughter of Arthur Campbell when I came of age.” John chuckles face going a bit pink. “As you can see, I’m a good few years past that.”

You tilt your head, and while Johnny was certainly passed the normal age of a male in his position to be wed, it struck you as odd as to why he didn’t want to be in the first place. In marriage during these times, a man has little to lose when joined. Almost nothing else changes for them except another title is added to their long line of others already living under him.

John continues, and you stay your snake-like tongue for now. “Wasn’t until I learned that by now, Mr. Campbell’s second born daughter, who was the only one near my age, had passed nearly an entire year ago—leaving only the oldest behind.”

“And?” You hum, intrigued to see where this goes. Johnny itches at his chin, scratching the stubble that lives there along with the dirt and grime. “What, I’d imagine the head of the Campbell family wanted to uphold the arrangement?”

“Aye, they did,” John grunts, nodding. “Fiona Campbell was the woman I was set to marry today.” He pauses, sighing heavily before looking to the side. Darkness had set, and there was little light by way to see the expression of guilt growing on his face. “I’m not lyin’ when I say I didn’t want to make such a mess of it, but there’s only so much a man can do when he learns his bride is not only twice his age,” John breathes, grunting, “but also just…” He stops himself, sighing.

You frown, gut swirling.

“She was blank, do you understand?” Johnny asks, motioning a hand in a display of unknowing explanation. “All she seemed to care about was children and wealth. A slate waiting to be filled with someone else’s thoughts and ideas. I didn’t want to be the one to fill it—I’ll not be some husband that runs a wife around like a dog. That isn’t right to me; it wasn’t how I was raised.”

Your mind twists on itself with an indefinable feeling—skin tight to your bones as if taken and tied by ropes. Your heart pumps blood a little harder, but just because this man seems less of a bastard doesn’t mean you like him. He’d dragged you into this hunting party of his grand problem, and the sooner you got your payment, the better and easier it would be to disappear.

“How noble,” you huff, rolling your eyes. Yet, your voice is hiding an under-the-breath shock. “So you bolted into the woods?”

Johnny rubs at his nose bridge, growling in annoyance. “Yes—it was the best cover I had. Been going through the trails since sunrise.” He slaps his hands to his knees and stands back up with a grunt and an ache in his thighs. His sarcastic voice peels the shadows. “Are we satisfied, now, Bonnie?”

“I won’t be until you’re out of my sight,” you level, moving forward. “So are you going to bed so I can drag you to the port or not?”

John’s body is heard shifting as you slip down the trunk of a tree, backside hitting grass as you settle in for a restless sleep—pulling your wrap tighter over your shoulders. Here you were: weaponless and in the company of a runaway groom still in all of his finery.

You wanted that damn boar broach.

“Sleep’ll be smart, we need to be up early,” John says seriously, his shoes shifting the leaves. Letting the chill seep in, you burrow into your fabrics and glare ahead. Johnny’s sly voice is so reminiscent of yours, that you have to wonder if the two of you were cut of the same cloth. “I won’t be opposed to a cuddle if you get chilly, Little Lady—”

“I should have stabbed you when I had the chance.”

Johnny’s low chuckles waft over the air, and then the silence settles fully.

Yet, you’re up far later than you anticipated…and you find this honest man’s confession to be bouncing inside of your skull like an enraged bird.

—

“Christ, did I do that?” A finger is pressed under your chin, tilting your head up as you strangle a gasp at the sudden motion.

Johnny looks at the tiny cut along your neck from the edge of his sword—the barely-there irritation of the skin that you’d been itching at as you walked forward through the trees.

He frowns, glancing into your eyes as your body stills at the feeling of warm flesh.

It was the first day of walking, and the silence between the two of you had stayed. Not only were you annoyed at the situation, but also John’s story—you’d been mulling it over since last night.

But below that anger, you might have even felt a little wrong.

“Who else?” You sigh sarcastically to the man, trying to hide the rising flood of heated shock. Thick digits drag along your esophagus slowly in study, and John’s face creases the longer he looks. He’s hunched near you, too—and you can smell the low scent of leather and earth.

Johnny pulls back with a huff and slips a hand into his sporran. Your eyes watch with blatant distrust until a relatively clean rag is taken out by a steady hand.

He motions with it. “Come ‘ere. Let me get the dirt out of it before it gets infected, eh?”

You sigh lowly but decide it’s a good idea at the very least before nodding—John’s fingers return as the light from above leaks through the branches. The morning was cold, but not unreasonable; the woods gave shelter from the otherwise abusive wind of the open country.

“Look at that,” you breathe, “The first nice thing you’ve done for me.”

“Ah,” John lightly glares. “Not quite right—I carried you away instead of making you run with me.”

Your eyes roll, and Johnny’s chuckle echoes off the surroundings.

“Such a gentleman,” you grumble, feeling the rag press into your throat and the soft scrape of it across your scratch.

“So,” the man hums, blue eyes stuck to your flesh as he takes care of it far more nicely than you’d imagined someone to be. “Seeing as I’ve shared my sob story, Cat-Eyes, I think I’d like to ask after yours.” His voice is full of amusement. “As we’ll be keeping one another company.”

“It’s less as in-depth than yours,” your fingers twitch as Johnny moves back after the cleaning is done—returning the rag to his sporran as he blinks.

“I don’t believe that,” he raises a brow, as you ignore the remembrance of his touch and continue, paving the trail as the dark-haired man follows a close distance behind. “Can’t say there’s many times I’ve seen an unwed woman wielding a bow and thieving someone out of their money. I’ve seen a lot of things, Bonnie,” he laughs, “but never that. Scared the hell out of me when you dropped down.”

“You can add me to the top of the list, I suppose,” you puff a teasing breath. After an expecting pause in the conversation, you grow bored of the nothingness.

“I’ve lived out here my entire life—I do what I have to. That’s all there is to it.”

John’s face gradually pulls into itself, only looking away from you to glance at the path to make sure he won’t fall.

“No family?”

“None,” you tilt your head, shimmying under a low branch and pushing leaves off your shoulders. They sway to the ground softly as you brush an arm over your forehead, sensing Johnny’s attention.

The man grunts. “M’sorry.”

Your feet stumble for a moment, pace faltering, until you cover it up easily. You turn to stare, narrowing your eyelids as open blues watch silently. John’s shoulder brushes yours.

“It’s life,” you blankly answer. “Least I wasn’t married off. Where you had to worry about a blank slate, I had to worry about becoming a broodmare for a man who most likely would never love me.”

Johnny licks his lips, eyes darting to the ground. “Can’t imagine you like that,” he mutters, but it isn’t some joke—he’s truthful.

“Perfect,” is what his ears twitch to. “Because I’d sooner act like you and bolt from my wedding as well.”

“Would that make me the thief in your story, then?” Johnny asks, chuffing as he smiles towards you, reaching a hand above him to push another branch out of the way—separating it from your form as you bend under. “I’m tellin’ you, I wouldn’t be very good at it. All that dropping down from trees would have my knees screamin’. Not that they don’t already.”

Your laugh pierces his chest, and the man sends a kind if not a bit startled, show of interest to you. It sounded like a bowstring slapping a wrist—harsh and telling all at once: something to be known and understood even if heard only once.

John blinks at you, and his heart patters along in his chest.

“I think it would be more fun to think about you with a dagger,” you narrow your gaze at him, smiling. “A small thing like that would disappear in your hands, Johnny Boy.”

“Disappear?” He tilts his head, raising his hands to hover in front of him. “Ah, they’re not that big, are they?”

You shift, and, nearly without thinking, you slip your hand to sit above his. Johnny makes a noise in the back of his throat, eyes going wide as you reference the size of his grip under yours, but allows you to regardless. A blue gaze slides to your face, openly imploring, before they dart back down to your shared hands as the roughness of his callouses scraped against your flesh.

“Care to compare?” You smirk, lifting a brow.

Johnny’s lips parted quickly, blinking a few times as he tried to find the words to accompany his running mind. He clears his throat, but the small sheen of red pigment on his cheeks is undeniable.

Laughing, you detach the connection and pull ahead, leaving the man behind as he stutters with a fast pulse.

“You’re the strangest woman I’ve ever met,” is what he decides minutes later, a large grin on his face—he was enjoying this, for whatever twisted and flawed reason, he was. John’s adrenaline was pumping, his heart was pounding, and his feet were passing over the earth, yet, even better, his brain was sparking at a mile a minute for the woman who walked only three feet ahead of him. He watches you take these trails like an expert, not having to look down at your feet as stone and wood are passed as if you were water above them, whispering and nearly silent.

“At least I’m not boring.” Your eyes meet him, and in them, they create some horribly beautiful amalgamation of twin flames—two sparking fires that feed from the same ember. “You would never catch me becoming a housewife, Johnny Boy.” Your gazes never break. “There are far too many things to steal in this country, and so very few men who can keep up.”

John’s chest moves in the beat of his pulse—his attention wholly transfixed upon the sight of this wild-born woman whom he’d only met yesterday. There were leaves in your wrap, and brown-black mud coated up to your ankles, even sweat sitting at your temple, yet you moved with grace befitting a Lady: never seeming to tire of jokes or firm surety. Yet…you weren’t cruel—you weren’t without purpose.

Any accomplished thief would have just stabbed him and taken what they needed in your house. You offered John water, however, you chose to give him a chance to comply. It was such a small thing in the grand scheme, but Johnny was always one to analyze how one feather on a bird can affect the flight pattern, so to speak. One action that speaks volumes.

You liked creating games, and, lucky for him, John loved to solve them.

And that glint in your sharp-slitted eyes was becoming more and more enjoyable every second, he found.

Pushing back the strands of his wayward hair, John keeps up with you for every step, not unfamiliar with how to traverse unsteady terrain. He wasn’t lying in what he told you—he had spent most of his life in the forest beside his home: hunting, fishing, riding. There wasn’t an activity he didn’t enjoy when he was outside, though his mother was always heavy on him about the mess he brought back.

Blue eyes drop back down to your dirt-laced pants, and the man can’t help but give his best, lip-pulling smile.

Hell, if he didn’t know any better, he would say that you were something that made so little, and at the same time so much, sense to him.

“Well, maybe they just aren’t accustomed to hiking, Little Cat-Eyed Thief.”

There was something special in the glances you two would throw one another.

—

Your hands dip into the clear water, fingers open to feel the current drag through them gently.

“If you want a sip,” you say, cupping the liquid and bringing it up to your lips, “it’s safe. This river flows down from the hills—not perfect, but there’s only a small chance it’ll make you sick.”

John comes up and hums as he sits down beside you, folding his legs under him and leaning forward to submerge his arms up to his elbows in water. He sighs, and you hear the river gurgling as the man begins to rub up his flesh, getting rid of all the grime.

“Good to know.” Blue eyes spare you a look as he continues. “What’s this one called?”

“Woodney river,” you answer. “Old Man Jack Woodney ran a water wheel on this river a long walk West. If this place had a name before that, it won’t tell.”

Johnny washes his face, scrubbing at his stubble as the scratch of it plays in the side of your ear. You watch along the opposite shore, eyes going from trees to birds—even to the shadows of fish that quickly swim past. Sighing, you have to admit the beauty of this adventure. There were few times you could say you’d gone this far into the woods with no wealth to trade in with the townspeople.

You side-eye John and study him just as heavily as you do a wild animal.

He wasn’t unattractive, you admitted. Strong—sturdy. Johnny was capable in a way that most Lords wouldn’t be, some, you guessed, would already be complaining about the uncomfortableness of their clothes or the flesh of their blistered feet. But John was bright-eyed; more than once you’d seen him actively watching the stretch of the trees for any sign of his pursuers. He never complained. Not once.

“You’re not as insufferable as I thought you’d be,” you say. Frowning, your hands push back into the water and cup some of the chilled liquid. You let it drip before you extend your hand to your neck and feel your eyes droop in relaxation.

Johnny laughs, staring at you for a minute as he slowly raises a brow. His face shows amusement.

“Am I supposed to be insulted or not?”

“I leave that for you to decide.”

John cracks his knuckles and shakes his head as he stands. “C’mon,” he drags, but the smile in his voice is clear. A hand is set in front of yours. “Sooner I get out the port, the sooner I’m out of your hair.”

Your face softens slightly.

“Am I ever going to get an apology for being tossed like a sack of potatoes?” Skin meets skin as you slip your hand into his, and the man pulls you to your feet as you smile. Calluses brush yours, and yet again, you find you enjoy this game—perhaps more than any other you’d played before.

And you don’t understand why.

Johnny’s fingers are firm over yours, curling as water drips to the ground below in reflective droplets, and you think back to the first time you’d met him—panting breath and rapid eyes. Your eyes glance to that boar broach, and find it attached to a man that is suddenly more of a mystery than a closed book.

“Easy,” John mutters, steadying you by your shoulders as you remember where you are. The dark-haired man squeezes your flesh and looks into you.

Blue eyes glint, and that smirk, you find, is always followed by a tiny tint of his head. “And what’s that look for, Cat-Eyes?”

“You called me strange.”

John’s brows furrow. “Aye. I did.” He looks you up and down slowly. “You are.”

You do the same to him, not wasting more than a moment. “And I find it funny that you haven’t said the same thing about yourself. You’re far more strange than I’ll ever be.”

“Guilty,” Johnny smiles, nodding slightly. His hands are still on you, and he doesn’t seem to even notice. “I don’t think a normal one would fuck off from his own wedding, would he?”

“Or kidnap a woman as a guide,” you state, pulling out of his warm hold even as your stomach flips as you brush past

“Again,” John’s hand motions through the air. “Abduct.”

“You’re just saying that because it sounds slightly better,” you grimace over your shoulder. “Like comparing a dog to a wolf.”

Johnny is hot on your heels, and when the river-eroded stepping stones to the other side of the water are the clear path to take, he’s already on the first and holding out his arm for you as a true gentleman would. You glance at him and hop to the first stone, liquid sloshing at your shoes.

Your smirk is stuck with his like two pieces of a quilt, and neither of you realizes it.

“You put a knife to my back first, Dearie.” John puffs and his face is right next to your ear as you both cross the stones—you lean into him and elbow his side before your arm slips into his. The man grunts, blinking as he chuckles above the slosh of water.

