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thefaefiction · 11 months

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In Too Deep. [Tom Hiddleston x Reader]

PAIRING: Tom Hiddleston x Reader GENRE: Smut !! WARNINGS: Age gap, teacher x student relationship, smut, daddy kink, praise, piv sex, choking, degradation if you squint, aftercare, fem!reader, written with a chubbier reader in mind but it's not obvious, also the beginning is rushed SUMMARY: After developing an intense relationship with your English professor Mr. Hiddleston, you both are in too deep to let it go to waste.

A/N: im not gonna lie i had no clue how to actually begin this fic because it's literally just an excuse for me to indulge in my delusions so sorry that the first couple paragraphs are weird and rushed </3 also the school email domain is fake idk if it's real don't pay attention to it LMAO

Your obsession with your English professor was no secret to your friends. Elio, your long term best friend and dormmate, has had to interrupt you from your delusions on more than one occasion which was already one too many -- whether that be purposefully failing a paper to see him after class, wearing a skirt far too short and dropping a pencil in a calculated manner in front of him, or staring at him a little too intently during lectures -- it was becoming a problem.

In the professor's multiple classes of forty-some-odd students, there really were only a few that were delusional enough to believe they could sleep with their teacher. The difference between you and them was that you were patient with your actions and the effects it had on him.

Ultimately your patience paid off, as one Friday you received an ominous email with the heading titled 'Make-up Work' from a particular '[email protected].' In the details, he simply requested your presence at a disclosed location only ten minutes from campus on Sunday. It was not an office nor a dorm, but a house.

It wasn't long before his intentions were made clear when you arrived; his eyes dark with lust and a half buttoned shirt upon opening the door.

"(Y/N)," He welcomed, cocking his head and shutting the door behind you. "Lovely to see you."

"Pleasure's mine," You reply, never breaking eye contact. You slide your coat off and he takes it in his hands, hanging it up for you. You knew where the night was going to end -- inviting a student to talk not just outside of office hours, but in the professor's home, is not something usual.

"I thought we could discuss an appropriate way to help get your grade back up in my class," He begins. His eyes look down for a moment, observing your obviously risqué attire. "Do you have an idea as to what way that might be?"

He was going to make you say it. There was no way around it. Still, you decided to entertain his antics until it was made painfully and obviously clear he was trying to get you to say what you know he wants you to say.

"I think," You start, voice beginning to shake. The confidence you had starting this endeavor was suddenly challenged. "I think one-on-one time is certainly needed." You press your lips together in a line.

He hums, taking an agonizing step closer. He looks down into your eyes, furrowing his brows and letting out a soft laugh. "I'm not dumb, (Y/N)," he retorts. "I know you're a smart girl. You're excellent, actually -- some of the best writing from all of my classes combined." The professor stops, taking a step back to his original position. "So why are you really here?"

A moment of silence.

"You know why," You sheepishly croak out.

"Flatter me by saying it, then." He raises an eyebrow, crossing his arms and waiting for you to speak.

"I want you to fuck me."

With the words already said, there was no going back. Your chest sunk, a feeling of embarrassment creeping up and beginning to eat away at your skin. All of those feelings were put to rest the second your professor spoke: "Was that so hard to ask, love?"

Professor Hiddleston turned on his heel, two fingers signaling you to follow him like a lost puppy. He led you down a long hallway in painful silence, finally twisting the knob to a door that revealed his bedroom. It was sleek and clean, covered in shades of black and gray with no mess dared to be left out.

He shut the door behind you and immediately began unbuttoning his shirt, holding your gaze with his light eyes. "Quickly," He commented. "I don't like waiting."

Your face flushed, embarrassed at his demand. You looked away and lifted the hem of your shirt-

"You will look at me," He orders, finishing the last button. "With how bold you are in my classroom I would've thought you'd take more control," He pokes, smirking. "Who would've thought you're just a shy little girl desperate for attention from her professor?"

Your thighs squeezed together, you're sure it doesn't go unnoticed as he grins the moment it occurs. You lift your top off as he watches, simultaneously beginning to unbuckle his belt. The sound makes you shiver.

"Good girl," He praises. You shiver in response.

As he tosses his belt to the side, you begin sliding your skirt off, letting it fall to the ground and pool at your feet. Your professor mimics with his slacks, walking closer and caressing your cheek. "Bed."

You obey, laying down on his duvet as he crawls up your body, sending shivers down your spine. "Professor-"

"Tom," He corrects. "No need for formalities at this point, yes?"

You blush before continuing. "Tom, are you sure?"

"I've been sure since the first time you tried to tease me in class," He replies. "I don't think you understand that I think about you every fucking night in my bed, about the things I would do if I were just able to have you."

You smile, your confidence returning almost instantly. "You have me, sir."

Tom grunts in the back of his throat, his body towering over you as he tears your underwear off, the cracking of the seams startling you. Immediately his hands find your sex, running his hands over it and around your thighs. His hands diligently run under your back, you arch, giving him easier access to remove your bra.

"God, you're stunning," He whispers before connecting his lips to yours. He pulls on your face, his teeth making contact with your lips and bruising their pink color in moments. As he pulls away, a string of saliva connects your mouths and you squirm beneath him.

Tom sits up and begins removing his boxers. The tent in them is noticeable -- and horrifying. You can tell he's big even without seeing it.

Not like you've thought about it before, though.

Now completely undressed, he puts his hands under your waist and drags you forward with a grunt. His hands dig at the fat of your hips and travel along your plush thighs, a moan escaping your lips as his fingers dance on your skin.

"Does my little girl need her professor's cock?" Tom provokes, sliding his shaft between your folds -- up and down, up and down, up and down.

You whine, nodding eagerly in hopes to get him to just put it in already, but your meek noise wasn't good enough for him. "Use your big girl words, darling." He puts his thumb and pointer finger against your chin, urging you to look at him him; eyes burning through your skull.

"Daddy," You spit out too quick, back arching. "Please, need you inside of me so bad!" The sheer volume of your pleas and the new title takes Tom aback, yet his cock ached with every sultry word you spoke.

"Good girl," He praises, grinning at you beneath him. You watch as he inserts himself, pressing just the head into your heat. You let out a guttural moan, eyebrows furrowing in a lovely mix of pain and pleasure. He begins slowly easing himself into you further, inch by agonizing inch, until he completely bottoms out; releasing a groan as his head lolls back. "God, you feel so good princess," He praises, "Taking me so so well, yeah?"

His words struck a chord within you, forcing a smile on your face. You whimper, brain not being able to form a complete thought at how deep he was inside you and how just damn good it felt. He was much bigger than anyone you'd taken before by a longshot. Your walls clenched around him and he laughed, cock twitching inside of you. He slowly slides back, leaving just the head in, and then pushes forward quickly, earning a loud, needy, moan from your lips. "Look at you, so drunk on me, hm?" He says, pulling back and then ramming himself deep into you, bruising your cervix. "Tell me what you want, doll. What is it you need from daddy?" He teases, never averting his eyes from your gaze.

"Please," You whine, "Need you to to move, need daddy to make me come!" And without hesitation, he picks up the pace, rapidly fucking you while his hands grip the headboard. You can hear it hitting the wall, and suddenly you're glad he has a house instead of an apartment. The noises you're making are obscene, something any practiced Catholic would need to cross themselves after hearing. "Feels so good daddy!" You spit, earning a groan from him.

Tom turned almost animalistic during sex; his grunts sounding more and more like growls as he fucks you brainless. "Fuck!" He moans, taking a hand off of the wood above you. He quickly puts his free hand on your throat, squeezing and forcing your eyes to meet his once again. "Like being choked by daddy, yeah? Like daddy to make you feel powerless, hm?" He smirks, observing the visual pleasure and shock on your face.

You're so close, you can feel yourself on the verge of your orgasm, and his dirty talk was pushing you even closer. The hand on your throat squeezed, and you clenched down on him, causing Tom to curse under his breath. "Want your cum daddy," You squeak out, "Pleasepleaseplease!" You mumble in strands of pleasure.

"Feel so good," He praises. "Come for me, be a good girl and come for daddy, yeah?" He was fucking you hard, and fast, and he still managed to pick up the pace. His skin slapped against your skin, filling the room with hard smacks and grunts and moans; endless strings of 'daddy' and 'good girl' running from both of your lips.

"Want you inside me daddy," You choke out. Your head lolls to the side and bounces against the pillow, a lazy smile forming on your face. "P-please!" You whine.

That pushed Tom over the edge. He was too far lost in himself, leaning down and growling into your ear. "Ask and you shall receive," he teases.

As if on cue, you both come together, the wave of pleasure rushing over you both. You could feel his warmth filling you up, leaking down your heat and spilling onto his bed. "Fuck, Y/n!" He grunts, "Took me so so well little girl."

You couldn't think, let alone speak. Tom stayed inside of you, helping you ride out your orgasm, not wanting the feeling of your sweet sex to leave him. He took his hand off of your throat and stroked the site, soothing the redness with a sultry kiss. You hummed in response, letting your body fall limp. After a few moments, he pulled out.

About three things Tom was absolutely certain: One, he should’ve never become romantically entangled with one of his students. Two, engaging in this behavior put his entire career in jeopardy due to it being wildly illegal. Three, he was, without a doubt in his mind, unconditionally in love with everything about you.