“So? Maybe I only point knives at the men I like.”

“Then I’d say you have every right to put one right at my throat.”

Feet move carefully over rocks and the spray of the water that coats them—a dance of wit in their own right. It was like animals circling one another, all sharp eyes and pulled lips trying to find weaknesses. Deadly flirting and addictive banter.

Where annoyance was such a common emotion, now there was a near expectation of jabs; of tantalizing quips for the glimpse of another's mind.

Neither of you could understand the other, which was exactly why you both reveled in the brush of warm flesh.

“Careful,” your feet meet the hard ground once more on the other side, and John only lets go when he knows that you don’t need him to steady you. “You’re engaged, Johnny Boy.”

Your tease slips in one ear and out the other, and the man watches you turn and begin walking again with sly eyes. John’s wide gaze stays stuck there for a moment—mouth eager to continue any conversation given. Watching you walk, his heart beats speedily.

“I think my, ah, reputation has all but ruined my chances on that front—”

There’s something unique about the sound of an arrow sinking into flesh that can’t really be forgotten. John had heard it many times—even been behind the bow that shot it; the slap of the string across his forearm, the set of his shoulder blades widening until the arrow disappeared.

But there’s something worse knowing that the sudden expulsion of air from lungs, in fact, belongs to you and not some wild animal.

You’re hit in a fraction of a second, down on the ground in less than that—your mind not even understanding above the immediate pressure and the slam of earth. You gasp loudly, and then the pain hits.

Hand snapping to your left bicep, your eyes slash down to stare as grass and mud fly into the air, rabid sounds escaping the back of your throat at the image that strikes you. An arrow was stuck deep into your skin—sticking out as blacked feathers flutter at the end of the shaft. The adrenaline hits rapidly, but the expression of horror still remains.

“Cat-Eyes!” Johnny yells, rushing forward, and unsheathing his sword, the sound of metal on metal harsh, but not as harsh as the sound of blood in the man’s ears.

You see the swelling of crimson, and, from under your fingers, the red of blood slips as your breathing gets hoarse. Biting into your lip, the quick sound of an under-the-breath groan of agony ripples.

But you’re not stupid.

Scrambling to your feet with the arrow still poking out of you, Johnny gets to you and pushes you behind him just as your shaking legs straighten—-your eyes slashing the woods in panic. Pain can wait.

The runaway groom spares you quick glances, pushing you further behind as his raging gaze darts this way and that. He yells into the trees, anger and order infecting his voice, “Show yourself!”

Just as suddenly, there’s a relieved call and a moving shadow. You clench your eyes tight and grit your teeth as a wave of pain rockets through you.

“Fuck,” you grind out, lost under the louder voice. Blood drips to the ground.

“My Lord!” Men burst through the leaves, bows, and swords aloft. “Quickly—to us!”

Johnny’s face is stiff; there isn’t an ounce of care, but the flash of recognition is swift, and in his chest, his heart, once beating so quickly, drops to his stomach.

Knights. His knights. Christ, the two of you hadn’t been fast enough.

“Stand down!” John spits, and cares little now for the thought of robbery or assault on his person—these men wouldn’t hurt him, but they were tasked to bring him back. “Fucking bawbags, the lot of you.”

His sword is sheathed by twitching fingers, and no sooner were those digits around you instead.

You pant hoarsely, face tight as your vibrating body tells you to run—eyes locked onto Johnny’s, the man in front of you ushers you over to the trunk of a tree hurriedly, uttering, “Just breathe now, Dearie—listen to me. It’s alright, aye?”

“What is this?” You raggedly push out, flinching as your spine meeting the bark jostles your arm painfully.

Your teeth grit, tears collecting in the corner of your vision.

“Knights,” John mutters as if his words are chased by wolves. “They’re after me—probably thought you were either holding me hostage or trying to lead me into an ambush.” The colorful fabric of his pinned tartan is dragged off from over his shoulder and shoved into your weeping flesh, and you lightly moan in agony, head falling back to the tree.

Tears slip from over your cheeks.

“Easy.” John’s concern is palpable. Worried eyes dart from your face to your wound. “Jesus,” he utters under his breath, anger flashing.

“Who is this?” One of the knights asks, taking a step forward as Johnny holds the fabric to your wound and speaks to you lowly, utterly ignoring the people behind him.

“I need to break the shaft off, okay?” Blue eyes try to keep even, and John’s other hand captures your cheek. He levels your face right in front of his, breathing lowly. The man clears his throat as your tight gaze flutters, tightening his grip. “Hey,” Johnny breathes. You grunt, voice a low grind.

“Just make it quick.”

John’s lips thin. “Yes, Ma’am.”

His large hand swiftly moves to the arrow, gripping around it just where flesh meets wood, you hiss loudly, spitting and raging as your vision partially blackens. Pain sparks up and down your spine, racing like a cat after a mouse.

“Lord,” one knight tries again, coming closer and reaching out for Johnny’s shoulder. “We need to get you back to Castle Campbell—we’ve been hoping to find you unharmed for your future wife’s comfort. Everyone is in a panic!”

“I’ll count down to three,” Johnny whispers to you, breathing heavily as he swallows and steady himself, hand lightly clammy. He wished he had his hunting gloves with him, but this was the best he could do. “Eh,” the man grunts, eyes steady, “You listening, Bonnie?”

“I don’t care what you count to,” you nearly bark, orbs flashing. “Just break the damn thing off—!”

The wood snaps with a defining splinter, and your scream afterward has the man having to hold you up with his arms around your waist, muttering into your ear with his lips against the shell.

“It’s alright, you’re alright,” John hears the clatter of the shaft to the grass just as the knight’s hand is heavily placed on his shoulder. “Breathe. M’right ‘ere.”

You sag into Johnny taking in the scent of sweat, blood, and dirt—the musk that stays even as your ears start ringing and the voices start getting louder.

“Best get your hands off o’ me before I break ‘em, Mate�� Johnny grunts from deep in his chest, shifting your body to the side and effectively ripping his flesh out of the knight’s hold.

All the others shift nervously—hands on their swords and looking back and forth between the strange scene.

Who were you? A mistress? A bandit luring their Lord away? Why was he with you out here; going in the opposite direction of where the ceremony was supposed to take place? They’d been given orders, and a knight is no good unless he can follow them.

John MacTavish was needed, and their duty was to see it through.

Johnny’s tartan had fallen to the ground behind the two of you, getting kicked by feet as they shuffle and as your blood slips off of your limp fingers. Mind failing, your pain-addled form shakes even as the knowledge of imminent danger is present.

You needed to figure out a way to get out of here.

Pushing your head up from Johnny’s shoulder, your eyes flutter but manage to analyze what little you can see clearly—adrenaline can take care of most of your agony, only leaving a dull ache as your heart continues to rage.

A group of four knights have their hands on their swords, and all of their eyes are on John.

Run, a deep part of you urges. Your legs are still good. Take off—none of them know the terrain like you do. You’ll be free.

You pant, your nostrils flaring with every breath as your sweat trickles off your jawline. Johnny’s grip on you tightens, head shifting back and forth, unknowing where to anchor itself, not understanding which is more important—your state, or your safety.

Free, free, free.

Your mind flashes to an empty house: silent woods. How you would go months without seeing another human face, but that was your own choice.

Wasn’t it?

Your eyes slip to Johnny.

“We’ve been tasked with bringing you back, My Lord,” the first knight says, looking heavily upon the runaway. “We have our orders. Please understand.”

“And I’m telling you your orders are utter shite,” John spits. “So back the fuck up and drag yourself out of this place. Now.” He glares, teeth snapping. “Those are my orders.”

Your arm is numb, and your chest expands as it sits on John’s own. And you think.

You knew you were a selfish person.

There was no debate about it—even when you’d stolen enough coin to feed you for weeks, there was still a part of you that longed for some chase; some challenge to your senses. You liked stealing. You liked the looks on people's faces when they realized they were being swindled for every valuable item they had in their possession. But there was something you liked even more than all of that—a challenge.

Johnny, to you, was that challenge. He was the largest challenge you’d ever faced. A Lord who was running from a bride, a man who held his beliefs higher than praise or standing…a blue-eyed stranger who matches your poking jabs word for word.

“Damn,” your growl, and John takes it as an exclamation of pain.

He grits his teeth and studies you, opening his mouth as his concern grows at the smell of blood.

“We need to tie it off,” he utters. “Bastards made me drop the tartan—I’m sorry, Dearie.”

Your lips are near his ear.

“When I say ‘go,’ run to the left.”

Johnny halts, attention snapping down. His fingers flinch around you, face open until the mask of sudden knowledge flies over it like a curtain. But it’s gone just as quickly—hidden by intelligent eyes that glint.

He doesn’t question you, and, in the crux of your shoulder, you get a near-infinitesimal nod from Johnny’s head.

The guards grow suspicious, all mulling closer by the second the longer you two remain so close—on opposite ends, you feel your heart mirroring John’s in a rapid and ravaging pulse: Thump-thump, thump-pump, thump-pump-thump.

Your attention is split three ways.

One: the rising numbness of your limbs and the heat of your brain. Two: the spread of Johnny’s panting breath across your sweat-slick skin and his hands tightening. Three: knights and the clatter of their armor. How they slide their hands across their weapons like intimate partners—the tension building in a hemp bowstring and the sound of arrows hitting off one another; one taken and played with between fingers so similarly to how you would act.

Your tear-stained eyes glare at the knight who’d shot you, your expression building into an act of hatred.

They take a step forward.

“Cat-Eyes—” Johnny begins to warn slowly.

“Go.” Your words are no shout. They don’t echo off the trees, which all hold their breeze in expectation, they don’t ring in ears except the ones of the man holding you. But they’re like the personification of a sword strike—like the release of an arrow and the impending thump of it hitting home.

The knights dash forward with calls for their Lord to stand down, but John’s already flinched away with a heavy grunt.

You do the same, your plan already formed—you would run the opposite way as Johnny, only slipping off when the cover of bushes had enshrouded the both of you to create two sets of tracks. With any luck, the guards would break off into two groups and pursue the both of you, and you could easily lose yours.

From there, circle back and find John: get your bearings before—

Arms never detach from your waist, and you’re once more tossed into a strong grip.

Eyes bugging, your focus breaks as gravity leaves and your head goes light. Johnny dashes away, and, just as the last time, you’re in his boar-like hold.

“You idiot!” You bark, the only difference to your predicament now is that you’re held in a bridal grip and not slung over his sweaty shoulder. There was only a small sliver of relief before the annoyance overtook you.

Johnny’s body crashes through the leaves, the shouts of the knights following as he gruffly raises his voice to the wind. The trees shake with amusement.

“Thinking you could hand over some directions, Dearie?!”

“Thinking you could put me down?!” You shout back, your arm sparking with pain as your opposite wraps the man’s neck firmly. “Damn.” Your lips twist in response. “My legs work just fine, you know—I wasn’t shot in the arse!”

“Acting like you were,” John grumbles, a branch slapping his cheek before you can. Despite it all, he chuckles wholeheartedly at his own joke.

An arrow whizzes through the air, and you yelp, ducking behind his body even more as your skull fits under his jaw. Your eyes snap to the visible terrain as Johnny’s legs push from one side to the other, running in a zig-zag pattern to avoid any more injuries.

“There,” your brows rise, fighting past the pain to find the familiar slash of a gnarled willow tree that whizzes by in brown and dark green.

Your head rises to see more of the woods, only to be pushed back down by an all-expansive hand as John utters a fast-breathed and firm, “Not the best idea.”

He shoves through brambles, and the sounds of rampaging knights are gaining. The second John sloshes through a low pool with a loud curse, you know instantly where you two are.

“Take a left near the overhang with vines coming down!”

“That one?”

“Yes!”

And so this game continued long after the knights had been lost to the woods, stumbling about without any sense of where they were, and the two of you came to a panting halt an hour later. Deep night was setting in on the second day, and, as your shaky feet hit the ground, John kept a heavy eye on you.

“Steady,” he mutters, sweat pouring off his face; saturating his clothes. He worriedly stares, looking you up and down.

Your vision swirls, the glade around you the exact place you both needed to be. There were hills here—surrounded by thick trenches carved by rivers long dried. The stars were out, and the moon was shining down; one thin trickle of a river was feet away, the sound of water on rocks addictive to your pounding ears.

All of it was null to the way your gut flipped at the humming agony of your arm.

Your hand snaps to the puncture and the flood of blood is enough to leave your fingers dripping with crimson glinting in moonlight.

There’s a heavy ripping sound, and then you find yourself sitting down in the grass as Johnny shoves the torn fabric of his suit into the small river. You hear the splashing as you glance down at your arm before rapidly looking away, biting at your lip as your spine hunches.

“Christ almighty,” you growl, glaring to the side as your fingers quiver. Tears well.

“The arrowhead is keeping pressure,” John hurries to speak, trying to distract you just as his own exhaustion is bare to see. The rung-out fabric is looped around your arm, tying off until you have to strangle down a scream at the tightness on your flesh. “We have to keep it there until there’s enough sterile material to fix it up.”

“Your knights are pieces of work,” you hiss, more from the wound than anything.

John gives a little look, blue eyes darting up until falling.

“Aye, they are.” His strong jaw clenches. “This shouldn’t have happened, Dearie.”

You stare as he finishes up, and you feel his fingertips slipping along your arm. Your eyelids droop, closing as your nostrils suck in shaky air. You take a moment to take in the silence that follows, John’s eyes not straying as your face is illuminated.

He watches the streaks of dirt along your skin, and, in a soft attempt to fix this, he stands and moves to the river once more—cleaning his hands. Johnny takes the rag out of his sporran and wets it, coming back to your body as the grass waves back and forth.

“Let me…” the man says slowly, and your eyes open back up as the chilled item is pushed to your cheek.

Wide orbs staring forward, you swallow as John concentrates on cleaning your skin carefully.

“Infection is my immediate concern,” the man says with a sigh, yet continues as your tongue stays tied; face growing more heated by the second. “But you mentioned it takes three days to the town, aye? That’s not unmanageable with two already under our feet.”

Blood, dirt, and sweat slip away with every drag of the fabric, and, stuck into his suit, that boar broach still sits—crooked now, but still there.

Your attention is momentarily taken by it, and your fingers twitch before you notice how very close John’s face is to yours.

The man focuses, relaying a plan as you’re stuck mute; your arm holding its own heartbeat as the grass shifts.

“I’ll use what I have to get you into a doctor. Make sure there’ll be no problems before I get going.” John blinks, tilting his head. “‘Course, that’ll decrease the amount you’ll get in turn.”

“Fortunately for you,” you breathe, voice strained, and blue eyes stick to yours. John pauses, brows slightly pulling up on his face. “I value my own life too much to complain about a man paying for my care.”

John’s rag stays where he placed it, right on the swell of your cheek as, this close to one another, you can see the scar on his chin—one that curves to the muscle and bone.

He was handsome, make no mistake about it. You knew it; you understood it. A lord with morals and the smarts to go along with the strength—now that was utterly unheard of. You liked that, truthfully. Someone who could think, and plan.

And, of course, follow directions.

“You’ll be fine,” John mutters, glancing to the side, yet his head doesn’t move back. He clears his throat with a sigh.

You roll your eyes, moving out and grabbing his hand with the rag. Johnny’s expression startles, arm tensing as you steal the dripping fabric from him. Water runs down your neck.

“I know I am.” You huff, smiling.

You push the rag onto his own face, and begin your cat-like approval of his character, washing away the grime just as he had your own. A blue gaze stays firmly on your flesh, the man’s shoulders loosening until he’s sitting just in front of you. Verident grass whispers in a language like a soft breeze, and you study Johnny’s skin until everything becomes a mosaic of scars and blemishes—stories woven into sinews holding as much history as the tines on an elk or the chipped tusks of a boar.

Two days and he’d become even more of a mystery than he had been before. Or maybe he always had been, and now your previous contentment had grown into an addictive curiosity.

He’d called you Cat-Eyes.

You couldn’t love a title more—not even if Lady were on the table.

“I settle my scores,” you grunt, tilting your head as you push back mud from his forehead, leaning in. “You wash my face, I wash yours.”

“Literally, then?” A sarcastic eyebrow makes you huff.

“Is that not what I’m doing, Johnny Boy?”

“Seems so, Cat-Eyes.”

Your matching glares hold no venom.

Smirking, you lean back after the last swipe at his forehead, pushing Johnny’s skull back as he chuckles, moon-lit visage something you would see scrawled on the parchment of an old story-teller's sketches. A man not made for this age.

Your face softens slowly, and it is a strange thing sitting atop the sharpness of your eyes.

John’s chuckles fade, and his breath catches in his throat.

“You’re an odd fellow, John MacTavish,” you say, here, with blood from an arrow wound drying to crack along your skin.

Your head tilts, eyes narrowing.

John’s lips slowly pull upwards, and the water on both of your faces drips to the listening earth. This place is alive with possibilities, and all of them stem from the growing draw of twisted human souls.

A just Lord and a cunning thief.

A sharp-eyed cat and a strong-bodied boar.

A future and a past—riddled with arrow marks; long sword slashes.

“Well…then I’m thinking we make quite the pair, Bonnie.”

—

The third day was spent on the latter half of the journey. Re-correcting the course and giving the best directions you could with the numb ache of your arm spreading up your shoulder.

But the town came easily as the midday sun rose to crest your heads.

“Want to lean on me?” Johnny asks, standing close by, but you’re already shaking your head.

“Feels better to keep myself focused,” you mutter, grimacing. You look at the entrance to the town, and as you both walk it, the stares are immediate—shocked residents looking at the haggard appearance of two individuals.

“Alright,” John sighs, side-eyeing you. “Just let me know if you’re goin’ to keel over, yeah?”

“Duly noted,” you tilt your head his way. Your lips smirk like a smug child. “You’ll catch me, won’t you?”

Johnny chuckles, shrugging his wide shoulders as his tattered finery is chock-full of brambles and leaves.

“Can’t say no to that.”

The Lord kept his promise—the doctor took the arrowhead, cleaned, cauterized the wound, and sutured you back up. For payment, as you lightly touch the bandaged section of your arm, you find your eyes freezing as a silver glinting reflects off the light through the window.

Johnny hands over his boar broach to the doctor.

Widely staring at the prize being pawned off for your health, your heart stutters in heavy greed.

No, you rapidly think. No, that was the one thing that I—

Your eyes inexplicably snap to Johnny.

The immediate thought is that he looks angry, but, the next and more accurate one, is that he looks sad.

John’s blues continue to follow the broach as it disappears into the doctor's pocket, and you see the weight fall back to his chest and arms—sitting heavy like a stone. The man’s feet shift along the ground for a moment, and he looks like he’s about to say something before he grits his teeth and shakes his head to himself. John grunts, fixing his nose.

You blink, and then your heart twists in on itself for no reason at all.

Or maybe there was a reason.

“C’mon, Cat-Eyes,” Johnny sighs heavily, tilting his head as his arms cross. “Time to see me off, then.”

He walks out the door, and your eyes follow like a loyal dog.

Standing there for a moment, your lips contort your face into a deep frown, sharp eyes gaining a sheen of light anxiety. Yet, there was no mistaking it—it had been said a million times—if there was one thing you could do, it was play a game.

Maybe you weren’t so bad after all.

“Oh my,” you mutter, putting a hand to your head and stumbling.

The doctor starts forward quickly, grasping at your un-injured arm. “Careful now, Woman. Don’t rip my sutures.”

He tells you, getting you fully up as you chuckle, placing your hands above his thigh, fingers twitching on the fabric.

“Apologies, apologies,” you mutter, retracting your hand and cupping it against your abdomen with a meek smile. “Just a little lightheaded. Thank you, Doctor.”

“Best be off, now,” the man grumbles, and you’re out the door swiftly.

Your shoes meet the cobble as you shift your hands into your pockets, shifting your body to look along after the large form that leans against the home waiting for you.

“Ready?” Johnny asks, though his attention is firmly planted on the ground five feet away, lost in thought.

“Aye,” you sigh, nodding your head to the East. “Port’s that way—let’s get this nightmare over with.”

“Hm,” Johnny agrees, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Quite the adventure for a runaway.”

“You can’t have thought it would be easy?” Your brows furrow. “You’re heir to the MacTavish lands.”

“I never said I thought it would be easy,” John moves at your side, a great hulk of honesty. He hands over his attention at last as you fiddle with the smooth item in your pocket. He huffs. “Just that it was an…experience, to say the least. One I’m not sure I’d want to go through again.”

“You’ll miss me,” you say confidently, meeting eyes with a smirk and a cocky shift to your form despite the lessening pain.

Johnny watches. He smiles, eyes crinkling. “Aye. I will.” You pause, expression stilling. The man hums, and you swear there’s something special in the way you can describe his look as delicate.

“You were the one part that I don’t regret,” he says lastly to you as if the words aren’t spears laced with poison.

Your breath gets caught in a way it never has, and John seems not to notice as he pulls ahead, muttering about him seeing the docks. The smell of salt water slaps your nostrils.

The legs under you slow until they’re stopped, and you look after the man as he begins speaking to workers along the port, asking for a spot on the large ships that sit in the water, rocking with the winds.

Your eyes trail, seeing the way he talks with such confidence—openly offering physical labor as his payment for even the dark quarters with the other laborers.

After what seems like hours of watching, you see him shake another man’s hand, and, just like that, passage is earned. He jogs back over, smiling.

You open your mouth to say something, but find the words null and void. You don’t know what to express. For once in your life, everything seems to be moving horrifically fast.

“Well,” John’s expression slowly sombers. “I suppose this is it then. I said you could ask for anything, and, I suppose,” he shifts the sword on his belt off after a moment, looking down at it. He holds the item, testing its weight. “I suppose this is all I have left.” Blue eyes slowly meet yours. “If you’ll take it.”

Always a thief, never a saint.

“I suppose it’ll have to do, Johnny Boy,” you sigh, the pain in your heart outweighing the one on your arm. “Hand it over.”

The sword is transferred and slipped to your waist. Many a man on the docks gives you strange looks, and, you find you welcome it—none could compare to the admiration in Johnny’s.

You lick your lips.

“Do one thing for me, hm?”

“Anything,” John mutters, not blinking.

You move forward, and place a firm kiss to his lips.

The man freezes, fingers twitching at his sides, before he sags and bends into you—his great hand capturing your cheek until all that remains in the sear of his heat and the scent of the earth.

You softly pull away, though not far enough as to where you can’t feel his breath on yours. Gazing into his eyes, you smile the widest you can remember.

“Don’t go running away from another wedding anytime soon. I can only save so many Lords until my reputation gets slandered.”

“You’re ruthless,” John growls, smirking as his eyes glint, looking you up and down. “Little Thief.”

He leans in for another kiss, but your hands only shift above his sporran before you dart back, chuckling.

“Always,” your hands brush his sword on your hip as you walk backward, grinning behind the strange pressure in your heart. If someone asked, you wouldn’t even know how to describe it.

John takes a step after you, face open and raw—an emotion you feel like mirroring if not for your excellent control.

Not yet.

“I’ll take care of this,” you call, patting the weapon.

“Good,” Johnny calls, taking one more step forward before stopping himself. One of the shipmates calls from the dock, and his eyes snap there with a jaw tense. He looks back at you and blinks, brows pulling in. In the heat of the moment, he exclaimed, “I’ll be back for it one day, Cat-Eyes!”

“Lovely!” You yell, back turning. “I’ll be waiting for you then. I do hope you’ll be able to get through the woods, and, please, don’t keep a woman waiting! You’re much too handsome for any of that.”

And then you’re gone.

Johnny stares at where you were, his smile large and his face heated, and after a louder call from the dock, he’s forced to turn and jog to the ship, hurrying up the board until he can stand on the swaying deck with his two feet.

He looks around, chuckling to himself, and still, his eyes shift back to land without fail; hoping for a glimpse—a small shadow.

Shaking his head at his own foolishness, the man reaches into his sporran for his rag, intent to clean and set it to dry when he’s able to get the chance to settle in. It’s one of the last items to his name no matter how pathetic.

Yet, his hands touch something far more precious.

Johnny’s body goes as straight as a tree when his fingers caress smooth metal, and, slowly, his grip pulls out the silver of his broach.

It glints in his palm as he sets it there, and his breath is stolen in one great bound of shock and confusion.

“What in the…” He already knows.

Johnny’s feet take him to the railing gently, and his body stands there—torn wedding clothes and all looking over a town that begins to move as the ship sets sail. He holds the broach carefully, not intending to let it go for an age. He just needs to lay low for a while. He needs time.

John smiles.

“I won’t keep you waiting,” he mutters to the moving homes, and he swears he sees the glint of a sword from between the buildings, and two sharp eyes digging into him.

You’re there, of course. Hidden as always.

You want your trees back, and you think that a day of sitting in your Oak is a good idea.

There’s dirt on your face again—your lips are chapped and your face is bitten by the wind; scars and blemishes that time won't heal but make all the more visible as the ages pass by on bird’s wings and cat purrs. Yet here is an action held immemorial.

A gift given freely by a thief is one to be treasured like pure gold, and the man on the ship knows that more intimately than any other as he clips the broach to himself with a hum.

You both watch the other from opposite, distant points until there’s no sun in the sky left to see with. Just a faint hope lights the way: the hope that your eyes will grace each other's visage, at the very least, just one more time in your life.

There was never a story so willing to be experienced than that of a runaway groom and his cat-eyed Thief.

TAGS:

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1K notes · View notes

twogyuu · 1 month

Text

[924]

pairing: vernon x fem!reader

prompt: a grabs ahold of b's hand/arm just as the latter starts to turn away/etc.

genre: fluff, (newly) established relationship

warnings: none

wc: ~1.1k

a/n: this has been sitting in my drafts for a hot minute-

. . . .

There's a sharp ache in the side of your neck that wakes you as you felt the weight underneath your head that starts to shift and rock. Wincing and grimacing at the discomfort, you groggily try to sit up, pushing yourself into a sitting position, leveraging his thigh to steady yourself. Your death grip seems to awake your companion - what seemed like just slight adjustments in sleep evolving into a stretch and a satisfying crack of his back.

When your eyes finally adjust to the dimly lit room and you're slowly coming to your senses, you fumble for your phone on his scratched, oak coffee table with one of the legs loose, so it was a little wobbly. The overwashed navy blue fleece resting on your lap falls to the ground in the process, the table teetering ever so slightly as you slide the device off the surface.

12:43AM, reads the screen.

You inhale sharply, tossing your head back.

"What's up?" Vernon asks groggily, his voice husky with sleep. Using the heels of his hands, he adjusts himself to press up against the arm of the loveseat.

You chuckle half-heartedly, "We fell asleep watching TV." You gesture to the screen that had returned to the series list, the same preview playing over and over again in the upper right hand corner.

"Oops," Vernon mumbles lightly. He reaches for his water bottle and takes a quick swig to clear his throat.

"I should go," you tell him, starting to rise from your seat. You didn't think twice about it, to be frank. Yes, you've been dating for a few months now, but staying over was anything short of natural. You bend over the side of the couch, starting to search for your coat and bag you had tossed haphazardly on the floor early. You can hear Vernon rustling on the couch. The friction of his jeans brushing against the patterned surface of the hand-me-down couch from Seungcheol, the springs creaking under his weight.

Though you feel nonchalant, Vernon feels like the moment is sand slipping through his fingers - it's going all too fast and he can't think straight, yet he's grasping for each and every piece like his life depends on it.

Vernon's hand latches onto your wrist, the warmth of his finger tips seeping into your skin, prompting you to pause in your search and look back to him. He's leaned over on his knees, his other free hand propping himself up. His mouth fell agape; the light from the screen danced in the reflection of his dark hazel eyes, innocent, but somewhat serious.

There's a beat that passes before he utters a soft, "Wait."

You don't answer, only giving him your full attention and looking at him expectantly for him to ask his question.

"Do you wanna stay over?" he asks, "It's late."