As you laid on his chest, foreheads drenched in sweat and bodies stuck together, you felt more at home than you'd like to admit. One hand messaged your back, drawing figure-eights on your skin, and the other pet your hair, occasionally drawing his lips close to kiss the top of your head. You burrowed your head into him, clinging onto his body. He grinned.

"I should've never let it go this far," Tom said, his voice raspy and deep with post-sex clarity, "but I'm afraid I'm in too deep to give it up now." He let out a low laugh, your head bouncing with his chest.

You smiled. "I'm afraid I wouldn't have been able to return to normal after this," You commented, "and, well, not to be dramatic but having sex with your professor twice your age does things to you." Tom chuckled, looking down at you and tilting your head up to meet his eyes.

"This is all so wrong," He mumbled, furrowing his eyebrows and pressing his lips together, "And yet I wouldn't have it any other way." He pressed a kiss to your lips, the kind of kiss that left a permanent stain of love and lust on your mouth. It was deep, meaningful, and romantic. Tom stared at you, taking in your features and basking in each and every one. "You are breathtaking, darling."

You hid your face in his neck, attempting to suppress the toothy grin you'd almost shown him, however he pulls your head up with his pointer finger and thumb, admiring your rosy cheeks. "Poor baby, so sensitive to my compliments," He jests, letting out a low hum.

You roll your eyes at him. "It's not my fault that daddy somehow knows all of the words that light a fire in me," You emphasize on the word 'daddy,' which forces what sounded like a groan from the back of his throat. "I don't want to go," You admit, falling back into his embrace.

"I know love," He says calmly, stroking your hair and pulling you into him tight. "We can stay like this as long as you'd like, but eventually I'll have to bring you back."

You hum into just chest. "Just a little bit longer," you say to Tom. "I'm still recovering."

⟡

When you arrived back at your dorm, much later than you anticipated, Elio looked at you with an eyebrow raised and a smirk on his face. "Back so soon?"

"Shut up," You laughed, dropping your bag to the ground and kicking off your shoes. You wobbled into the dorm, legs still sore and threatening your balance. Clearly Elio had noticed this, as the first thing he said after greeting you was "Well aren't your movements suspicious," and your cheeks flushed red. "I do not need to explain my late night endeavors and my later night actions," You began, "But,"

"But..?" Elio lead, leaning forward in his seat.

"But." You ended, pressing your lips together with a hidden grin and nodding your head.

"No!" He gasped, smiling widely and clasping his hands, putting his chin on the top of his fingers. "Please tell me everything! Not that I need to know the gory details of your sex life but, like, was he..?" Elio put his hands in front of him, fingers forward, and spread his arms apart.

"Shut up!" You giggled, swatting his hands. "But yes. Yes he was. Very."

"I knew it." He said, shaking his head. "I knew he was packing."

"Not to ruin our gossip but I need to lay down with a heating pad or something because standing is hurting my body," You laughed. "I think that man busted my cervix."

"Okay, TMI," He said, rolling his eyes. "But honestly go get some rest, lord knows you need it for seeing him tomorrow."

You were confused at first, then realized that tomorrow you had Tom for English, and you had absolutely no idea how you were supposed to face him when the night before he had you moaning 'daddy' and railed you into oblivion. But that was an issue you could deal with tomorrow. Probably. Hopefully.

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livingemkayde · 7 months

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in plain sight

joel miller x f!reader (post outbreak) | 2.8k

↳ warnings: lets see what were cooking with today team, this is rated for 18+ only! minors, please do not interact. smut, unprotected pinv, joel is kinda creepy (!) but in a fun way!? public / visible undressing, idk if this counts as it but like voyeurism?? or exhibitionism? idk im not too versed with my -isms. no use of y/n. let me know if i forgot anything.

↳ a /n: heres a little short (ish) one shot because i have COVID and i am SAD!!! joel is literally peeping tom 😭. idk where this came from, and i will not be giving an explanation at this time! thanks for reading and supporting, as always, inbox is sooo open and i love you all.

if you would like to read more of mine: masterlist!

“I saw you,” you start, but his hand comes up to grip your jaw gently, angling your face to meet his. It’s a little harder to talk, “in the window,” you mumble. “You should close your blinds.” “You should mind your business.” Your hand slips to rest against his chest. “You really want me to?” his lips brush your ear, “You came over here to tell me that?” His thumb brushes over your breast through the cotton of your shirt. You moan, quietly. If he wasn’t so close he might’ve not been able to hear. But he does, and it spurs him on further. “Hm?” he slots your body between his legs. You shake your head.

He can see you—through the window.

You weren’t sure at first. He’s new in town, took the place next to yours. But it was a peering, sneaking feeling following you around your room. Especially in that limbo between dinner and midnight. When you get especially restless and the yellow light emanating from your room is highlighted against the blueish black sky.

You knew it was something, an unvoiced feeling that made you keep your mouth shut. But it didn’t will you to shut your blinds. It wasn’t creepy—it excited you. Maybe some sick part of you changes in front of the window just for him.

So when you had caught him—two nights ago. It only spurred you on further.

You got caught in the rain, sprinting upstairs and stripping down to your underwear. You didn’t even think he was home. Maybe that’s why you didn’t close your blinds before shedding your clothes—or maybe it was something else entirely.

The soaked cotton of your t-shirt plopped down onto the hardwood. You stepped out of your jeans, turning your back to the window subconsciously. And when you reached around your own back to unclasp your bra, you felt it—that peering gaze.

Delicate fingers undid the clasp and as you pulled the straps off your body, you looked over your shoulder, hitching your chin to the side.

And you saw him, standing at his window. He had a cup of something in his hand, a tight fist wrapped around it. The soft rays of sunlight pushed a heavy glare over his body but you could see his face—a deer in headlights. A thief, caught red handed. In a blazing offense.

And you, equally shocked—that it really was him looking all this time—that he spent his afternoon hours peering over into your room instead of living his life in his. That the stoic, grumpy, brooding — Joel Miller — stood studying you undressing like a showgirl.

You had gasped a little, a quick thing, and he shut his blinds just as quickly and turned away—his shadow faded into the dim light of his bedroom window.

Truthfully, you look for him everywhere you go. At the market. In the mess hall. At the stables when you’re rounding up hay. You don't see much of him, but you look for him. Take a quick inconspicuous peak over your shoulder. A watchful eye on the entrance to the bar. A peering gaze through windows, just like he does to you.

You look for him behind your eyelids, in those late hours of the night, when his window goes dark some time after yours floods black.

It almost seems like you’re always looking for him.

But you never truly see him. Not really. It almost seems like he’s avoiding you.

But it’s somewhat of a celebratory night—Tommy’s birthday. So you get all too particularly dressed up for the Tispy Bison and rush over, the feeling of Joel’s gaze two nights ago still stuck sweetly to the skin of your back.

A set of peering brown eyes meet yours when you walk in but they look away quickly. They always look away quickly. And maybe it’s the adrenaline coursing through your veins, or the younger Miller brother waving you over, but you want to change that. If it’s your life’s mission, you want him to look at you, and never, ever, look away.

“Happy birthday, old man,” you smile at Tommy, he pulls you into a hug, your cheek pressing tightly against the breast of his jacket. All you can feel are eyes on you—the curve of your neck, your hand resting gently on Tommy’s waist.

“C’mon,” Tommy shakes you slightly, “not that old.”

Then he looks back at Joel in a quiet, joking kind of way.

“Hey,” you breathe, nodding towards Joel. He clears his throat, straightens his back, wets the skin of his lips and gives you a sharp nod in return. He drops your eyes for his fingers resting on the bartop.

“Aren’t y’all neighbors?” Tommy questions, almost confused why the air seems so — awkward.

Joel’s eyes flick under the gaze of his question, the muscle in his jaw tightens. He shoots a quick glance at you and then back to his brother. Your palm starts to sweat where it rests on the bar.

Neighbors.

You stay silent to let Joel answer his brother, but he fails, landing a defeated fist gently on the table, and turning away from the two of you, towards the bartender. Tommy’s eyebrows furrow.

“Yeah,” you jump in, nod, smile, deflect, “We are.”

“Tommy!” A rowdy group of men pull Tommy backwards into the forming circle. Happy Birthdays are exchanged following many claps on the back. They stagger away into the background noise.

Only Joel and you are left.

You wave down the bartender.

“I’ll have whatever he’s having,” you say, nodding towards Joel at your side.

A sweaty man emerges from the dancefloor to order a drink at your side. He smiles at you. You ignore him.

“You like whiskey?” Joel mumbles from your other side, bringing the glass to his lips, staring directly ahead. You study the curve of his nose.

“Sometimes,” you slide closer across the bar towards him, away from the other guy.

Joel’s fingers tap on the wood. Your foot hits your own bar chair to the beat of the song. Your heart beats a little faster when he sneaks a glance at you out of the corner of his eye. It’s almost like he’s waiting with bated breath — anticipating you to confront him about the events of two nights ago.

You don’t, though. Not yet, at least.

“Y’all close?” he says, nodding back towards Tommy.

You nurse your drink at your lips.

“Patrol,” the whiskey burns as it goes down, “you gonna get out there soon?”

“Old man like me?”

“Not that old,” you bite the rim of the glass, “Could probably use you out there.”

He huffs a breath through his nose, swinging the glass in his hand, “Probably.”

“You should come check it out,” you look at him through your lashes, “I need a new partner.”

Joel huffs a breath, almost downing the rest of his drink. You sneak out of your chair and move closer.