This takes you by surprise because you have never not left his place during darker hours of the night before. He usually drove you back himself if you hadn't driven over - or if the both of you were too tired, he'd help pay for an Uber back (only because you refused to let him pay in full).

You chuckle nervously, defaulting to what you know best: teasing.

"Aw," you coo, leaning over to be closer to him. You slip your wrist out of his hold to let your fingers intertwine with his loosely. You joke lightheartedly, "Only if you miss me."

He doesn't hesitate to reply: "I do."

Your tongue dries, the snarky rounds of teases lodging in your throat.

The way your mischevious smile falls and your eyes darting away from him while blinking rapidly is all Vernon needs to know you were affected.

That was the thing about Vernon - perhaps if it was anyone else, they might have fallen into a fluster with your question, or at best, banter back. However, it wasn't in Vernon's nature to flirt and joke in such fashion. Times like this reminds you of that this was part of the reason you fell for him in the first place. He catches you off-guard, his straightforward nature somehow managing to make you flustered and skittish. Whether it's intentional or not, he knows the ins and outs of your little default flirting games, getting you to tell him what you really wanted, rather than dancing around it. His intentions were always clear.

"Stay?" Vernon asks again, already pulling you away from your stuff.

"A-are you sure?" you stammer, "We haven't . . . done this before."

"I'm sure," he tells you firmly. Quickly, he adds to reassure you, "There's a first time for everything."

"I don't have my pajamas or anything," you argue weakly.

"You can borrow some of my sweats and t-shirts."

"Oh," you look away bashfully. It wasn't even a scandalous request, yet it still feels so intimate, it makes you shy.

He gives you a moment to collect yourself, before giving your hand a quick squeeze again.

"So?" he asks softly. "If you really feel that weird about it-"

"It's fine," you cut him off quickly. You let out a deep breath, not wanting this moment to slip out of your hands because you were being squeamish.

"You're nervous, aren't you?" he challenges. You don't bother to look at him, but you knew, he was grinning - you could practically hear the way his lips creak up into a wide smile at your fidgeting.

"I-I'm just . . . you know," your voice trails off, finally having enough courage to look up at him.

"I don't know, actually," Vernon pushes on.

He waits patiently for your answer. The moment growing more awkward as the seconds pass by. The antique clock Seungkwan got at the garage sale two blocks away ticking away in the background making it known that you were taking a rather long time to answer what was supposed to be a simple question.

"I'll stay," you finally relent quietly.

"Was it that hard to say?" He brushes his thumbs across your knuckles once before letting go. Indeed, you were equally straightforward when the time was right, but feelings, particularly romantic ones, weren't one of them. Heck, after almost three months of what he'd like to think was mutual pining, it took Wonwoo (voluntarily by his own will for the record - Vernon would never force you to do this) cornering you after work and personally delivering you hostage to Vernon at his apartment (a story for another time).

"Yes," you mumble.

He plants a chaste kiss on your temple. You could feel him smiling into it. "I'll go get you something to wear."

#vernon x reader #vernon fluff #vernon scenarios #seventeen x reader #seventeen fluff #seventeen scenarios

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ladywuvly · 2 months

Text

♱ long before (s2!daryl dixon x green!f!reader)

summary|| As fate would have it, a devastating tragedy compelled your father to open up your front gates to a group of families seeking refuge from the new world. Amidst the unexpected turn of events, a certain individual with piercing blue eyes, a colorful vocabulary, and a rugged charm manages to capture your attention. However, as tensions rise and emotions become complicated, you're forced to confess your deepest desires. wc: 6.9k

warnings|| MDNI; 18+ content, semi-public, blood/violence + mentions of, swearing, size kink (if you squint), smut, fingering/handjob (f!m!receiving), unprotected sex (p!v), rough sex, bodily fluids (sp!t/squ!rt), praise, agegap, begging, breeding, cockwarming;

masterlist. socials. rec.

It wasn't every day there were new people at the farm, let alone living people. However, when your older sister's shrilling voice called for your father and the all too familiar smell of fresh blood came wafting through the front door, you knew the peaceful salvation of your childhood home was no longer hidden from the terrors of the new world.

That had been weeks ago; before families were camped out under the shade of the oak trees in your front yard, before Otis had died, before you had met Rick, or before you had sat and comforted Lori as her son lay dying in the blood-stained sheets of your guest bedroom.

Long before they'd found any evidence of Carol's little girl being anywhere nearby, and even longer before a certain blue-eyed, foul-mouthed, redneck had caught your attention.

You'd heard him ride in with the rest of them. Watching him from behind the white, wooden column of the porch. Tanned, dirt and sweat-covered skin, dressed in a sleeveless button-up that exposed the toned muscles of his arms, which flexed as he flicked the kick-stand down and stepped off the motorbike.

It didn't take long for you to make friends with the rest of the group. Although, no matter how often you tried making peace with the shaggy-haired man, he always seemed to push you further and further away.

Perhaps he knew what you were trying to do. Like he'd somehow discovered your ploy. How you'd show up at his tent on the outskirts of the camp, dressed in those frilly little sun dresses, presenting him with something or another that always made his heart swell up in contentment.

No matter how short he was with you, or how many times he told you it was 'nun of y'er business', he still couldn't help but feel unworthy as he watched you frolic your way towards his islet tent.

It wasn't until he had heard you one morning, from the other side of the bathroom door, that was when he knew he was fucked.

Carol had demanded he'd shower, it did no good to have him 'stinking up every place he went' as she had put it. He had scoffed before eventually agreeing a shower might actually do him some good.

A place where he could relax for a short time, stretch out his strained muscles in the lukewarm water as he cleared his head from the millions of thoughts he had since their arrival.

The water was already running and he was praying that whoever it was in there, wasn't using up the rest of the warm water. He was about ready to bang on the door and call out a harsh 'hurry up in there'. That was until he heard the sweet sound of your voice from inside, suddenly rendering him speechless.

"oh daryl..." All high pitched and slurred, in that sweet honey-coated tone filled with urgency and pleasure. He wanted to move, he truly did.

You were just a girl, maybe 8 or 9 years younger than him. You didn't know what you were doing, acting solely on desire and lust, still foolish and ignorant about the real world.

That is what he told himself, as he imagined what you must've looked like in the moment. Hand shoved between the milky plush of your thighs, the same ones he'd caught himself staring at more times than he'd like to admit.

Skin flushed under the warm water and steam of the shower, face displaying a consuming look of pleasure, as your orgasm coaxed little whimpers and whines out of your parted lips. "daryl, daryl, daryl..."

He couldn't stand there any longer after listening to you finish. Rushing through the front door and down the porch steps before hastily grabbing his crossbow and wandering off in hopes of finding anything to distract himself from the blasphemous image of you.

Little did he know that wasn't the first time you had touched yourself to the thought of him.

Earlier that morning you'd woken up from an erotic-filled sleep, slick and sticky, panties clinging to the dripping arousal of your cunt as you rubbed your thighs together hoping to provide enough friction to lazily get yourself off.

You huffed and turned over a few times before giving up. Throwing the covers off and exposing yourself to the nipping cold of your bedroom.

You walked towards the window, hoping that the sight of the barely rising sun, was excuse enough to crawl back under the covers and rest for a few more minutes, before having to get up to start your early morning chores. However, the sight below you caused a chill to run up your spine, as goosebumps littered your skin.

He stood below your window, the picnic bench in front of him occupied by his crossbow, and the remains of his catch for this morning's breakfast.

The way he so effortlessly worked on his kill; cleaning, gutting, and skinning whatever poor little forest critter so foolishly crossed his path.

The sight of his muscular arms, as they flexed and strained, was alluring compared to his gore-full actions, and before you knew what you were doing, your hand snuck under the hem of your short, floral nightie.

Resting a hand against the window-pane as your other slipped into your panties. Your fingers played with the wetness of your arousal, coating them in your slick as you eased them past your slippery lips and into your weeping entrance.

You moaned quietly, pulling them back out to rub circles against your swollen clit and then plunging them back into your aching cunt again. Repeating the action over and over again, as you ogled the man before you.

You imagined what it would feel like to have his hands on you, instead of your own. Bigger and rougher, the callused skin of his palms running along the softness of your waist and hips, as he'd rock you back and forth on the pads of his fingers.

Gripping his forearm for leverage as you quivered against him. The pure strength of his bicep, which you'd grip at to keep yourself from collapsing into a puddle of sweat and cum.

His warm breath fanning against your cheek and neck, as he encouraged you with those sweet little praises. "You like that, huh? You like that, sweetheart?...Come on, sweet girl don't you want to cum?"

Your walls tightened as you became painfully close to the edge. Your legs trembled, knees buckling as you held yourself up against the glass. Your orgasm was bliss, soaking your thighs and hand with your release, as you muffled a cry, biting your bottom lip in order to keep yourself quiet.

Coming back down from your high you quickly stepped away from the window shamefully. Your skin felt hot and sticky, and even after just getting yourself off, you wanted more, you needed more.

You decided a shower would be best, something relaxing and isolate where you could refresh yourself, before having to go about your day.

It had been a few hours and you were now seated by the burning embers from this morning's fire, helping put together whatever you could find to make some sort of breakfast for everyone before they all got to work for the day.

You spotted Daryl as he made his way out of your house and back towards the camp. His hair, a darker shade of brown, as fresh water droplets dripped down the recently cleaned skin of his neck.

God, what you would give for him to let you lick it up with the flick of your tongue.

You imagined what he'd smell like, what he tasted like. His scent, wouldn't be clouded with any fragrance that distracted from his natural musk. His skin, warm and inviting against the drag of your tongue. You could feel yourself getting wet at just the thought of him.

Quickly you grabbed a plate and made your way up across the grass, stopping in front of him as he was headed towards the RV. You watched him freeze, his eyes casted down and away from you, causing you to frown at his refusal to meet your gaze.

"Here, I know it's not much... but you should eat something."

You offered him the small plate, only for him to hum and shake his head. "'m fine." You were concerned at his refusal. He was not a man of many words, but that didn’t mean dismissing you like this altogether. He'd normally just take whatever it was you were offering him, before going back to whatever it was he was doing.

"Look... everyone's eaten and you know nobody's going to be seen harboring back for seconds, given our circumstances." You laughed it off in hopes of lightening the mood. Only when you looked back at him, did you notice the look of anger take over his features.

"No you look... I don't know what ya' think this is, but we're not 'ere ta' make no friends. Our only priority is findin' a way ta' get the hell off this farm, and whether or not I eat this piss-pour excuse of a breakfast, is gonna change that. Ya' hearin' me?"

His words caught you off guard. They were harsh and filled with hurt, and knowing that those around you had most likely turned to look at him, once the sound of his voice had risen, was humiliating.

It was mean and patronizing, and you were embarrassed that he'd thought he could talk to you like that. Like you were just some ignorant girl. Like someone who didn't really know what was actually going on.

It didn't take you very long to flee after that. You had almost scoffed at him before shoving the plate of food into his chest and brushing past his shoulder.

You weren't going to let everyone see just how much his words had gotten to you, so you lifted your head and walked with poise back towards your house.

Only once you'd made it into the solidarity of your kitchen did you let out the breath you were holding. Cursing at yourself for not seeing it sooner, by letting the way he made you feel cloud your judgment of who he really was, who he really thought you were.

In that moment you decided for yourself to just push down this stupid little crush and focus on what was important. Helping get these people back on their feet, so they could get a move on.

You consumed yourself with chores the next few days. Helping Lori with laundry, Carol with any cooking, and even offered Andrea a hand maintaining the few guns your father had let them keep, while helping protect the farm.

She was pleasantly surprised at how much you knew about such weapons, but you quickly reminded her how you'd grown up and where exactly you were raised. This only encouraged her to teasingly call you a 'hick', before asking if you wanted to go shooting with her and Shane the next time they went out. You told her you'd think about it before excusing yourself from the RV.

That night you sat with them beside the dying fire, and it didn't take long before you felt the heat of a lingering gaze on you. However, this one was dark and grim, greedy and predatory. Unlike the light, pastel blue eyes you were so familiar with.

These felt thieving, like they were just waiting watching for the chance to get you alone, secluded and out of the keen sight of others.

You felt it best to turn in for the night. Walking back towards the house you weren't scared, far from it, you knew this farm like the back of your hand and yet you still felt unease.

The snap of a twig behind you caused you to gasp, as you expected a walker to step out in front of you and bite your face clean off. However, the sight of Shane emerging from the shadows was strangely just as frightening. Those temperamental eyes that looked you up and down, caused you to wrap your arms a little tighter around yourself.

"Andrea tells me you're good with a gun. Real good..."

Nodding compliantly, hoping it would satisfy him to cut the conversation short and allow you to escape inside. Except your silence only made him pursue you even more.

"She's giving me more credit than I deserve. My father taught me how to shoot, that's all." You quickly remitted.

Shane wandered closer and you took a quick look back at the house, trying to estimate how many steps you would need to take in order to get back inside if need be.

"What is your deal then, hm?"

"My deal?"

"I just mean, I'm trynna figure you out."

"I guess there's just not much to figure."

"Oh, but that's where you're wrong. I just want to know what makes a pretty young thing, such as yourself swoon so hard over that dirty old red-neck." You're shocked at the accuracy of his accusation.

"I think I'm tired, and it's getting late, and I'd like to go to bed. Goodnight Shane."

"Now just wait a min-Everythin' alright?" Daryl suddenly emerged from behind you and you'd soon grown frustrated.

You hadn't seen nor spoken to him in the last few days yet, here he was showing up to save you like you were some damsel in distress.

Dragging a hand through your hair and letting out an exasperated sigh. You watched as Shane stepped closer to the both of you. "You got impeccable timing, you know that?"

"Hell's that suppose to mean?"

"Nothin' man, just getting to know our hosts a little better, that's all."

"Yeah? Well don't."

Scoffing at both of the men, drawing their attention back to you. "I'm not standing around here to watch a cock-fight. Both of you, just leave me the hell alone." You left them at the bottom of the porch steps.

"Wait a sec... Just stop!... I'm sorry!" You froze, halfway through the door frame.

Slowly, you turned around to find Daryl standing at the bottom of the stairs, nervously scratching at the back of his neck.

"What?"

"I was pissed, 'n took it out on ya'. Wasn't right."

"Carol make you come up here."

"Nah, feel bad... didn't mean to hurt ya'."

You were genuinely surprised that he'd come back to apologize all on his own. Looking away from him seemed to be the only way to keep a smile from breaking out on your face. You nodded and hoped it was enough to get him to retreat, but he didn't.

"Hey..."

He called, making you look up at him through your lashes.

"When I say m'sorry, I mean it."

You nodded again quickly. "I believe you."

It was now his turn to nod this time, as he drummed his thumb against the side of his leg. "Only... you owe me another apology."

"Hmm?"

"That breakfast... was not piss-poor… made that with love." You teased, leaning up against the door frame.

He stifled a laugh and kicked at the dirt in front of him. "M'sorry 'bout that too then."

You couldn't help but flash a warm smile at him while you watched him fidget before you. Stepping back onto the porch and descending the steps until you stood face-to-face with him at the bottom.

You gazed into his eyes and despite the slight height you got from the stair, you found yourself still having to tilt your head up to meet his gaze. You couldn't help but feel a sense of curiosity, as there was an indescribable emotion hidden within them.

Rather than trying to put it into words, you decided to thank him. Affectionately rising up onto your tiptoes and planting a gentle kiss on his cheek. "Goodnight, Daryl."

Then with a smile, you made your way back up the stairs and towards the front door, as you finally entered the house.

You didn't sleep well that night, tossing and turning for hours before you eventually gave up on sleep altogether.

Once the sun began to rise you slipped on your boots and grabbed a sweater, hoping maybe an early morning walk could help you clear your thoughts.

They only really consisted of one thing, Daryl. Even though he apologized, that hadn't been the only time he'd been short with you. Sure, it was the first time he'd actually yelled at you.

You wondered why he had been so mean, what had made him snapping at you so early in the early morning, when you were just trying to be kind to him? What had happened that he was already pissed off about?

Coming up late last night when Shane had been trying to 'get to know you', and as much as he made you uncomfortable, why did Daryl feel the need to interrupt?

Did he secretly despise you that much that he had to ward off people from trying to befriend you? It confused you, how such a seemingly simple man suddenly became so complex.

You hadn't realized how far you had wandered until the sight of the old brick chimney came into view. You knew it was time to turn back when you'd somehow managed to subconsciously walk towards the one thing that was causing you so much troubled.

"What're ya' doin'?"

You gasped at the gruff sound of his voice. Turning around to see Daryl not too far from you. He looked well rested, like he'd just woken up.

"Couldn't sleep. Needed some time to think, figured a walk'd do me some good."

"So ya' wondered all the way out 'ere."

"I guess so."

He looked off from you, not having anything else to say, or maybe just not having the words. "Did I do something? I mean... to bother you or upset you in some way. I get it now that you're not one to make friends, but after you apologized… I just don't know what I did to deserve you making sure everyone stays clear of me."

"Like ya' talk with Shane was so friendly."

"That's not what I meant and you know it."

There was a pause as you waited for Daryl to speak.

"I heard ya'..."

Your face scrunched in confusion and Daryl sighed. He'd hoped you'd understood what he was talking about without having to go into much detail about it.

"Sayin' my name..."

Your eyes widened and you flushed bright red in embarrassment.

"I- I'm sorry, I thought the window was closed... I-"

"Window? Nah... in the shower..."

You became even more humiliated, not only by the fact that he had heard you touching yourself to the thought of him, but as you accidentally confessed how you'd done it more than just the once.

"Look y're a real pretty girl 'n all, but it just ain't right... With yer father lettin' us stay 'ere, it wouldn't be right."

"So you're saying if this wasn't the circumstance where we met, you'd take me to bed?"

"That ain't what I'm sayin'."

"Then what are you saying, Daryl?"

"That m'pushing 30 and y're barely 20..."

"21... 'n I'm not a child, Daryl. Not where it counts..."

"Shouldn't be sayin' that."

"Why? Why does it matter? We're both adults. There's not a soul in that house that would even give a damn. The world has ended, there are no laws, no morals to live by anymore. There's only wants and needs, and I don't want to be scared anymore... and I need you..."

You stepped closer to him, eyes never leaving his as you bravely confessed your feelings. "Tell me... Tell me that you don't need me."

You watched his pale blue eyes as he studied your face. It was as if he was almost trying to decide whether or not this was real, whether or not you were real.

"I can't... but I can't give you what you want either..."

"You can-No, I can't"

"What is it you think that I want?"

"Why me, huh?... What is it about me that you need?" He dismissed your question with one of his own.

"I see the way that you are... with Rick... with Carol. You want to protect us, I know that."

He tried to brush you off, turning around to distance himself from you, but you grabbed his arm, stepping ahead of him to stop him from walking away from you. "Don't run from me. I may not know what you were like before this, but I know who you are now. I know why you showed up last night..."

"Ya' don't know nothin' ." He spit out.

"I know you wanted to protect me. I know that's why you warded off Shane, and why you apologized. You might not know why, but I do. It's because you care. You care about me... and us, and this place, and you can pretend all you want like you don't, but you can't fool me, Daryl."

You hadn't let go of him and you reached out to grab his other hand. He flinched and tried to pull back from you, but you didn't let him. Bringing his hand up to cup your cheek as you looked up at him longingly.

"So stay with me... Tell me that you do need me... and don't let anyone take me away from you..." All he did was stare at you, his hand remained relaxed against your cheek.

You were about to drop it in defeat and sulk your way back to the house, but his hand flexed, fingers threading into your hair and pulling you closer to him. You closed your eyes as he rested his forehead against yours. His breath was ragged and you were afraid he was going to pull back and leave you all alone.

He nudged the tip of your nose with his before tilting your head back and finally slotting his lips against your own. Leading closer into him, your grip on his arm tightened and you tugged him closer by the collar of his shirt. His hand still in your hair, pulled you into his needy mouth as his arm wrapped around your waist to keep you firmly pressed up against him.

You put every last bit of your doubt into the kiss, hoping he'd take it all away from you. That he could somehow tell you that you were right without having to pull his lips away from yours.

His hands began to wander, gripping at you wherever he could. Brushing your hair over your shoulders, and pulling at the sleeves of your sweater to run his hands over the exposed skin of your back. Hooking your arm around his neck and kissing him fiercely as he leaned down into you.

You opened your mouth for him as his hands traveled down over your waist. He rocked you against him, pressing you into his hips causing you to gasp into his mouth at the feeling of his erection digging into your stomach.

His hands didn't stop, leaving behind a trail of fire in their wake as he continued to caress as much of your skin as he could. He took a step forward and you stumbled for only a moment before he lifted you off of your feet and wrapped your legs around his hips.

He led you both over to his camp, ripping open his partially zipped tent before ducking the both of you inside. You hadn't pulled your mouth from his neck, and when he finally set you on trembling legs you were able to see just how much damage you'd done to the heated skin.

He began stripping you of your sweater as you simultaneously worked on the buttons of his shirt, only you hesitated at the sight of the pronounced tainted skin on his chest. His shirt was pushed off his shoulders, hanging around his elbows allowing his arms minimal movement to clutch at your waist.

Your fingers traced over the scars causing him to flinch, reaching up to pull your hands from his body. He looked at your face, utterly surprised when it wasn't a look of disgust or pity gracing your soft features. Instead, a small smile and a look of admiration.

He let your hands slowly rest back against his heaving chest. Caressing your wrists as you went back to tracing the darkened skin. He closed his eyes when you'd touched a particularly deep one, shivering as fantom pain shot across his shoulder.

You froze and he opened his eyes to see you looking back up at him worriedly. He hummed and leaned closer, nudging his nose against the side of yours before kissing you softly. "S'okay... don't hurt."

You nodded, slowly pushing his shirt the rest of the way off his arms, letting it fall, discarded on the ground behind him. You toed off your boots as he led you back towards his cot. Placing kisses along each new area of your body he exposed to the chilled morning air, as he pulled off your sweater and slip.

It soon joined his shirt and his own boots on the floor as he laid you bare on his sleeping bag, which was accompanied by a few thick blankets and a single pillow.

He pulled back to look at you, kneeling between your parted legs. Your hair, fanned out around your head in a halo as your skin flushed pink. A few marks along your neck and chest, turning a dark purple, a harsh comparison to your delicate complexion. It caused his heart to beat furiously, as his chest filled with pride.

You whined and reached out for him hoping he fall back down against you. Only he took your hands in his and pinned them against the blankets. His fingers laced and gripped tightly onto yours as he dove back into your neck and chest to continue his assault on your sensitive skin.

Your back arched as he sucked and nipped at the tender skin of your throat and your hips rolled against his, chasing that feverish need for pleasure. He pulled away from you again and you almost cried, but at the rustling sound of fabric and the jingle of his belt you whimpered in anticipation.

He was back on you before you could even call out for him. Hands ripping your panties down your legs, caressing the soft skin of your ankle, and placing a kiss to the muscular physique of your calf. "Daryl..."

There it was, that oh so familiar plead of his name, laced with lust and desire.

"Again..." He demanded.

"Daryl?... please, Daryl..."

He crawled between your legs, resting against the pillow with his hands on either side of your head. His lips caught yours as you caressed his sides. Hands traveling over his back, only to find more scars etched into his hardened skin.

You moaned into his mouth, pulling him even tighter against you, grinding your hips into his erection, which strained against the fabric of his boxers.

He growled and kissed your lips deeper, ignoring the voice in the back of his head telling him to stop. Telling him that he wasn't worthy enough. That he didn't deserve the privilege of touching your flawless skin with his tainted hands, or pressing his roughened lips against your delicate ones.

However, as your hand caught him firmly around the neck, keeping him from pulling away from you, and your hips eagerly bucked against his once again, as a symphony of your pleasure flowed into his mouth, the voice fell silent. Drowned out and muffled by you, and you alone.

Your fingers toyed with the waistband of his underwear, teasing the trail of hair leading down from his navel, before slipping underneath the fabric. His breath hitched as your nimble fingers wrapped tightly around the base of his cock, tugging at him skillfully.

He leaned in, resting his forehead against your temple, his lips parted as his breath quickened. You continued to attentively pump your hand up and down his hardened length. The fingers of your other hand tenderly running through his hair, showering him with affection as your lips brushed against his flushed cheek, leaving a trail of lingering kisses on his heated skin.

"f-fu... Fuck..." He stammered, his hands tightened around the quilts, his arms trembling as he struggled to maintain his advantage above you.

He suddenly pulled your hand off from around him, pinning it back onto the bed. "S'enough... won't last if ya' keep that up."

He groaned, trailing his free hand down between your bodies, as his fingers parted your lips, playing gently with your dripping folds. The sound of his voice in your ear sent shivers down your spine, causing you to gasp in pleasure. You instinctively clung onto him as you tugged lightly on his hair in an attempt to encourage him.

Daryl only hummed into your skin, nuzzling his face into your neck as he continued collecting your arousal on the tips of his callused fingers, spreading your wetness around your swollen, aching clit.

If it were anyone else, you might have felt self-conscious about how wet he'd made you from something as simple as his hands against your skin, or how perfectly his body fit against yours, but with Daryl, all your thoughts melted away. Everything just felt so comfortable, so right.

His fingers circled the rim of your entrance, slipping gently between your lips. You guided him back up to your awaiting mouth from his spot nuzzled in the valley of your breasts, where he'd taken his sweet time kissing and nipping at the swell of them.

His mouth latched onto yours, sucking at your lips and teasing you by grazing his teeth over them softly. You couldn't help but revel in the comfort and pleasure of his touch.

His finger eased smoothly into your slick entrance. Your walls drawing them in with an eager clench as a rush of pleasure washed over you, causing you to moan against him. His fingertip caressed against the certain spot deep inside of you.

You arched your back in ecstasy as he suddenly added another finger. He stretched you even further causing you to let out a pleasureful moan that made him pause and instantly detach from your lips.

Looking at you in disbelief, he couldn’t believe the sight before him, the way your hips began to hump against his hand, aiding to the pleasure coiling in the pit of your stomach.

You were absolutely breathtaking in your blissed-out state. His fingers stilled causing you to whine in frustration leaving you craving their pleasurable drag, in and out of your walls.

He sat up, pulling them from your weeping cunt to watch himself as he spread your arousal around your messy clit. You nodded your head profusely. "Don't stop..."

Your chest heaved, rising and falling in anticipation as he slipped his fingers back inside of you. His thighs were tensing beneath yours, trying his hardest not to grind against you, lost in his own pleasure.

That's when you felt him, your knees tightened around his hips as his cock started riding shamelessly against your inner thigh. You reached for his face, getting him to look back up at you as you caressed his jaw. "Please, Daryl... I need you-I need to feel you inside of me."

His fingers pulled back out from your entrance, popping them into his mouth, and licking them clean. Hoping to satisfy his craving of you with just a subtle taste of your sweet cunt.

He gripped at your waist, thumbs massaging circles against your hip-bones as he imagined tasting you straight from the source.

His lips were back on yours in seconds, hands pushing his boxers down franticly, and before you had the chance to catch your breath he'd already lined up at your entrance.

The head of his cock smeared in your slick as he teased you. He could feel your warmth soaking him as he let out a labored sigh, wishing he could just stuff you full.

He began slowly pushing into you and you clamp down on him. Your gasp turned more erratic and you fisted the sheets. Pulling them from your grasp, he reached out gripping your hand once you let out a soft hiss from the stretch of him.

"Relax sweetheart, we'll go slow."

He started carefully, squeezing your hand, he felt a subtle sting as your nails pierced through the skin on the back of his hand. A melody of whines slipped from between your lips, at the feeling of his cock, as it slid perfectly inside of your walls, as he entered himself inch by delicious inch.

He leaned forward, nose brushing against yours. As you both panted against each other, it kept you anchored to reality as he finally bottomed out inside of you with a deep groan.

Then he waited, for an agonizingly long time, before you gave him the go-ahead. Bucking your hips up, begging for more friction. He takes his time fucking into you, long and slow at first. Reaching so deeply with each thrust of his hips, causing you to gasp every time he bottomed out.