Tommy’s group breaks into laughter from beside you. A man bumps into your back and your drink spills to the floor, sloshing around in the clear glass while you stumble a little.

Joel’s hand reaches out to grab your hip. The warm callousness of his thumb notches against that soft skin of your side, uncovered by fabric. He grips you, his thumb, featherweight, pushing against bone, sending a heat between your legs.

Your hand lands on his bicep.

“Sorry,” you mumble, he doesn’t take his hand away, not until you straighten your shirt and turn your body back to the bar. He grumbles a quiet apology to follow yours.

“Can I get another, please?” you ask the bartender, your cheeks heat. Your whole body does.

The bartender places a whiskey in front of you and you grab it promptly, swinging your body towards Joel, raising your glass to him. He looks at you silently, then down to your outstretched drink in hand.

A quiet contemplation.

“What for?” He asks.

Your palms start to sweat and you’re worried it might fog up the new glass. The yellow lights of the bar turn his skin golden. He’s wearing that green flannel you saw him in at the window, the sleeves of it pushed over his elbows. The wired muscle of his forearms flick under the tense air.

You’re nervous he might take this the wrong way. But like you thought earlier, you want him to look at you, and never, ever, look away.

So you smirk at him, choose your words carefully—and decide to bite.

“New neighbors.”

His gaze flicks to yours. His lips part, then close again, maybe shocked, maybe something else. Then he lets out something strangled, air between teeth and tongue and he huffs like he can't help it. Like he doesn’t know what to do with what you’ve given him—with what you’ve baited him with.

New neighbors.

His glass doesn’t meet yours, so you clink them together for him, sipping on the dark liquor with a small smile behind the rim. He clears his throat, and gatherers a staggered breath while downing the rest of his drink.

“You like your new place, right?” you ask.

Joel stares at you, almost scared, questioning.

“‘S fine,” he finally says.

“Just fine?”

“‘S nice.”

“I think so too,” you get closer to him and when he doesn’t back away, “big bedrooms.”

You can see his Adam's apple bob up and down.

“Yup,” he whispers. When you get closer, he slips a hand into your jacket, palming at your waist, spreading the broadness of his hand across your ribs. You try not to gasp. He holds you there, almost a warning. A cautionary message. A blaring stop sign.

But you were never much for listening, anyways.

“Nice view?” you mumble, staring at his lips.

You can feel his breath punching against your face, the hand on your ribs slides higher.

You tilt your head, a question — in more ways than one.

He doesn’t respond, the muscle in his jaw flicks the longer you stand there studying his face. His eyes keep flicking down to your lips—you’re worried he can feel your heartbeat when he inches closer. Some country slow song comes on, maybe the lights dim, or maybe his stare darkens — turns devilish — and it makes it seem like it does.

“What are you doin’?” he whispers.

“Nothing.”

“Doesn’t look like—” he huffs a breath and looks down to your lips, “—nothin’.”

“I saw you,” you start, but his hand comes up to grip your jaw gently, angling your face to meet his. It’s a little harder to talk, “in the window,” you mumble.

“You should close your blinds.”

“You should mind your business.” Your hand slips to rest against his chest.

“You really want me to?” his lips brush your ear, “You came over here to tell me that?”

His thumb brushes over your breast through the cotton of your shirt. You moan, quietly. If he wasn’t so close he might’ve not been able to hear. But he does, and it spurs him on further.

“Hm?” he slots your body between his legs.

You shake your head.

“Yeah,” he whispers in your ear, already pushing you towards the entrance of the bar, “Yeah, ’s what I fuckin’ thought.”

“Fuck—Joel.”

You press the palms of your hands to glass, your own breath fogging up the pane in front of you. The skin of your cheek bites against the coldness of it, you can barely make out Joel’s reflection from behind you.

“You like this?” he shoves your pants past your hips, “like me watchin’ ya?”

And yes, you’re kind of surprised at how much you do. You like this. You like him watching you in those late hours of the night. Before you would retreat behind the safety of your covers and make yourself come to the thought of Joel Miller.

He slaps your ass, and kneads it where he leaves raised red marks behind in his wake. Your tits push against the window, pebbling your nipples. It almost hurts when they’re pressed up against the glass like that.

“Joel,” you moan, ignoring his question.

“Put on a show f’me,” he runs his fingers through your wetness, teasing your aching clit, “every day. Fuckin’ tease.”

Your open mouth kisses the window, breathing heavy fog onto it. You push back against him but he keeps you pressed against the window with a strong hand on your back.

You don’t know how you found yourself in Joel Miller’s bedroom, let alone his house. Somehow between now and the bar, rough words, and teasing touches managed to get you slotted between him and his bedroom window. Forced to look out towards your room—where you baited him for weeks.

“Christ,” he mumbles, feeling your wetness, collecting it and letting his fingers disappear between your legs. Yours grasp at nothing, squeaking against the pane there, looking for something, anything to grab onto. He’s got you up against the window like a painting on a canvas, the sill framing your bodies for everyone to see.

But he doesn’t care—that anyone could see—and that excites you more.

You look back at him, he’s got a pained look on his face, staring down at your body bent for him. You bite your lip and hide your face between hair and glass when you hear the clink of his belt.

“Fuck,” he mumbles, pulling himself out, groaning at the sensation, spreading you all over himself. You wait with bated breath.

A big and rough hand hangs on the back of your neck. You can feel him notch himself against your entrance. You move your hips back to meet him, but he stops you. You’re frozen under his touch, a model, waiting to be molded however he desires.

“You like this, angel?” he whispers.

This—being pushed against the window, where anyone can see, like how he saw you, all those nights, all those times before.

Yes, hell yes, you do.

“Yeah,” you whimper, he presses your head into the window further, you squirm in anticipation. His rough hand tangles between hair. The tip of his cock almost pushes into your cunt.

“You do it for me?”

It—undressing in front of the window, pacing around in your underwear, framed by the golden light escaping from the glass, never shutting your blinds, just for him.

You’d be kidding yourself if you said no.

“Yes,” you whisper in a hoarse voice—then suddenly, his fingers drop from your head.

Joel slides in, slowly. Pushing past your tightening walls, your hand pounds a heavy fist into the windowpane and the glass shakes under the pressure. When his hips are flush with yours, he waits.

“Pretty,” he mumbles into your hair and you freeze.

You don’t say anything, still panting against the window, “Always—” he pulls out, and thrusts back in, setting an agonizingly slow pace, “—pretty.”

You tense around him, whimpering. Your forehead ducks down and lands against the glass with a thud.

“Wanted you to—ngh—” you moan. His hand braces against the window and you hold on to it, grabbing at it aimlessly. He slides his fingers between yours. “—wanted you to see me,” you admit.

“I know,” he drawls, “I know, baby.”

His pace is slow at first, gentle. But it speeds up into something deafening. Your body pushes up against the glass with each thrust of his hips. He grabs at your hair, holds your hand, and kisses your neck through it all.

Joel wraps his arms around your waist when he feels you going numb.

“C’mon,” he whispers, “doin’ good. So—fuck—so good.”

The angle is deeper, sharper—he’s bigger than what you’re used to. You bite your lip in favor of screaming.

He hits something inside you and his breath snags somewhere deep in his throat, pushing grunts out into the crown of your hair.

It’s obscene. The gesture. All of it. The throb between your legs comes to a splitting pitch, your breath sharp and cutting just like his. Your head spins, panting through fuzzy vision. His words go straight to your core. The thought that if someone were to walk by and happen to look up, they’d see you—how he’s got you pressed up against glass like an exhibit.

“Joel—” you yelp, he cuts you off, playing with your clit, pushing you over that thin edge. Your muscles choke his cock, turning to putty in his hands as you whine his name, crying out so the glass echoes it back to you.

He bites down onto the bare skin where your neck meets your shoulder. Leaving behind marks that you’ll see for days to come. Not that you mind. You reach back, crumple up cotton into your fists and feel his wired muscles flex under your palm.

“Fuck, angel,” he groans, you spin around to kiss him, and swallow his moans with your own. Teeth and tongue and whimpers to go with the rest of them.

His hips stutter into yours, you push against him, bordering on the edge of too much but when his breath stalls from above you and his hand holding yours goes tight, you finally relax. He spills into you, you feel his cock pulse from somewhere deep inside you.

His head rests against the back of your neck for what seems like forever, you can feel his hot mouth trail kisses down your back until you both laugh and he finally slips out of you and lets you turn around.

He kisses you. Really kisses you. And when he pulls back, he sighs. Pushing out air between his parted lips, like he doesn’t really know what to do now. But he looks at you. And keeps looking at you, even when you think he might break your gaze.

Looking at you, and never, ever, looking away.

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talesofesther · 1 year

Text

I guess that's love

Wednesday Addams x Reader

Summary: Wednesday sees herself stuck in the memory of one night; the night you almost died. She feels it's her fault, your blood on her hands says as much.

A/N: This is loosely based on Can't Pretend by Tom Odell and After Hours by The Weeknd which was suggested by the lovely @abelvrla. Also, I think it's valid to say that this story is mostly me having fun with some of my favorite tropes, so idk if this turned out kinda bad or similar to any of my other works; but I do hope you can enjoy it anyway. <3

Word count: 4,5k of feelings.

Masterlist

It's red. All she sees is red.

It stains the white porcelain of the sink before going down the drain.

Blood never bothered Wednesday, one could say she enjoyed the sight of it.

Now, she's almost rubbing her hands raw. It's a hurried motion, she brushes the soap over her palm with urgency, clawing at her own skin under the running water; yet it's still there.

She feels a little nauseated. Maybe it's because her breathing is all over the place. Sometimes too fast; sometimes not fast enough, clogged up in her throat.

She washes. And washes. And… keeps washing. The skin of her hands becomes reddish. The blood — your blood — eventually, finally fades.

But does it really? Wednesday feels the stain to be permanent.

Looking down at her hands — her vision a little blurry but she doesn't think about that — she catches herself shaking. Her chest is impossibly tight, it hurts to feel the beating of her own heart.

How'd you do it? How'd you get her to dread your death?

She's disoriented when she exits the bathroom, not registering immediately where she is. The white walls of the hospital hurt her eyes.

It's been such a long night.

Is it still night?

The tie around Wednesday's neck seems to be choking her. She reaches her hands up to loosen it, but the feeling doesn't go away. She discards the garment altogether.

That's when she notices the blood stains on the cuffs of her white shirt. She curses under her breath. She wants to throw up. Or change out of these ruined clothes, but it feels like a waste of time.

"…nesday? Wednesday!"

She looks up upon hearing the calls of her name, only to see Principal Weems regarding her with evident worry. She's a little paler than usual, the night definitely hasn't been kind to her either.

There are only a few doctors walking around, some of them give Wednesday a strange look as they pass her by. A pungent smell of disinfectant hangs in the air. The sky outside the window bleeds in soft shades of dark purple and orange — the sun is already rising to a new day.

"You need to get checked out too, follow me." Weems reaches out to Wednesday's shoulder, trying to guide her to an empty room.

Wednesday ignores it, shrugging off the hand on her shoulder. "Where is she?"

Weems avoids her eyes then, sighing exasperatedly because she knows arguing will lead her nowhere; "she's being treated, we'll be able to see her soon."

"I want to see her now," Wednesday states, before walking past Larissa without even knowing which door she should go to.

"She's in surgery, miss Addams," Weems insists, finality in her tone. "We'll only make things worse going there now."

It's funny, how you've always told Wednesday she should put herself out there more, not be afraid to feel or let people close. Yet now you only prove her right in her reasoning that emotions only exist to torture people. Not in a good way.

But she did it anyway, didn't she?

She allowed herself to feel things.

Wednesday is frozen to the pristine tiles, her nails almost piercing her skin as she clenches her fists.

"I'm worried too, but all we can do now is wait," Weems softens once she notices the shaking of Wednesday's body. She takes a careful step closer to the girl, "if you don't want to see a doctor come back to the school with me, take a shower, put some clean clothes on. I'll drive you back when we're allowed to see her."

—

The warm water soothed Wednesday's muscles, it washed away the dried blood from her hair and the dirt clinging to her skin. It was relieving.

She's now standing in front of the bathroom mirror and the reflection staring back at her is not one she easily recognizes. Her skin looks paler than usual — if that's even possible — there are dark circles around her eyes and even she has to admit she looks exhausted.

Wednesday reaches a hand to touch her abdomen, nimble fingers tracing the spot that should be ripped open but isn't. Not even a scar remains; no telltales that she had been stabbed just a few hours ago.

She shivers at the thought. Death's cold embrace is a little more taunting when seen up close.

For a fleeting second, Wednesday catches herself planning to go to your room — as she usually did most nights before she pushed you away. She would sit beside you on your bed, her shoulder would brush yours and she'd comment about how you could even sleep in a bed this small, yet she wouldn't pull away. She'd talk with you about how good it felt to drive a knife into the old pilgrim's heart. Maybe she'd even tell you she had been scared. Maybe you'd try to hold her hand and she'd let you, gripping you tighter than she should.

Your comfort was Wednesday's most prized secret. You were her favorite broken rule.

The salty taste of a tear on her lips brings Wednesday back to reality. The reality where she doesn't have a single scar on her body and you're in a hospital bed fighting to stay alive.

She dries her cheeks harshly, turning around to put on her sweater and dark pants.

—

It's 6 PM when Principal Weems brings her back to the hospital and Wednesday is finally allowed into your room.

There's a stillness to it that she hates. You are too still. Several tubes are attached to your body as you lay on the hospital bed, there are bandages around your torso, some of them faintly tainted red. The machine that tracks your heartbeat is beeping in a lazy rhythm.

Wednesday doesn't dare breathe as she walks closer, stopping right beside you so she can cast over each scrape on your skin.

There was too much blood loss, Weems had told her moments ago. Wednesday knew that, she was the one who kept what was left of your blood inside your body until the ridiculously slow help finally arrived.

Weems also told her the bullet was short of doing major damage, and that despite now being weak, you were lucky and should wake up within a few days.

It does absolutely nothing to set Wednesday's heart at ease.

You're too still.

She can barely see your chest moving with the soft breathing. Your features are so serene, so emotionless. She could say you're dead if she didn't know any better.

Wednesday doesn't move for several moments, it's almost as if she's afraid to. She holds herself stiff at your side, glaring at you as if you'd wake up only to hear her scolding.

She hates that this is the first time she's been this close to you, in what? Two or three weeks?

It feels unfair, unfitting. Like it's all wrong.

But she can't complain. It's her fault.

A vain attempt at keeping you safe. Maybe it only made things worse;

—

"You know, as far as dates go, this is pretty creative," you told her, dodging fallen logs and rocks as you walked amongst the woods.

Wednesday turned back to look at you with an unreadable expression, "no one said this was a date."

"What would you call it then?"

"Investigating."

You groaned, falling into step beside Wednesday. Just so you could see the heavenly way the moonlight shaped her features. There was fog in the cold air, trees nothing but dark silhouettes around you; it suited her. "You're no fun."

"Flattery will get you nowhere," Wednesday felt your hand brushing hers. She hated how it made her focus waver. "Besides, you're the one who agreed to accompany me."

"Of course I did," you explained easily, "you asked me to."

Wednesday gulped, things felt more intimate than they should when the only witnesses around you are trees.

"Why was that?" You dared take hold of her hand then, your cold fingertips closing around her own. She stopped abruptly, and you observed the way her shoulders tensed. "You say you don't need anyone, yet here I am."

Wednesday's breath turned shallow, she didn't feel like looking at you. Because you were right, it was a break in her pattern; her rules.

How'd you do it? How'd you get her to break her rules?

You came to stand before her, your other hand taking hold of her free one so you could pull her closer. And she let you. Another step and any left space between you will vanish.

"Why won't you tell me?" You asked for what felt like the millionth time, but you didn't really hope for an answer.

You're familiar with her. She allows you close; you hold her hand, you touch her cheek, you braid her hair. Yet she never tells you why she allows you to do it.

Wednesday kept her eyes focused somewhere on your lips, counting the specks of color there, still as a corpse.

She saw the ghost of a smile that came to your lips before you leaned closer. And alarms were blaring inside her head, her lungs aching because of how she refused to breathe; yet she didn't move away.

You kissed her softly, gently. Your lips mapped hers in a way that felt like it always should've been.

And she melted against you, her hands clutching yous.

But as all things do, as Goody warned her time and time again; it didn't last. Shockwaves cursed through Wednesday's body and she was taken to another reality.

A reality where you were screaming her name in one second, and the next you were laying on the dirty ground, a pool of blood forming under you.

Wednesday jumped away from you the second she came back to herself, her eyes wide and breathing frantically as she strived to not pass out from what she'd just witnessed in her mind.

You were speaking, trying to reach out for her again as you asked what was wrong.

Wednesday felt her eyes sting, all she could see was your blood on her hands.

—

Her vision from that night came back in the form of nightmares for many nights after. Getting Wednesday to start dreading sleep.

She remembers warning you to never come near her again just before she sprinted away, leaving you alone in the woods with no further explanation. She avoided you, accepting the fact you might hate her, but it was okay because you'd be doing it alive.

All in vain, because her vision became a reality anyway.

"How could you be so stupid?" Wednesday tells you, but only the hospital walls hear it. "Jumping in front of me like that, it was ridiculous. Don't you see it? That's why you should've stayed away."

It's useless, you won't wake up to hear her complaints.

Wednesday exhales sharply and turns away from you, "it shouldn't have happened, I tried to-" There's a lump in her throat, it tangles her words, "but you're so stubborn… If you die before me, I'll kill you, I will-"

I don't know what I'll do. Wednesday thinks to herself. She sits on the chair that's beside your bed, watching through the window as the sun hides behind Jericho's mountains.

"You're missing your stupid sunset," Wednesday finds herself whispering. A last attempt at getting you to open your eyes, because for some reason, you liked to see the ending of sunny days.

Nothing happens. You remain still. The beeping tracking your heart rate is still slow. The room remains too quiet.

Wednesday leans back on her chair, she stays motionless for several minutes; until her hand eventually finds you.

Wednesday wraps her fingers around the pulse point on your wrist, not trusting the machine to tell her you're not dead yet.

She holds tightly onto you. There's no one around to witness it.

—

You didn't wake up for four days. And every day, without failure, Wednesday came to see you. She'd sit beside your bed and wait, sometimes silent, sometimes speaking as if you'd talk back to her.

It was her own way of keeping herself calm, busy.

Though the sleepless nights were starting to take a toll on her; sour mood and thinner patience being her new normal, along with the dark circles around her eyes.

Every time she closes her eyes, she's back there — warm blood on her hands and your life slipping from her grasp — so she refuses to do it.