You withered and squirmed beneath him, moaning incoherent nonsense as he pinned you to the bed. Crying out as your orgasm built up at an aching speed.

His hips moved faster at the feeling of your walls relaxing around him, fitting his cock like a glove. You moaned and wrapped your legs tighter around his hips, he hooked the hinge of his arm under your knee. Lifting it up higher, so you could feel him reach deeper inside of you.

He let out a grunt against the crook of your neck. He couldn't see the way you took every inch of him, but he could hear it. The sticky squelching of your pliant little cunt being speared open for him, and fuck, he could feel it.

Hot, wet, and tight around him. Grinding your hips in rhythm with his, as noisy wet clicks filled the background noise. Embarrassingly loud, from how slick you'd become as he stuffed you full of him.

Hanging by a thread as you used your free hand to claw at his lower back, leaving angry red lines behind on his skin, as you held onto him desperately. He groaned at the pain and yet he enjoyed it. The feeling of being so close to you.

Your thighs opened wide for him, puffy lips spread and swollen, sensitive, aching clit peeking out from them, dragging against the hair at the base of him.

All of you, covered in a glossy sheen of your own juices, as a ring of arousal collected at the base of his cock, dripping onto his thighs. "Don't stop, m'gonna cum. Daryl, don't stop!"

You could feel the coil inside of you snap, a string of cries escaped your lips as your eyes rolled into the back of your head. The high-pitched whine of his name. His lips consumed yours as he thrusted into you riding out your orgasm.

The convulsing clench of your cunt was his downfall. His upper body collapsing on top of you as he moaned out your name, before painting your insides white, your womb becoming nice and full with the weight of his release.

Reaching back down, he cupped his balls, massaging them. Causing himself to cum even harder. He began whimpering against your ear, and his sloppy wet kisses left behind a trail of drool, as he kissed down the side of your neck.

The two of you remained connected for quite some time. Basking in the sex-filled atmosphere of his tent. Your labored breaths and the cooing of the mourning doves, was your lullaby.

The heat radiating from the man caging you on the cot was bliss. Even as your skin was covered in a sheer layer of moisture you didn't want him to move from his place on top of you.

Your breaths began to even out and the gentle kisses he was placing on your shoulders and neck became less frequent. He began to sit up, and you felt his softened member start to slip from inside you causing your hands to tighten on his body, stopping his retreat. He froze at the sudden movement, afraid he'd hurt you somehow.

"Not yet... just- just a few more minutes." You whispered, pulling him back down to lay on your chest. The full wait of him felt safe, comforting. It was like you'd finally found solace after months of living in fear.

His fingers played with your wild hair, lulling you to sleep. Your hands on his back, mindlessly began running over his jagged scars, causing him to shiver at your unfamiliar touch, but he didn't stop you.

As much as Daryl hated what his father had done to him as a child, and the disgust he felt when looking at the lifelong reminder, your gentle hands were a beautiful relief in comparison to his father’s cruel ones.

There were so many things about you that were beautiful, so many things he just wasn’t used to. He wondered if that’s why he must've turned you away so often.

How when you offered things to show your affection towards him; books, food, clothes, blankets, sometimes even just your thoughts and feelings, he'd turn you away.

It was weird for him to experience such kindness from people around him and when a beautiful girl, such as yourself, suddenly came along and did it all, without asking for anything in return, it scared him.

He expected that after a while you’d start asking things of him. Things he'd have a hard time being able to give you. Things like friendship and vulnerability, things that oftentimes led him to get taken advantage of.

And yet as you laid beneath him he found himself wanting to give you such things. Wanting to be the reason you smiled so brightly at him, or laughed so beautifully. He wanted to feel the caress of your hands anywhere and anytime he could have them.

He hadn’t realized what exactly made him so wary of you in the beginning, but he knew now. He knew that you brought to life a part of him that he thought had died, a long time ago, long before the world had even ended.

Long before his brother had convinced him they were weaknesses, and even longer before his father had tried to beat them out of him.

"Would ya' leave with me?" He asked unexpectedly.

"What?"

"If... When we 'ave ta leave. Would ya' come with me?"

His words took you by surprise. You hadn't really ever thought about leaving the farm. Not that there were many places to even run towards, but still, the thought of leaving behind everything you'd ever known scared you.

Yet, you also knew that the farm wouldn't be safe forever. You knew that one day you would have to leave, and whether it was now; with Daryl and his group, or later; with your father and sisters. That was the real question.

"I don't know. I think there's more to it." You said.

"Why's that?"

"I can't leave my family Daryl... but I also know that what we have here won't last forever, no matter how badly I wish it could." You could feel Daryl shift against you, leaning back to look up at you as you spoke.

"I'm worried that if we're out there on our own, my father won't be able to protect us all, no matter how badly he'd try." It hurt for you to admit it, but you weren't fool enough to not realize the truth.

"It would either make us learn how to protect each other or find others to protect us... and to tell you the truth, I don't know how many people are out there, that are worth protecting back..." You felt tears well up behind your eyes, as a hitch caught in your throat.

"Not like you... or Lori and Carl... or Glenn... Carol... I'm afraid that God might've dropped you all on our doorstep and my father is just too blind to see it."

Daryl wanted to laugh at the mention of God. "Ya' think God did all this?"

"I'd like to think he did something. Whether that be bring the dead back walking or sending you here. Either one puts a strain on my fathers pride." You teased.

Daryl sat up and this time you didn't stop him. You winced as you felt him disconnect from you and sighed as his hands ran softly over your hips. "'mazes me ya' still believe in God after everythin'"

"I've got to believe in something." You said smiling up at him. He laughed and shook his head.

As Daryl's eyes fixated on you, it was evident that his mind was lost in thought. He couldn't help but admire your unwavering faith in something as unreliable as God, even at a time like this.

In this apocalyptic world, it wasn't God who would shield you from the undead. It wouldn't be God who'd courageously plunge a knife into their skulls or valiantly fight to protect you from any danger, but rather Daryl.

He would willingly place himself between you and the snapping teeth of a walker or stand as a shield, to the menacing barrel of a gun, if it meant protecting your life.

Even in a world as cruel and tormenting as this one, he was determined to make sure you had a chance to experience just a little bit more time.

"Then believe in me..."

He looked at you, really looked at you this time.

"Don't waste y'er energy believin' in somethin' ya' don't even know will protect ya' or not... Not when m'here..."

#ladywuvly. m.list #18+ blog #18+ content #daryl smut #daryl fanfiction #daryl imagine #the walking dead fanfiction #daryl dixon #navi.#daryl dixon smut #daryl dixon x fem!reader #daryl dixon x reader #twd #daryl x you #daryl x reader #soft!daryl #fandom #hurt/comfort

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nsharks · 4 months

Text

bleeding blue | apocalypse au

part sixteen —other parts

pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x fem!reader words: 3.2k tags: death. blood. cannibalism mention. zombies of course. AFAB reader. single dad ghost. there will be sex but it isn't here yet. slow burn!!! enemies to lovers. summary: After losing your companions, you run into a skull-masked man and his daughter. They are your last hope for survival.

"I can't believe I woke up early for this."

You loosen your muscles, turning to dead weight in Ghost's arms, before using the awkward position to slip away.

"No one said you had to be here," Ghost throws over his shoulder before his gaze fleets back to yours. "Good. Again."

Blue groans as you reposition yourself for the basic defense maneuver. You can see why she'd find this boring— Ghost started you off with a move so basic it was almost insulting when he explained it. But you quickly realized his reasoning. Each time you do it, your pulse tampers down less and less while in his arms. He's had to remind you a few times to "Breathe, Twix"— the order so quietly uttered into the shell of your ear that Blue likely didn't even notice. Perhaps you have grown used to taking orders from him, or maybe having Blue close by is helping, because you've been able to ward off the threat of panic so far.

"Fine, I'm out of here," Blue rolls her eyes the second you've finished the move again. "Let me know when you—" she jabs a finger at Ghost, "—decide to make things more interesting." As she leaps off the log she'd been perched upon, she adds: "Oh, and don't get too close, Ghost. She might bite."

"So I've heard."

Heat rises to your cheeks. And then— you're alone with him. You take a swig of water from the canister Blue lent you to ignore the awkward feeling in your chest. "Again?" You wipe your mouth. "Or have I passed your test?"

"Test?" he repeats, the gravel in his voice rolling over the word as his brow lifts in question.

"Well, I haven't... had a repeat of last time, and it's been an hour. I think I've proved that I'm ready for something a little more..."

"More what?"

More interesting.

"Hand-to-hand, I guess. Something harder."

He rubs his jaw, as if to feign consideration. "Right, then. Let's try another one."

The next one he shows you is still simple, except you fail every other time. Basically, he gets behind you and you have to sidestep to avoid the trap of his arms. Somehow, Ghost's movements are light as a feather even though he's built like a rock.

But then you get better at it. The next two days pass in much the same manner until you start to react a bit faster. He teaches you a few more basic tactics. How to wriggle your wrist out of someone's hold. How to avoid being grabbed from the front by rolling to the ground. All defense. After hours spent with him, he doesn't even have to remind you to breathe anymore. Chopping wood in the evenings helps, too. You go to bed exhausted and wake up ready to practice before Ghost even touches your shoulder.

On the third day, he gets you up even earlier. You cram your wool-covered toes into boots, confine your hair in a hasty bun, and follow him to the clearing that has become your makeshift training ground. It takes you a moment to register that some things are different: his boots have been replaced by sneakers, and his jeans by loose, black gym shorts. The exposed skin is strange, making your eyes widen. If Blue were awake, she'd certainly comment.

His calves mirror the strength of the rest of him, and on the left leg, swirling ink catches your eye, reminiscent of the tattoos you discovered when tending to his wound. Skulls and a dagger; perhaps corny, but fitting for him.

"Have you tried it?" His voice cuts through your thoughts.

"Tried what?"

"The bow."

A white cloud forms around your mouth as you nod. "Needed some getting used to, like you said."

Yesterday you had a hard time shooting a chipmunk you wanted for lunch, so you spent the early afternoon firing arrows at oaks until the new bow started to feel like an extension of your limbs again.

"Let me know if I need to adjust the string."

"Will do," you say, almost mumbling.

When you reach the familiar circle of trees, you bounce once on your toes and crack your knuckles. Ghost retrieves something from his pocket. A roll of gauze. It is tossed at you without warning, and your hands fumble to grab it.

"Wrap up," he commands. "Your hands will thank you for it."

You look up at him, brows raised, but begin covering your palms and knuckles. When you're done, you throw the roll back to him. Ghost stretches his arms above his head and splays his feet into a firm stance, jerking his chin at you in a go-ahead motion. Your brows furrow as you try to understand what the fuck he's doing.

"Go on. Get ready."

"Um. Ready for what?"

"A little hand-to-hand."

Your mouth falls open. "What?"

He shrugs. "That's what you wanted, right? I think you're ready for it."

"That's not what I meant," you almost laugh, shaking your head. "I didn't mean I want to— to fight you. I just meant we don't have to stick to the basics."

"We won't." There is the slightest trace of amusement in his voice, so faint you wonder if it's even there. "You have ten seconds to get ready, Twix."

"I don't even—" you sputter, eyes flying open. If you weren't awake before, you are now. He seems completely serious, his hands in fists and his shoulders squared.

"Five."

"Oh, fuck me," you exhale, balling up your bandaged hands. Did he get you up at this hour so there was no chance of Blue joining? He didn't want her to watch him finally annihilate you? You don't think he would seriously hurt you, not after everything, but that doesn't mean your heart doesn't begin to thump wildly when the seconds are up. Neither of you makes the first move; you are focused on keeping yourself distant, and he is circling you like a predator, flicking his eyes along the length of you.

"What the fuck is that stance? I could just tap you and you'd fall over." His amusement has faded. "Is that how I showed you to stand when chopping wood?"

You shake your head, teeth gritted, and fix it, spreading your boots against the soil.

"Better."

Then, he's lunging. You forget everything about your stance and prance to the side like a skittish deer. There is a moment of relief when you successfully dodge him, only for it to abruptly end when he darts around your back and hooks an arm around your neck. Your heart skips over a beat. Holy shit is he fast.

"Be aware of your surroundings at all times," he chastises against the top of your hair. His hold is not aiming to fully restrain you, so when you claw your nails into his arm, it loosens and you slip away, staggering three strides before facing him with your fists up.

"What's the point of raising your fists if you're not going to hit me?" Ghost circles you again, and you have to shift your feet to keep up with him. "Come on, nurse. Where should you aim?"

"You're too tall." Your chest heaves. "I... I can't reach your face or neck without you blocking."

"Use the height difference to your advantage. Reach places that I can't."

You pause to think about it, studying him.

Ghost almost growls. "Stop hesitating. I could have killed you by now."

A mix of annoyance and determination makes you leap forward, jabbing your knuckles at the part of him where you know his liver would be. He captures you by the elbow before the blow can land, and sends you stumbling to the side, a few wisps of hair cascading over your face.

"Liver. Not bad. I might've let you have it if you moved quicker."

A hiss leaves your lips as you whirl around and punch directly into his core this time. He allows the hit, but your knuckles ram into solid muscle instead of the vulnerable stomach you hoped for, and you recoil with a wave of your hand, cussing under your breath.

"You hurt yourself more than you hurt me."

"Well, should I just kick you in the dick then?" you retort without thinking, flexing your fingers. Luckily, the gauze absorbed most of the damage.

"That's always an option."

His tone is serious, to the point that you almost give it a try, but then he's closing in on you again, sending you back to the defensive. He doesn't hold back. You run in circles and duck frantically, earning a few hits to your ribs. He doesn't use enough force to send you down to the ground, but enough to knock the wind out of you. Rapid breaths fire through your lungs and beads of sweat percolate your hairline. Ghost, on the other hand, appears unaffected.

"Fight back," he says in a mild voice; almost bored.

You nearly throw your arms up. "I would if you'd give me a fucking chance."

"You said not to coddle you."

"I'm aware. That doesn't mean you have to—"

Your spine suddenly meets something hard. A tree. He's backed you into it without you even realizing. When Ghost takes another swipe, you dip your head down and then use his recovery time to grab onto a branch and hoist yourself up.