Enid has seen her roommate nap hunched over her desk too many times to not get worried, but with being shut out every time she asked what she could do to help, she eventually stopped.

Wednesday could hate you for messing up her life.

She doesn't.

—

The day you woke up, Wednesday was nowhere to be seen.

All of your friends came to see you, overwhelming you with love and tales about how each of them missed a part of you in their lives.

You felt sore all over, as if you'd been hit by a truck — getting shot then staying unconscious in bed for days will do that to someone, you figured.

Enid was the one who stayed to accompany you back to school when you were discharged from the hospital, along with Principal Weems, of course.

"It feels like I'm learning to walk all over again," you groaned, one hand coming up to clutch at your abdomen as you got to your feet.

"Take it slow, we've got time," Enid kindly held a hand out for you, which you promptly took.

There are a million questions swimming in your mind, losing these many days from your life feels strange. You halted but the world didn't.

You asked the one that you first thought of when you woke up; "Enid," you stop walking so you can look into her eyes, "how is Wednesday? Did she got hurt?"

A complicated array of emotions pass through Enid's features, too fast for you to put your finger on any of them. She looks at you with something akin to sympathy; "she's… fine." Enid chews on her bottom lip, pondering whether she should tell you or not. Naturally, she can't hold back, "she hasn't left your bedside once."

You must have looked rather surprised, because Enid keeps going; "it's true, there wasn't a day that she didn't come to see you."

You don't know how you should feel. You think it's unhealthy for your heart to be beating as fast as it is right now after what you've just been through, but you can't get it to slow down, not when such a bomb is dropped on you.

Almost a month ago, Wednesday told you to never come near her again. Today, Enid tells you she's been by your side this whole time.

"Why?" You ask.

Enid doesn't know the answer.

—

It feels like a fever dream. Your bullet wound, the hospital visits, the remains of the fight. Everything. It feels like it didn't happen.

Because when you got back to Nevermore, everything was back to how it was. The damage to the school was repaired, classes were steadily going back to being routine, and Wednesday hasn't looked in your mere direction once — she, being the epitome of healthy coping mechanisms and dealing with feelings, avoids you like the plague.

You asked Enid to tell Wednesday that your door was open if she ever wished to talk.

Several days have gone by already and she hasn't taken you up on your offer.

You walk out of the cafeteria with a heavy heart and twirling an apple in your hand. You miss her. You hate how your days still feel hollow without Wednesday's presence on them, it's weird because she's not the type of person who usually makes her presence known; but you miss the weight of her shoulder resting against yours, the familiar comfortable silence you'd share when only enjoying each other's existence while reading.

It's a grey day outside. You see her before you see anything else when you walk into the quad. She has her back to you, black braids haphazardly done falling over her shoulders as she sits with Enid on one of the tables.

The werewolf notices you and waves you over, an encouraging smile on her lips. You give her a look that shows your uncertainty, but she insists.

You take a deep breath and follow the stone path that leads to her table. There's a limp on your steps still, telltales of the fight; sometimes you feel the eyes of your peers lingering on you. You wonder what they're thinking about, what they see when they look at you. A brave hero or a stupid kid?

What do they see when they look at her? A lonely, unfortunate soul or the savior of the school?

You sit down beside Enid, consequently in front of Wednesday, your hands resting in your lap as your knee goes up and down anxiously.

"Hey, how are you feeling?" Enid greets you happily, as if there isn't a tension thick enough to cut through in the air.

The question almost goes over your head. You're focusing on the Addams girl in front of you, on the way her knuckles suddenly go white as she grips the lunch tray like her life depends on it.

"I'm alright," you answer, eyes fixed on Wednesday — she holds you in a trance.

"I've been meaning to ask if you have the notes from our last class?" Enid continues, in a kind effort to make things less complicated.

"I uh-" you start, but cut yourself off when Wednesday hastily gets up from her seat, not sparing you a glance as she turns around and walks away.

You watch her retreating figure, the ends of her skirt bouncing with her steps. With a groan, you begrudgingly take a bite from your apple, "there's no figuring her out, I'm done," you mumble over your mouthful.

Though you're not sure if you truly mean it.

"Don't say that," Enid pouts, keeping her eyes on Wednesday until she disappears through the doors that lead inside the school.

"She made it explicitly clear she wants nothing to do with me, Enid," you shrug, a bittersweet smile tugging at your lips, "I think it's my fault anyway, so… I won't bother her anymore."

Enid turns, straddling the bench she's sitting on so she can fully face you; "what do you mean?"

You breathe in deeply, feeling the familiar flutter in your stomach just thinking about it. "A few weeks before all that shit happened, we shared a- a moment."

Enid instantly smiles, her eyes twinkling with excitement, "you kissed?"

You chuckle timidly, smiling along with the memory, "yeah," but your gaze dropped to your hands right after. "I think it was a mistake."

"I doubt it," Enid tells you confidently then, as if she's in on a secret you're not.

You raise an eyebrow at her.

Enid glances between you and the door that Wednesday had disappeared into, tasting the words on her tongue before she spills them over for you. She breathes in, and relents; "after you passed out…" she gulps, dreadful memory still fresh, "right after you got shot, from the blood loss. Wednesday, she- I never saw her so desperate."

Only from the emotions swimming in Enid's eyes, you could tell she was being honest. You couldn't help the tightness in your chest upon imagining Wednesday going through that.

"It was almost as if she knew you wouldn't make it, that you wouldn't survive," Enid keeps going, "or at least that's what she believed in."

Clarity shoots through you like a bullet as your eyes widened with the words. Ironic much, but that was the feeling.

Because there was a possibility, that Wednesday saw your misfortune before it even happened. Right when you kissed her, no less.

And if that was the case, you couldn't imagine the torment she's been under ever since.

—

The night is calm, you can see clouds shaping the moon as you walk the path outside that leads to Ophelia Hall. It's a little late, just past curfew but you prefer it that way — fewer people around, the hallways will be empty.

It's a struggle for you to walk up the stairs, you have to stop once to catch your breath and allow the nagging pain that shoots up your leg to subside. Details. Tonight feels important, because you're going to see her; you'll make sure of it, even if she insists otherwise.

You stop in front of the dark wooden door. If you strain your ears, you can hear the faint noise of her typewriter. Enid isn't there, you know she's at Yoko's room tonight — her idea, not yours. Privacy is important, she told you, right after all but commanding you to do what you're doing.

With a deep breath in and feeling more nervous than you thought you would, you raise your fist, and knock.

The typing noise stops, you hear her chair scratching the floor. You couldn't breathe even if you tried.

The door pulls open and your heart melts a little at the sight; Wednesday stands in front of you with a hoodie and sweatpants on, and her hair free of braids, clearly not expecting anyone to show up at this hour.

You're snapped out of your trance when you register the door closing again. You quickly hold it open with your hand; "hear me out, please."

"No," Wednesday huffs, "I told you to stay away."

"Yeah, and not much else," you push through, squeezing your way inside her room and closing the door behind you. Wednesday takes a big step back as if you'd burn her. It hurts. "Could've given me a reason."

With a deep breath in, Wednesday sets her jaw tight, "I don't owe you anything."

You avoid her eyes then, "maybe not, but I thought we had-"

"We didn't," Wednesday tells you, the shake of her voice makes you look up, and you think you see her eyes glistening, "we don't."

You nod slowly, and despite the bleeding of your heart, you speak softly; "did you see it?" You chew on the inside of your cheek, fumbling with your hands so they don't tremble, "that night, you had a vision didn't you? About what happened to me?"

There's a sudden stillness to the room that feels awfully familiar to Wednesday. She hates the way she can't seem to control her breathing pattern, she hates that the image of you in front of her is becoming blurry.

"Is that why you've been avoiding me? Because I got hurt?"

Your words urge Wednesday's mind to travel back to that night. She closes her eyes tightly, causing a tear to roll down her cheek and part of her wants to kick you out of the room for making that happen.

"You're a liability," she tells you the first thing her mind conjures up.

You chuckle humourlessly, "ouch, considering I saved your life that's-"

"Exactly the problem." Wednesday interrupts urgently, "are you stupid? If you insist on staying close to me you'll only hurt yourself." Her voice breaks at the end of the sentence, as if it caused her physical pain to speak.

You've never heard her this vulnerable, this scared. Your heart bleeds but for a different reason; for the affection you hold for her, for not being able to protect her from what happened. You take a step further towards her and breathe a sigh of relief when she doesn't take one away from you. "And what if staying away hurts me just as much? What then?"

It's quiet. Wednesday doesn't make a single sound. All you see are her cheeks slowly being stained with tear tracks as they roll all the way down to her chin and drip to the floor, her eyebrows scrunching in hurt. But she's so quiet.

You take one more step. "Tell me why."

A beat of silence, and then; "you made me… care about you and then you go and almost die." Wednesday chokes out angrily.

You smile sadly, finally hearing the words you've been chasing; though you'd prefer them in better circumstances, "caring about people can be… scary."

You don't think she registered that you were so close. Wednesday flinches when your hand touches hers, it's a ghost of a touch, barely there, yet it feels almost like an embrace.

"But I promise you, I'm not going anywhere," you say quietly, tears pooling at the bottom lid of your eyes as you carefully hold her hand properly.

Wednesday is frozen in place, it feels like someone reached past her ribs and is squeezing the organ that pumps her blood. She hates that she must look like a mess, yet this is the first time in weeks that she feels she can actually breathe. Part of her has been stuck on that night — hands stained with your blood as the paramedics take you away from her — until now.

Her fingers tentatively close around yours, her lips part and she struggles a little to get the words out, "it's not a promise you can keep."

"I can try," you whisper. You see it clearly in her eyes; the guilt she's been carrying. "What happened that night, it wasn't your fault, you have to know that, Wednesday."

"It was because of me," she reasons just as quietly, "and almost took you from me."

Goosebumps raise on your skin at her words. Your thumb gently traces her hand. It's private, it's delicate, it's a moment that belongs to you two only. "It'll take more than a bullet for you to get rid of me," you tease with a tearful grin.

Slowly, you bring her hand up so it rests over your chest; her palm flush with your skin as your heart beats rhythmically right underneath it. "I'm right here," you breathe.

It's all it takes for her to, finally, surrender. Wednesday stumbles forward, and you're there to catch her. Her head rests on your shoulder and her hands clutch at the fabric of your shirt to the point of ripping. You encircle your own arms around her waist, pressing her tightly to you.

Wednesday is still mostly quiet, the only thing you can hear if you focus hard enough is the occasional hitch of her breath. But you feel the way her tears soak your shirt, the way her body trembles as she gives her all to contain her sobs.

"There was… so much blood," is all she tells you, words muffled against your skin.

"I know," you slide one of your hands up to her head, entangling your fingers through her hair, "I'm so sorry it had to be you." You plant several kisses on her temple and on her hair, each one is a different promise.

I'm here.

I won't leave.

My blood will never be in your hands again.

You think she understands, because you feel her own lips brushing the skin of your shoulder; cold, damp with tears. Tender.

I love you.

⋆* ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Thank you for reading this little story. Feedback and reblogs are literally what keep me motivated to continue posting here, so I'd appreciate it if you could take some time to reblog and comment if you want. <3

Wednesday’s taglist: @milkiane @bookfrog242 @heelaechan @imagine-reblog @sakurarukas @bluetreecloud20 @the-night-owl-blr @imlike-so-gaydude @user284747 @dreifhraniquo29 @emeraldevan @simp4nat @boobabietch @impossibleliv1031 @deadpool-in-a-snood @rainbow-love4ever @maria-403 @pompompuri @halleest @wandaromanova @marveloussimp @rainbow-hedgehog @left-and-right-up-and-down @get-the-fuck-outta-here @awolfcsworld @elduster @alexkolax @georgi-salva @imdumbhi @youralphawolf72 @reginassweetheart @justyourwritter69 @yangsroboarmm @8e-h-e8 @irish-piece-of-trash @femalehomosexual666 @wol-fica @wednesdays-woes @vorsdany

#wednesday addams x reader #wednesday addams imagine #wednesday addams x fem!reader #wednesday addams #wednesday #wednesday addams x you #wednesdayedit #imagine #fanfic #fluff #angst #wednesday addams fanfic #jenna ortega #wednesday x reader #my story

1K notes · View notes

tkaulitzlvr · 8 months

Note

heyyyyy!! just wanted to start by saying i legit love ur writing so much ur one of my fav TH authors and i legit love seeing and reading ur stories. THEY R SO DAMN GOOD :)

anyways here the request if ur comfy lol IVE HAD THIS IDEA FOR SO LONG AND I NEED SOMEONE TO DO IT PLS QUEEN

soooo basically like 2017 soft dom tom and like we r in a car driving and like reader is rlly horny and hes teasing her LIKE CRAZYYYYY and resting his hand on her thigh and stuff and whispering dirty stuff to her giving her small neck kisses and pecks and like other teasing stuff (LOL IDK WHATEVER U WANT JUST SHIT TONE OF TEASING) and then when they get home he completely ignores reader and acts like it never happened and just acts normal and goes to watch tv on couch but then reader gets RLLY CLINGY and comes over and THEN STARTS TEASING TOM ON COUCH and like reader whispers stuff to him and neck kisses and the tom gets rlly nervous and then he gives up and like eats her out till shes BEGGING HIM TO STOP (so like some overstim) and then they fuck and yeah just smut smut smut. and tom and reader with praise kink and lots of dirty talk pretty pls. <3

HAH SORRY THAT WAS KINDA LONG AND DETAILED BUT YEAH ITS LEGIT MY DREAM STORY. pls only write if ur comfortable but yeah u can add whatever u want that would fit with the story and YEAH PLS MAKE IT GOOD!!! (u will ur amazing) yeah thankyouuuuuuuuu <3 :)

DESPERATE - T. KAULITZ

synopsis: you can’t contain yourself, basically throwing yourself at tom. he knows it, but wants to make you wait as long as he can, and it drives you crazy. but, he makes you realise that you should be careful what you wish for.

contents: smut smut smut

a/n: thank u so much anon i’m glad u love my work, and i hope this lives up to ur expectations. also never written for older tom before so thanks for being my first req to write him🙏

he saw the glances i sent his way, the way my legs squeezed together, palms becoming a little sweaty. he noticed my breathing becoming a little erratic, teeth sinking into my bottom lip, feet tapping impatiently against the floor. he knew exactly what i wanted. but, even when i leaned over, running my hands across his inner thighs, closer and closer to his clothed dick, he kept his eyes on the road, knowing that he was driving me crazy, and he liked it.

“thinking of ordering pizza for dinner. you down?” he asks, completely ignoring my hands which are now directly over his crotch, and my eyes on him, filled with desire. he knows exactly what is doing, the slight smirk tugging on his lips telling me that, and i know that he won’t give up his little game yet. i am in for a long night, my eyes set on feeling him inside of me, willing to do literally anything to get that satisfaction, completely aware that he isn’t going to make it easy for me.

but, that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to tease me either.

“mmm, i’d rather have you instead.” i mutter, knowing that he heard me.

we stop at a red light and he turns to me, his eyes dark, a familiar look of lust present within them. that same smirk is still on his face as he slowly leans over, planting a slow kiss just below my ear, his breath tickling the skin as he whispers into it. “who says you can’t have both?”

my eyes widen, the heat between my thighs only increasing, his words quickly causing me to become flustered, my cheeks flushing a light shade of crimson. he sees this, a small laugh escaping his lips as he plants soft kisses at my neck, the warmth of his touch contrasting with the harsh metal of his lip ring as it dances around the skin of my neck, my head tilting to the side to give him better access. his actions are abruptly cut off by the sound of a horn behind us, tom’s head shooting upwards, the traffic lights already having turned green.

he quickly adjusts himself, flashing me a quick wink before pulling his head out of my neck and beginning to drive away. my eyes focus on his hand on the gearstick, the way his veins flex, fingers tightly holding onto it, wanting nothing more for them to be moving inside of me. as if he had read my mind, he removes his hand, placing it onto my thigh, letting it travel further upwards, moving closer and closer to the place i need him most, his head still facing the road as he looks blankly at it as if he isn’t teasing me to the point that i could scream.

he moves his hand flat against me, and my body jerks in shock, his fingers slowly rubbing my clothed clit, he sees the reaction he gets out of me by doing this, smiling to himself before abruptly moving his hand away, returning it to its previous position on the gearstick as i whine in frustration.

“baby why’d you stop?” i sigh, placing my hand over his and trying to move it back over my heat, but he refuses, keeping it set on the gearstick.

“stop acting so impatient, liebe, or you know you won’t get anything. be good for me and maybe i’ll give you what you want, you just gotta wait till we get home, mhm?” he taunts, watching the way i quickly nod my head, smiling at my obedience, placing his hand back on my thigh, torturing me as his thumb begins slow movements over it.

so i stayed put, trying to distract myself literally however i could, the drive home seeming like hours as each second wasted time, time that could be spent with him inside of me. the teasing never stopped, tom kissing my ear, neck, collarbone, cheek, anywhere his lips could access whenever we stopped at a red light, promising that he’d give me what i so desperately needed once we got home. so i held on, restricting myself, his words keeping me going, acting as motivation as the reward of holding back was completely worth it.

a sigh of relief escapes my parted lips once he turns onto our driveway, my hands scrambling to undo the seatbelt, literally unable to contain myself at this point. tom however, takes his time, not stepping out of the car until i have reached the front door, unable to get in as he pulls the key from his pocket, slowly unlocking the door. i expect him to move onto me the second we walk in, pushing me against the wall, attacking me with kisses, showing me that he meant his promise, but he does the opposite.

he slowly kicks his shoes off, walking into the kitchen as i stand there, pissed off and feeling completely let down. i join him in the kitchen as he stands on his phone, leaning against the counter, a smile forming on his lips once he sees me walk in.

“what pizza do you want babe? i’m feeling like pepperoni.” he utters those words so nonchalantly, as if the things he had said to me, the way he had touched me in the car were all figments of my imagination. i mumble a small ‘get me anything, i don’t care’, before trudging to the living room, sexually frustrated, completely done with his teasing.

he joins me soon after, patting my thigh gently as he sits beside me, grabbing the remote and scrolling through the channels as if i wasn’t sat next to him, bored and desperate. i had reached my breaking point.

“tom…” i trail off, leaning towards him, my lips pressing open-mouthed kisses against his neck, taking note of the way his breathing begins to quicken, knowing that i am slowly getting to him. but he doesn’t show it yet, his expression still blank, eyes still set on the tv in front of him.