You're barely perched upon it when a hand grips your ankle and drags you back down, an audible gasp reverberating in your chest as you land flat on your back with Ghost on top. His hand quickly cradles the back of your skull before it can crack on a hard tree root, while his other hand captures both of your wrists.

"You good?" Although he is the one who has you effectively pinned, his tone seems sincere. He scans your face from your forehead to your parted lips.

"Just... peachy."

His brows furrow. "What was your plan once you got up there?"

Labored breathing splinters your voice. "I didn't have much of a plan, really."

He speaks flatly. "I can tell."

"You had me cornered," you point out.

"You should have been—"

"Aware of my surroundings," you finish for him, exhaling deep through your nose. "I know."

Your eyes shift around, from his covered face to where his chest just barely presses into yours. It's all so close. Uncomfortably close. You can feel the steady pace of his heart against your sternum, and make out the faintest flecks of green in his eyes.

An ounce of fear and something else you can't quite discern balls up in your stomach, making you swallow. You've been pinned like this before and nearly had your face eaten. Ghost simply stares at you, as if waiting for you to make a move, but when you tug on your wrists, his grip doesn't relent.

"Could you... could you maybe get off of me?"

He shifts some weight off you, if only by a little. "Relax and think," he murmurs. "What are your options here?" The curve of his lips tightens before he adds, "Besides biting my nose off. I'd like to keep that for now."

With a sigh, your eyes slide up to the awakening sky. Hues of violet and orange stare down at you. "Do I... do I even have any options? You must weigh like a ton." The words are past your lips before you can shut your mouth.

"You always have options."

"Doesn't mean any of them will be effective," you say.

His eyes darken, and the green disappears. "Why do you do that?"

"Um... do what?"

"Doubt yourself. After all that you have survived." He sounds irritated.

"As if you haven't doubted me?" You can't help it; you scoff. "You told her I wouldn't come back that time I went on my own. I mean, I'm still weak, remember? No amount of chopping wood will make me as strong as you or those men who almost killed us."

"It's not about strength," he replies.

"That's easy for you to say," you wiggle your wrists for emphasis. "You have nothing to be afraid of. You were cut out for this shit from the start."

"I have everything to be afraid of." His eyes narrow, but his voice softens. "And so were you."

"Me?" Your voice slightly elevates, and a lick of anger curls within you. "I should be in grad school right now, or maybe I would've quit nursing and gone into something useless and hate my life, but I was never meant to kill anyone, let alone fight them. I was meant to be young and stupid and make mistakes. Now, if I make a fucking mistake, it will cost me my life." Your nostrils flare as you huff, sending a piece of hair flying up into his face, and you writhe beneath him. "Get off of me, Ghost."

But he doesn't.

Beats of silence linger in the small gap between your bodies.

You should feel embarrassed for saying all those things, but instead, you think about what he said:

Don't hesitate.

The ball inside you is a fiery mix of emotions that you usually try your damn hardest to ignore and break and shove away.

But now you let it spread through your body like a sizzling tide, from the tips of your fingers down to your toes and... to your knee. Before you can change your mind, you slam it upward as hard as you can into the apex of his groin.

"Fuck," Ghost mutters, the only sign of any pain aside from the brief moment that he closes his eyes.

His hold loosens only by a little, but it's enough for you to slip out from under him and find your way back to your feet, your chest rising and falling.

He clears his throat after a moment and rises.

"Good." The two of you share a stare-off for a few seconds before he shakes his head, saying again: "Good, Twix. More of that."

You rip your gaze away from him, cheeks hot, and say nothing as you snatch the canister and bring it to your lips, but the water does little to cool you down.

You shiver in the bitterness of twilight, your fingers red and numb, wishing for a pair of gloves. The fireflies are coming out, dots of luminescence darting around you. You swing the axe down again, throat raw as you grunt, and then you add the broken logs to the growing stack. Sudden light footsteps announce the end of your alone time.

"It's me," Blue greets kindly.

You drop the axe, hands feeling stiff, and turn to face her with a breathless smile. "Hey. What are you doing out here?"

"Checking on you. Ghost went hard on you this morning, huh?" she says with a sigh. "I could hear you guys. You were a bit... loud. Made it hard to sleep."

"Not too hard. I'm… I'm good."

If she is unconvinced, she doesn't comment on it. Rather, she hugs you. A warm one. You return the embrace before she pulls away.

"I also came because I wanted to invite you to a bonfire."

"Bonfire?"

"Well, with all your..." her eyes flicker to the pile of logs you've conjured over the past hour. "...special workouts, we have a lot of wood now. I told Ghost to make a big fire outside and we can cook dinner over it. It'll be fun, come on. Ghost is making tea, too."

Soon enough, your sore fingers are tingling, holding a warm, ceramic mug of tea. Ghost chucks another bundle of wood into the fire, spitting out smoke and embers, and sits on a tree stump while Blue takes the folding chair. Your hair is down, tucked behind your ears, and a patchwork quilt Blue grabbed from her room lays across your lap. The mug burns pleasantly against your lips when you take a sip, the herbal taste sliding down your throat. Whatever plants he used to make it work together perfectly. It reminds you of the tea your mom used to make when you were sick.

"Do you like it more well-done or is this okay?" Blue asks, meticulously spinning the skewered squirrel meat over the fire.

"That's good, thank you."

Ghost cooks their dinner, and the three of you eat and sip in a comforting silence. You avoid looking at him, opting for the starry sky above your head, where bold stars beam even brighter than the fireflies. It's quite nice. When you're done, you toss the bones into the fire and listen to them splinter.

Blue breaks the silence. "Would you rather be burned alive or be attacked by a bunch of squirrels with rabies?"

You take another sip of tea. "How many squirrels, exactly?"

She taps her chin. "One hundred."

"I think if it were fifty, I could handle them. One hundred, probably not. I'll choose being burned."

She makes a face. "That is a terrible death."

"Most deaths are terrible."

"Fair enough. Ghost?"

For the first time since this morning, you steal a glance. His elbows rest upon his splayed knees, and the orange flames reflect in his eyes as if they were twin black, mirrors. "I could handle the squirrels."

She snorts a laugh. "Even you can't survive rabies, though."

He shrugs. "Takes some time to kill you."

"Let's play a different game," you interject. "Maybe something a little less... morbid tonight."

"Like what?" Blue chimes.

You shrug indifferently. "What other ones do you know?"

"Not that many. You tell us one, Twix."

"Well, I know one good one. You have to act something out and then we'll guess what it is. But you can't talk."

"Oh, that's easy."

"Try it, then," you nod at her.

She leaps up from the chair, nearly spilling her tea in the process. Without hesitation, she puts on a stoic expression and begins shooting finger guns. Quiet laughter shakes your shoulders.

"Are you, um... Ghost?" you guess, making her throw her arms up.

"How did you guess so quickly?"

"It was a bit obvious."

"Not to me," Ghost murmurs. "Terrible impression, kid."

Across the fire, you glance at him again, and his eyes meet yours, reminding you of the events that took place and the words that you spat. Emotions pulse against your ribs, like a swarm of flickering fireflies, but you fail to catch and examine any of them.

A tug on your arm ends the shared look. Tea splatters around the rim of your mug as Blue ushers you up. "Your turn now."

"Alright, alright."

You decide not to feel humiliated with both pairs of eyes on you. They've both seen much stranger things than you act out a squirrel, which must be a good impression because Ghost guesses it right away.

A sudden crack of lightning in the distance puts an end to the game before Ghost can have a turn, which you suspect he is pleased about. He puts out the fire just before clouds roll in, blocking out the stars, and a drizzle of rain begins. Back inside, you kick off your boots and sink to the sofa as Blue says goodnight. Once she’s in her room, Ghost pauses in the threshold of the hall and speaks over his shoulder.

"Get some sleep. You'll need it for tomorrow, even if it's raining.”

#simon ghost riley x you #simon riley x reader #ghost #simon ghost riley x reader #fanfiction #cod #zombie apocolypse au

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lovelybucky1 · 9 months

Text

Dirty Money- Tommy Shelby x Reader

masterlist

warnings: very mild dub-con, guns, canon-typical violence, dom/sub dynamics, humiliation, degradation, clothed sex, office sex, semi-public sex, name-calling, unprotected sex, mentions of prostitution, rough sex

The chatter from the party room (if this occasion could even be called a party) lessened as you made your way down the halls of the Shelby house. The Peaky Blinders were having a celebration- another shady business practice gone in their favor, earning them a large sum of money. You are just a pretty face to the Blinders. You get in close with the arrogant, sleazy men who the Shelbys often have dealings with, get information, and maybe pickpocket occasionally, but that is the extent of your duties.

Your position means you don’t get any of the money they earn from deals; all they provide you is free drinks at the Garrison. The Blinders are just a stepping stone along your path. You knew they had money, and if you could get an in with them, then you could have access to some of that money. And really, who would notice if a small fraction of that money was taken?

Your dress flows at your feet as you creep down the hallway towards the boss’ study. When you reach the door, you press your ear to hear any voices; when you deem it safe, you twist the handle and push it open.

Thanking God the hinges don’t squeak, you shut it behind you and take in your surroundings. The room is dark, the light filtering through the windows from the street is barely enough to see by. You approach the solid oak desk that likely took the whole family to move into the office. Atop the desk are a few letters, a pen, a set of lamps, and a figurine of a horse. The rest of the office is similar; sparse with decoration, but bits of Thomas’ personality shine through.

You don’t know much about your boss, despite interacting with him frequently. You’ve been his date on various occasions, all with ulterior motives, of course. Even when he is acting vulnerable, you know it’s a farce. Everyone knows Tommy Shelby is all about business, and he never takes a day off.

You walk around to the other side of the desk and pull at the top drawer. Inside, only stationary, so you close it and try the second drawer, which is locked. You take a pin from your hair and bend it before inserting it into the keyhole. It’s been a while since you’ve picked a lock, but you eventually get it open without too much difficulty. When you open the drawer, you find two stacks of money sitting next to a gun and a pack of smokes.

You pick up one of the stacks and flip through it. Two stacks, each one thousand pounds. You’d be set for life with this amount of money. You could get out of this shit, smog-filled city, buy yourself a nice house in the countryside, a car. You could have everything you’ve ever wanted and more, and it was all in your hands at this very moment.

You were jolted from your fantasy about your future life by the lamp near the door clicking on. You whip around, money still in hand, to face the door. Illuminated by the golden light stood your personal grim reaper, the very man you were stealing from.

Tommy has his hands on his hips, eyebrow raised, and his weight leaned onto one leg. His stance screams what the fuck do you think you’re doing? Your stomach drops when you meet his piercing blue eyes, and a wave of fear washes over you. Tommy stares at you until the weight of his gaze makes you tremble, and only then does he speak.

“I’ve had many people try to get close to me for their own gain,” Tommy pauses just to make you sweat. “But none of them have ever been stupid enough to steal from me in my own home.”

“It’s not what it looks like,” you say as if there weren’t stacks of money in your hand.

Your voice cracks when you speak and you’d curse yourself for your lack of composure, but it’s hard to remain calm when you’ve just gotten on the bad side of a man who wouldn’t hesitate to kill you.

“No?” Tommy asks. “That’s a good thing then, because if you were stealin’ my money, then we’d have some problems.” Tommy stalks forward toward you, eyes never leaving yours as he crosses the room. He takes the money from your pliant fingers; you have enough sense of self-preservation to not put up a fight right now. He places the money back in the drawer and when you look down, you see his fingertips brush against the gun- a reminder. When you look back up, his face is inches from yours and he is looking down the bride of his nose at you like you’re nothing but a pathetic animal. “So why don’t you tell me what you’re doin’ in here, eh?”

You inhale shakily as you try to come up with a convincing lie. You figure that he will see through any of the bullshit you say, but it’s better than admitting your crime. “I lost my ring and I thought I might have left it in here.”

“You might have lost your ring… in my locked drawer?” He asks, tone suggesting he is simply humoring you.

“If you found it and thought it was valuable, I thought you would put it in a safe place,” you explain, trying your best to look innocent.

“I see,” Tommy says, putting his hand on the desk next to your hip and leaning on it. “Now, if you’re done lying, I’d like to hear the truth.”

You swallow thickly as you resign yourself to the fact that you were caught. “I was taking money from your desk.”

“I’m not fuckin’ blind, am I? What’s the money for?” Tommy asks, voice even and steady, though you know he must be simmering with anger.

“For me.”

“Two thousand pounds, all for you? You have no affiliations?” you shake your head. “You’re not working for anyone?”

“No, sir. I wanted all of this for myself,” you confess.

“Hm,” he considers your words. “I’m surprised you were able to put together this little plan, so I doubt you’d be able to pull off bein’ a double agent all this time.” The way he talks down to you makes you want to hide your face in shame, but in the position he has you in, you have nowhere to go. “What were you going to do with all this money?”

“Move out of the city. Find a place for myself. Start a new life. A good life,” you say. Your tone must have been sincere enough for Tommy to believe you because he seems to relax a little.

Tommy shifts on his feet and he looks distantly over your shoulder as if he is lost in thought. You stare at his face, waiting for the other shoe to drop. You wouldn’t be surprised if he killed you, he’s killed others for much less.

“So,” he starts, “You’re not working for anyone else, but you’re still a thief and a traitor.” His intense gaze is back on you and your skin crawls with anxiety. “I don’t think I have to remind you what we do to thieves and traitors.”

You shake your head, knowing full well the fate that all who have wronged the Blinders have met. They’re not deserving of a quick death; they beg until they are too swollen to beg, they pray until God has been beaten out of them, they break until there is nothing left whole, they bleed until they’re dry. A traitor to the family suffers. They’re a spectacle to keep all others in line.

“But that would be such a waste of a pretty face,” Tommy says, the unexpected compliment makes your heart stutter in your chest. “You always did do good work for me. The races, the parties I went to with you on my arm. Sometimes I wished they were for leisure rather than business.”

You furrow your brow slightly at the admission. “What do you mean, Mr. Shelby?”

“I quite fancied you,” he says with a slight smile. “But then I caught you in my study with my money, and I came to my senses.”