“baby…” i mutter against his skin, my hand reaching for his crotch, palming him as a low groan emits from his now parted lips. he shuffles in his seat a little, adjusting himself and clearing his throat. still nothing. i reach underneath his t-shirt, my fingers tracing his abs, feeling every muscle, lips still attached to his neck. he doesn’t give in, keeping me waiting, which only frustrates him even more, but i can feel him slowly giving in, only motivating me more.

“please, i promise i’ll be good…” i slowly say, looking upwards at him before climbing onto his lap, straddling him as he has no choice but to look into my eyes. “i’ll be so good…”

i repeat my words, dipping my head so that it is underneath his chin, kissing his neck once again, sucking gently on the skin as i try to leave marks. but i am not finished yet. i slowly begin to grind against his clothed dick, moving back and forth at a teasingly slow pace. it doesn’t take long for his hands to grip at my hips, completely stopping my movements. bingo.

“so fucking impatient.” he mumbles, switching us around in one swift motion as he lays me on the couch, moving on top of me and messily colliding his lips with mine. “couldn’t wait at all could you, hm?”

i say nothing, too busy focusing on the way his lips move against mine. he clearly isn’t wasting anytime as i feel his hands move to my leggings, hooking his fingers around the hem, tugging them and my panties down, raking them down my legs and throwing them carelessly onto the floor. my own hands scramble for his t-shirt, taking it off of him and letting it find the pile of clothes on the floor, my own t-shirt and his pants following, only his boxers between us.

he reconnects our lips as a quiet ‘please’ escapes from my mouth, wanting more than just a kiss, having waited all night for this.

“please what? you know you have to use your words schatz.” he teases, his forehead against mine, waiting for me to speak.

“need you to touch me.” i whine, my hands finding his neck as i play with the loose strands of hair, watching the way he nods his head, seeming satisfied with my answer.

he crawls downwards, kissing each part of my body as he does so, nipping gently at the skin, enjoying the way my breathing is fast and heavy, low whines escaping my mouth. he reaches my inner thighs, still planting small kisses, one hand on each leg as he forces them both apart, letting his head rest in-between them, stopping his motions and looking upwards at me, his eyes meeting mine.

“you sure?” he asks, knowing full well what my answer is, using his breath to ask such a pointless question, knowing that it will only get me more riled up.

“yes tom just- fuck! touch me, ple-.” i sigh out, my pleading soon cut off when i feel his tongue delve into me, my mouth forming an ‘o’ shape as i my hands find their way into his hair, pushing him further into me.

“oh my god!” i cry, feeling his tongue hit all the right spots inside of me, knowing that it won’t take long for the familiar knot to form in my stomach, his teasing meaning that the smallest of touches had the biggest effect on me. he groans against me, the bass in his throat sending a vibration through me, yet another moan spilling from my lips, his name never being said this many times before.

his pointer finger finds its way to my clit, rubbing slow circles whilst his tongue continues to drill inside of me, my release building up inside of me.

“getting close. don’t stop, oh my god please don’t stop!” i beg, my hands lost within the thick strands of brunette hair, the previous tidy bun messy thanks to me, but he didn’t seem to mind, only focused on feeling me get to my end.

his tongue touches my g-spot, a high pitch moan unlike no other i had uttered coming from the back of my throat. he picks up on this, directly hitting that spot over and over, my vision clouding, eyes rolling to the back of my head, way too lost in pleasure to process the fact that the knot in my stomach had released, tom swallowing all of my juices. i expect him to stop, my chest heaving up and down, coming down from my high, every part of me sensitive, but he keeps going at a fast pace - if not quicker than before.

“too much! can’t take it.” i breathe out, my thighs squeezing against his head, careful not to apply too much pressure, but he only smiles against me, completely ignoring my pleas.

“you wanted me to touch you.” he mutters into me, replacing his mouth with his fingers so he can speak more clearly. “so that’s what i’m gonna do schatz.”

and he sticks to his words, his tongue moving back inside me, the overstimulation quickly taking over, my entire body jolting when he hits the sensitive spots inside of me, unable to take the pleasure.

“please…i can’t…too much…”

my words are incoherent, not able to form full sentences as i feel another release building up.

“not stopping until you say the word baby.” he mumbles against me, referring to our safe word that i have only had to use once. he knows that i won’t say it, secretly enjoying the pleasure despite the pain that comes with it, taking all of it in. “you can give me one more, doing so well.”

i take in every single word of praise he gives me, using it to work through the pain, focusing on the pleasure, using it to guide me to my release, my eyes squeezing shut, head falling backwards as it takes over, my back arching off of the couch, this one much more powerful than the last. he swallows everything, planting a few kisses on my lips as i wince, completely spent. my body lays limp on the couch, his moving upwards so that he is hovering above me. he kisses me softly, his thumb reaching upwards and wiping a few tears that i hadn’t even realised had fallen.

he sits up, taking his boxers off, stopping them at his knees, not even bothering to fully remove him. he lifts my body, sitting me on top of him so i am straddling him.

“you did so well baby. you think you can handle just one more, for me?” he asks, running his hands up and down my hips, watching as i tiredly nod my head, a small smile spreading across his face.

i position myself onto him, slowly sliding downwards as he fills me up.

“fuckkkk.” he drags out, his head falling backwards and resting on the top of the couch, his hands tightly holding my hips, fingers digging into the flesh.

i stop about halfway, feeling completely full, not sure how i will be able to take all of him. he sees that i am struggling, kissing my cheeks gently , moving down to my collarbone.

“you feel so good baby, keep going, you’re almost there. shit- so fucking good.”

low groans escape his mouth as i nod my head, continuing to sink onto him until i am fully sat on him, my mouth dropping open, wincing a little at the pain, his fingers nothing compared to the size of him. i place my hands on his chest, trying to steady myself as i begin bouncing up and down, tom moaning loudly, his hands never leaving my hips, watching me move on him.

“so fucking tight, oh my god…” he sighs out, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip, eyes fluttering shut as i speed up my movements, whining as he hits a totally new angle, never feeling so good, so full before.

his forehead glistens with sweat, muscles flexing every time he squeezes my hips, his fingers leaving marks into my skin, but i don’t complain, the feeling only increasing my stamina. my walls clench around him unconsciously, tom groaning whenever i do it, the feeling only bringing him closer to the edge.

“just like that.” he groans, his voice deep. “yeah, shit baby- feels so good.”

after my two orgasms, it doesn’t take me long to become tired, my movements slow and sloppy. my body collapses onto his chest, frustrated as i am getting close, unable to get there myself. he notices this quickly, beginning to thrust upwards into me, loud moans echoing throughout the room as i try my best to meet his movements, rotating my hips a little, feeling him deeper inside me than i ever have before.

“i’m close. don’t stop.” i manage to say, messily colliding his lips with mine, his tongue exploring my mouth whilst his strokes remain strong and deep, hitting all the right spots.

“me too baby.” he mutters between kisses. “almost there, you’re doing so so well.”

his dick twitches inside of me as he thrusts in and out a few more times, before his cum shoots into me. his head quickly falls backwards, eyebrows furrowing, mouth falling open as a long groan falls from it, his release triggering my own as i clench around him for the last time. he thrusts a few more times, riding out our highs, our heavy breathing and skin slapping together the only thing sounding throughout the quiet room.

he kisses my lips once more, pulling apart as his forehead leans against mine, arms holding me within his embrace, skin pressed together.

“you did so good meine liebe. took me so well.” he whispers, still trying to catch his breath as i am unable to respond, totally worn out, my body weak as it rests in his for support.

his lips gently kiss my forehead, one hand running through my hair whilst the other gently strokes my back, his breathing calming down as he utters sweet nothings in my ear until i fall asleep within his embrace, completely exhausted.

requests are open! getting through them as fast as i can, there are quite a few to do but i’m working through them, keep requesting!!

#tom kaulitz #tokiohotel #kaulitz twins #tom kaulitz angst #tom kaulitz smut #kaulitz #tom kaulitz fluff #tomkaulitz #tom kaulitz x reader #bill kaulitz

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mrsdarkandyandere7 · 1 year

Note

Hello dear. Can you write about a y/n who likes peter's dark behaviors? (except killing) in which she feels loved by all this protection directed at her. idk she might have NPD

WARNINGS: Soft! dark Peter; Obsession.

AN: It's Tom Holland's Spiderman. I hope you like this :) Please, reblog and give me feedback.

The minute of thick silence after you discover Peter’s secret box filled with pictures of you, clearly taken when you weren’t aware of him, the extraordinary amount of souvenirs such as lip balms, panties, is enough to scare Peter.

You don’t utter a word and Peter fears the worst. You’ve discovered his secret and now you’re gonna hate him. You’re going to leave him and tell everyone about the creep your boyfriend is.

Your face is completely blank and Peter is already getting prepared to get slapped and for you to rush out of the door, screaming and cursing him. But you don’t. Instead, your lips curl into a pleased smirk. Your hand reaches down to grab one of the pictures and you examine it carefully.

“Didn’t know my boyfriend had such amazing photography skills.”

You’re not mad, you’re actually flattered. Your boyfriend is clearly in love with you, you’re completely perfect in his eyes, he only has eyes for you, he does everything for you. If you ignore the way sometimes he’s overbearing, then he’s perfect for you.

And Peter is beyond happy with you accepting this side of yours. Now, he’ll stop restraining himself from ever leaving your side.

He bashes you in compliments, practically worshiping the ground you step on and you find it so sweet. He’s constantly around you, making sure you have every need fulfilled, just like a boyfriend should.