He stands up straight and reaches into the drawer, taking out the gun. You take a step back, frightened once again. He doesn’t point the gun at you, only holds it, but you are still no less threatened.

With a sigh, he speaks again. “I don’t trust you not to bring down the rest of us if I turn you in to the coppers. So because I held such a soft spot for you, I’ll let you pick. I could cut your hand off to make sure you won’t steal again, I can send you far away without a single penny to your name, or I could give you over to the Italians as a peace offering.”

Your stomach drops when he lists off your options. For some reason, you thought he was going to let you get away. But seemingly despite his soft spot, business comes first, as usual.

“Please, Mr. Shelby, there has to be something else,” you say, voice watery with held-back emotion.

“What kind of businessman would I be if I let my employees steal from me?” He asks eyebrow raised mockingly.

Feeling desperation cloud your mind, you take a step forward, despite the gun. You reach out and place your hand on his shoulder, the rough material of his suit jacket rubbing against your skin. He looks down at you, his face a mixture of shock and amusement.

“I will do anything, sir,” you say, voice vulnerable and weak, hoping that will appeal to his baser urges. You know it’s a bold and risky move, but you don’t have many other options.

A laugh escapes Tommy’s throat, a rare and usually pleasant sound when it’s not being directed at you. “Are you looking to add prostitution to your list of crimes?” he chuckles.

“No, sir. I am not a whore.”

“You’re offering yourself up to me like one,” he smirks. “Why don’t we make a deal, then?”

“What are the terms?” you ask, trying to add strength to your voice that you’ve lacked since you saw him in the doorway.

“You let me fuck you like the whore you claim not to be, and you get to keep your job with us,” he says casually like he’s talking about the weather.

“That’s it?”

“Well now, don’t sound so ungrateful. If you’d prefer, I could give you away to those animals out here,” he gestures towards the door. “I’m giving you a chance to keep that pretty smile of yours.”

“No, no,” you shake your head. “I am grateful, sir. Thank you.”

Tommy puts the gun down on the top of his desk and closes the space between you. His hard chest presses against yours as he brings his hand up to gently stroke your cheek.

“Greedy little thing,” he says, his eyes drinking in the sight of you. Your lips are parted just so, looking soft and pliant, just the way he loves. Tommy’s hand trails from your face down to your throat, where he plays with the simple goal pendant that rests against your skin.

Tommy leans in and brushes his lips to yours, making your heart stutter and your breath catch in your throat. You can feel a slight smile on his lips before he presses them together in a claiming kiss. He smothers you, stealing the breath from your lungs.

When you part, his lips are pink and glistening with a mix of your saliva. His light eyes are blown with lust and you feel small in his arms.

“Are you clean or am I going to have to fuck your mouth?” he asks, the dirty words a sharp contrast to his gentle hands on you.

“I’m clean,” you say, voice no more than a whisper.

The only response you get from him is a shark-like grin. He grabs your hips and pulls you flush to him. Even through the layers of your dress, you can feel the hardness in his pants.

It’s almost hard to believe that right now, Thomas Shelby is hard for you. You’ve imagined this countless times; when you were his arm candy, when he’d drink with you at the pub, and even sometimes in your own home. You never thought you’d actually get to have him in such a way, especially not when it wasn’t for business.

“What are you waiting for, dear?” he asks, looking into your eyes and then down at his trousers.

You lean back, putting enough space between the two of you to undo his belt and unbutton his pants. You take out his cock and give it a few dry strokes. The size makes you nervous; you’re no virgin, but you’ve been so caught up with work that you haven’t been seeing anyone.

Tommy shrugs off his jacket and tosses it haphazardly onto his desk chair, clearly unconcerned that he is wrinkling a very expensive suit. Taking his undressing as a hint, you ask “Should I take off my dress?”

“It’s not our fucking wedding night,” he huffs. He grabs your waist and pushes you towards the desk, You brace your hands on the surface and look back at him while he hikes up the skirt of your dress. He piles the bunched-up fabric on your lower back and bends down to admire the view. “Though these knickers suggest otherwise,” he chuckles, slipping his finger under them.

It’s humiliating to be bent over your boss’ desk while he looks at you like you’re a piece of meat, As much as you wish you were more upstanding, that this whole situation repulsed you, the burn in your abdomen is undeniable. You’re getting off on whoring yourself out to your boss.

Tommy grabs the waist of your knickers and pulls them down, letting the white satin pool at your feet. Now bare to him, Tommy inhales deeply, taking in the scent of your arousal. He swipes his thumb through your folds, gathering your wetness and smearing it on your thigh.

“Mr. Shelby, please,” you whimper.

“What’s the matter? You don’t like me teasing?” he chuckles.

He rubs his hand over your pussy, his cold fingertips burning from the heat of you. You wiggle your hips a bit, silently begging him for more, and in return, he gives a sharp slap to your cunt.

“You forget this is a punishment. I could leave you here desperately and wet for hours and there’s nothin’ you can do ‘bout it.”

You let your head hang between your shoulders with a sigh. You don’t doubt his threat; Tommy can be a cruel man and you wouldn’t put it past him to torture you in such a way. No matter what, though, this is better than the alternative.

You feel a long, thin finger prodding at your entrance and you force yourself to relax. Tommy slowly pushes his middle finger into you, and from behind you, a quiet groan can be heard. He pulls his finger out only to quickly replace it, along with a second digit. The fingers inside of you slowly work back and forth to loosen you. Despite Tommy’s rough exterior and degrading words, when it comes to the act, he’s more caring than you anticipated.

The slow drag of his fingers makes you dizzy, desperate for more to fill you as you open up. Seemingly have read your mind, Tommy pulls out his fingers and places his wet hand on your ass.

For a long moment, nothing happens. Tommy stands behind you, both hands on you, but unmoving. You look back to see him watching you expectantly.

“Do you think I’m just going to give it to you?” he asks. You furrow your brow, not understanding what he’s getting at. “Clearly you’ve never been properly fucked,” he huffs. “Beg me for it.”

Of course, how could you be so stupid? A man like Tommy Shelby loves power and control. He wants to own everything and everyone, especially his conquests. You’ve already submitted yourself to him, but he wants you to relinquish the rest of your pride for him.

“Please, sir, I want it,” you try, the idea of begging for sex unfamiliar to you.

“Surely you could do better than that, eh? I’ve heard the things you’ve told our associates. I know your mouth is dirtier than your pretty white knickers let on.” The smirk is evident in his voice and it makes you burn with shame. The things you tell whatever man you were ordered to seduce were all acting. You separated yourself from it, from them, but now you were doing to be deep in it.

“Please fuck me like the whore I am, Mr. Shelby. I’m yours to do whatever you want with. I want you to forgive me.”

The words feel foreign on your tongue and Tommy seems to recognize that. The grin on his face tells you the begging was more for your embarrassment than his enjoyment.

“That’s better, my little whore,” he says as he grabs ahold of his cock and rubs it through your folds. He pushes in slowly but steadily, easing you into it but not hiding his desire until the head is inside. Like a gentleman, he lets you accommodate the stretch before seating himself fully inside of you.

You lay atop the desk limp and pliant, like you’re a toy for Tommy. He grabs your hips tightly, possessively, before he starts to rock his hips against you. The friction of your ass against his hips doesn’t do too much to satisfy your sexual need, but the feeling of his skin makes you burn from within.

“When you first joined,” Tommy speaks up, “I had to make a rule. Don’t fuck the other members. Never had that problem before, but I knew the boys would tear you apart the second they got the chance.”

Tommy’s fingers press into your skin as he begins to slowly thrust into you. As he did with his fingers, he makes the drag of his cock slow, ensuring you feel every inch of his length. Your pussy gripped him like your body knew you were made for him.

You let out a small, involuntary hum when he reaches the spot inside of you that makes your toes curl. You had fantasized that Tommy would be a good lover, but you never imagined that he’d light all of your nerves on fire.

“Fuck, Tommy,” you moan as his steady pace builds up the pressure in your abdomen.

“It’s Tommy now, eh? Where’d those manners go?”

“I’m sorry! Fuck, I’m sorry, Mr. Shelby.”

You’re certain Tommy is going to kill you, despite your deal after you disrespected him. Maybe he’d be merciful since you let him have you… or maybe that would make torturing you even better.

“Say it again,” he says, voice gruff with lust.

“What?”

“My name. Say it again.”

“Tommy,” you whisper, hesitant.

His blunt nails dig into your skin, leaving crescent-shaped indents behind. The speed of his hips increases slightly, but he doesn’t slam into you like some previous partners have. He seems to understand your body; to be rough in some ways but caring in others.

“If I punished every thief like this, I’d have far fewer enemies,” he muses as he slides his right hand up your back, then rests it on the base of your neck. “But you’re lucky.”

The hand on the back of your neck moves to the side of your head, where Tommy presses down. There’s not much force behind it, but your head is pinned to the desk. It’s degrading to have him hold you down, preventing you from seeing what’s to come. His fingers twist in your hair and his trusts become increasingly irregular.

“Tommy,” you whine.

“This cunt’s divine,” he says, and for the first time, his voice has an edge of desperation to it.

“Tommy,” you say again.

“What?” he breathes.

“Fuck me.”

With an airy chuckle, Tommy pulls you closer to him by the hips so you can meet each of his thrusts. Your body jolts each time his thighs slap against yours, completely at his mercy while he fucks into you. You feel him shift behind you and suddenly there is a weight resting on your back. Tommy is leaning over you, holding you impossibly close with his mouth next to your ear.

“You’re my fuckin’ whore,” he says, his hot breath and gravelly voice making your skin break out in goosebumps. “You understand me?”

All you can do is nod, but that answer seems to satisfy him because he is standing back up and fucking you sloppily, a stark contrast to his steady pace from earlier. After a handful of strokes, he pulls out and you’re left cold and gaping on the desk, brain lagging to catch up with reality.

You hear a strangled moan from behind you, and then you feel drops of scorching liquid hit your thighs. You squirm on the desk once you realize what has happened. Tommy Shelby has just come on you, effectively claiming you as his own.

He rests his hand on your back as he catches his breath, chest heaving with exertion. He steps back, out from between your legs, and wipes the sweat off of his forehead with his sleeve. You look back at him with lustful, half-lidded eyes and he gives you a soft smile. You push yourself up so you can stand, and when you turn to face Tommy again, he looks confused.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

“We’re done, aren’t we?”

Tommy chuckles and steps forward again, picking your skirt back up and pushing the bunched fabric into your hands to hold.

“You poor thing,” he says. “You haven’t gotten yours.”

His words surprise you. You wouldn’t say Tommy is a selfish man; self-interested is a better term. You expected this to be over once he was finished, but it seems that equal satisfaction is of importance to him.

He reaches between your legs and slips two fingers into your cunt, then rests his thumb on your clit. You gasp when he touches your bud, which is extra sensitive from the lack of attention. Tommy’s other arm wraps around your waist to hold you close, his lips brushing against your temple.

“Tommy,” you whimper when he curls his fingers inside you.

“So fuckin’ good for me. Guess all it took was a cock to keep you in line. God knows I would’ve done this ages ago if I knew. Think about all the times I could’ve had this sweet cunt when I settled for some whore,” he says, voice thick and sweet. “But now you’re mine.”

His possessiveness, combined with the perfectly placed touches under your dress, makes your head spin with pleasure. You let your head drop forward to rest on his shoulder and he pushes his face into your hair. You reach up to grab at his vest, needing something to ground yourself, lest you collapse into a puddle of pleasure on the office floor.

“I-I’m close, sir,” you struggle to get out between moans.

“What do good girls say?” he asks.

“Please.”

“Cum for me, dear,” he whispers.

As if he pulled a trigger, your release washed over you. Your muscles tighten and relax as the waves of pleasure rock you. Tommy rides you through it, not giving up his assault on your soaked pussy until you are squirming and pushing his hand away.

You lean back to rest on the desk as you find your breath and let your skirt drop down to the floor, covering up the mix of cum that wets your thighs. You watch as Tommy straightens out his clothes and fastens his belt, feeling slightly disappointed that you didn’t get to see more of him.

He joins you by the desk, reaching into the formerly-locked drawer and taking out the pack of smokes, as well as a matchbook from his pocket. He lights the cigarette and tosses the burnt match into his ashtray. He holds it with the two fingers that were inside of you and takes a drag, exhaling a plume of white smoke that swirls in the air in front of you. Tommy offers the cigarette to you but you decline with a shake of your head, and he doesn’t press.

“Do you smell that?” Tommy asks, breaking the silence. You sniff the air, mainly smelling smoke but there is the underlying musk of sex, as well as the intoxicating scent that Tommy wears. “That’s business,” he says, answering his own question.

“What do you mean?” you ask, turning to face him.

“We had a deal. I fuck you and you get to stay here, all your limbs intact.” You nod slowly, not quite understanding what he’s getting at. “I’d like to offer you a promotion.”

You perk up at that. Not an hour ago you were certain Tommy was going to shoot you where you stood, but now he’s offering you a higher-ranking position within the Blinders.

“I want you to be my personal assistant,” he says, a slight smirk on his lips. “No dirty work, no men. It’s an easy job, making my breakfast and bringin’ me whiskey, sorting my mail, writing my letters. Making appointments for me, keeping track of my calendar, making small talk with incredibly dull people I can’t be bothered with.”

“So I’d be your maid?”

“If maids get the added benefit of fuckin’ their bosses, then yes, you’ll be my maid,” he grins. “And you know what the best part is?” You shake your head. “You don’t get to lay a finger on my money.”

You look away from him, embarrassed. Tommy grabs ahold of your chin and makes you look back at him, his blue eyes boring into you once again.

“You can live in my house, I’ll buy you fancy things or whatever the fuck you wanted to do with two thousand pounds, and the only thing you’ll have to worry about is cleanin’ the blood from my shirts.”

You pretend to think over his offer, but really, there’s no question. This is better than any life you could attempt to start on your own, and you have the added bonus of being in the boss’ favor.

“I accept your offer,” you say with a smile.

“Good. Now let’s get out of here before you find another thing to steal,” he says, placing his hand on your lower back and leading you towards the door.

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