Need help with that assignment? Consider it done. You really wanted that new dress? You’ll get it in a blink of the eye. Are you feeling down and insecure? With Peter you’ll never have to feel that way cause he will kiss you and compliment endlessly and you know that he means every word.

That’s how much he loves you.

And if you ever want someone gone for good, he won't hesitate doing it. Cause it's for you.

#@mrsdarkandyandere7 #yandere x reader #tw: yandere #yandere marvel #yandere avengers #yandere peter parker #yandere peter parker x reader #yandere!peter parker #yandere!peter parker x reader #dark peter parker #dark peter parker x reader #dark!peter parker x reader #dark!peter x reader #dark!peter parker

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romana-after-dark · 11 months

Text

The Wrong Way: Chapter 10 (Finale and true ending)

Dark!Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

Tommy Miller x reader

Masterlist

Spotify playlist

Summery: You are sold to Joel to clear up some of your fathers' debts, and he takes you back to his house where him, Tommy, and high ranking members of his raiding trope stay. Joel is mean, cruel, and hash, but had small moments of softness that confuse you in your venerable state. Over time, you get to know him and Tommy, and see different sides of each, and both are hiding secrets. Was it possible to fall in love under these circumstances? Or was that just another way Joel was fucking with you?

Aka: my mom sold me to One Direction

WARNINGS FOR FULL FIC, NOT CHAPTER BY CHAPTER UNLESS SOMETHING NEW IS ADDED AFTER MASTER WARNING LIST: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT!!!! Fic contains graphic depictions of sexual assault, rape, molestation, dubcon/non con. Blow Jobs, PIV sex, lose of virginity, sex trafficking, past incest, death/people dying everywhere, Stockholm syndrome, falling for your rapist, victim blaming, torcher, branding, physical abuse, rape (not Joel), somno, dub con on tommy? idk he's not really into it but feels like he has to, self-harm/depression/suicidal thoughts (not a lot) but fair warning, major age gaps, love triangle, pregnancy/birth, threats of abortion, major character death, mentions of potential csa/child abuse but does not even come close to happening, forced pregnancy, forced housewife shit, breeding, breeding kink?!?!

UUUUHHH ya'll i put the warnings there so uh you can't blame me for what I've done.

Before anything i gotta say the "id do anything for you, you amost killed me, that was for you" bit is curtesy of me and @the-fox-den messing around so credits to them XD

I cannot appreciate y'all readership more. I cried writing this on and off not only bc the content but that it's over. full emotions at the end!

Enjoy! (this is not enjoyable.)

***************

“Hey honey.” Tommy’s voice was groggy and sweet in the late morning. “You up already?”

You shuffled your body back, closer to where Tommy lay, warm and inviting… you missed him. You missed him so much. “Yeah just thinking…”

Nestling his face into your face, Tommy holds you tighter, a protective hand over your belly. “What about?” When you didn’t answer, he knew what you were thinking of. “Ah… you miss him, don’t you?” There wasn’t judgment in his voice, just the soft understanding that Tommy always gave, a grace that showed he knew what Joel had done to your mind.

Nevertheless, you tear up, embarrassed at your own weakness for the man who had nearly killed you and your baby. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me… he had me so messed up and twisted… I didn’t know which way was up half the time… I felt like I was living in a haze…” You begin to cry, letting the frustrations out.

“Hey, hey now it’s alright. He’s good at that… he’s good at jumbl’n you up enough you can’t see straight… and he’s got that look… something in his eyes when his attention is focused on you… just makes you want to make him happy… I know what you mean… Did he hurt you a lot since I left?”

“No” You shake your head. “That was the strange part… It was… it was good… especially after he found out I was pregnant… It was… it was good, actually. I thought he changed… He didn’t… but I had a lot of freedom, I could do pretty much anything with Lorenzo watching me.” You chuckle a little bit, thinking of your friend. “At first I don’t think he was thrilled to be on babysitting duty, but when he realized he could drink and smoke all day I think he liked it a lot more.”

The smile in his voice was evident. “I’m glad you had a friend after I left, honey.” He brushed hair out of your face. “I saw… I saw Joel a few months back… he said you and Lorenzo had gotten close.”

“Yeah” But the tears came again.

“Hey, hey what’s wrong?”

“I never said good bye” You cry. “Lorenzo… everything happened so fast and I didn’t get to say goodbye and now I don’t know if he’s even gonna live.”

Tommy coaxed you to turn over and face him, his face beautiful in the rising orange sun kissing his skin and complimenting his dark hair. “Honey, listen, Maria is gonna make sure he’s taken care of. He’s gonna be okay and once he’s rested up, I’m sure he’ll come to Boston, or at least get word out if he’s got other plans.” Tommy didn’t actually know any such thing but he wanted to comfort you.

“He’s coming to Boston” You assure. “He promised me… and him and Zach are a couple, actually.”

His face was one of confusion, then realization. He chuckled. “Love really just… finds a way, huh?”

When you look into his eyes… you can’t help but agree. “Yeah, it does…” He face was so close to you, it’d been so long since he’d held you… even before he left, you two had grown distant, Joel successfully putting a edge between you two, and you hadn’t spend the time with him you used to, angry and upset with him for reasons that didn't make sense… but that was how badly Joel had messed up your sense of direction. And yet, none of that mattered when Tommy was in trouble. You’d put yourself between Joel’s gun and Tommy, and if you weren’t pregnant you’d do it again. Tommy was always there for you, as much as he could be… he was manipulated by Joel, just like you were, but still he tried… and here he was, sleeping on a cold hard floor with you because he uprooted his entire life with Maria… for you.

The kiss was sudden, you pressing your lips to his and for a sweet, lingering moment he kissed back, chest rising as he breathed through nose, savoring you before pulling back whispering your name.

“I love you…” You confess, eyes closed and foreheads pressed together.

“Honey, you don’t… you don’t have to feel or do anything just because I’m here-”

“I love you.” More assertive this time. He thinks you feel like you have to, like there's pressure… but you never felt that with Tommy. Tommy wasn’t Joel. Tommy was kind and patient, Tommy was loving and gentle and good… Tommy was the one you loved.

Tommy reached out, caressing your hair. “I love you too, honey, I’m sorry I had to leave you” the words just began spilling out from him, tumbling out Tommy’s mouth like a desperate plea for absolution for sins he never willingly committed. “I’m sorry I never stopped him, I’m sorry I didn’t do more, I’m sorry I left you alone in all that-”

You cut him off with another kiss, needier and lonely, clamoring for a connection. “It’s okay, Tommy. It’s okay. I’m okay now, everything will be okay.” And it would be. You were with Tommy now, and Tommy would keep you safe. You hands wander, trailing down his back as you continued to kiss him, feeling him, getting to know the curves and dips and muscles of him for the first time. Your hands move to undo his pants, but he stops you.

“We don’t- honey you’ve had a traumatic week”

“Tommy, I want you…” You whine, and you did. You did, so fucking bad. You missed Joel, you missed Tommy, your head was swirling with guilt and fear and a deep, deep down ache of loneliness that you didn’t know how to fill other than skin on skin. It was all you really knew. Nearly everyone you had cared about, save for Zach, and Lorenzo showed their love with touch. Even June did, although it wasn’t sexual. Tommy always held you when you cried, sat up in his lap with arms wrapped around you as he did now. “I want you Tommy, please?” You whine. You couldn’t deny that the pregnancy hormones worsened things, making you incredibly needy. “I need you, Tommy”

Tommy sighed. He knows he shouldn’t. The week you’ve had, the year you've had, hell, the entire life you had groomed you into submitting your body to men for money, shelter, affection. This is what you knew. Then there was Maria, his girlfriend who he lived with, with whom he swore fidelity too, who had seen this poor, young traumatized her and willingly let him go because she trusted him… That was the other thing, you were still so young… Tommy had made the comment to Joel that if Sarah had lived, he she would be older than this girl in his arms was now… That should’ve made Joel disgusted… shouldn’t it disgust Tommy too? But Tommy was weak, he knew he was weak… and he loved her, didn’t he? This wasn’t a lust filled rape, this wasn’t him taking advantage of her youth and naivety, they were in love, and she needed him.

“Yeah baby, I’ll take care of you.” Tommy allowed you to undo his pants while he quickly undid your flannel. In the daylight and as he pulled it and the dress over your shoulders, he could see the full extent of your injuries. Where your collar hid, there was a mixture of purple and green bruising around your neck and throat, accentuated by red from the rope burn, and yet the hardest to stomach was your chest. A large black bruise formed on your chest from the repeated punching. “Oh honey… you’re lucky he didn’t break a rib.”

“I don’t wanna talk about him.” You grumble, beginning to shimmy him out of his pants. “Just want you, Tommy. I want you the right way, like we never got the chance to, the way Joel took from us.”

“The right way” He kissed you, lips full of love, offering protection and solace in the distortion. He wastes no time pulling your underwear down and slipping a hand to cup your sex, immediately giving you the pleasure he swore he could your first time together, but you had refused. He felt so good, firm and assured in his movements between your legs, but soft and caring, making you feel special in his touch.

You spit in your hand and begin to jerk his cock as you both laid there, your giant belly getting in the way. “Usually wetter, the last month things have been… different” A bit embarrassed, you mutter into his shoulder. You were turned on, very much so, but your lower body didn’t seem to get the message. Joel never seemed to care much. You got wet eventually, especially after cumming, but the in between usually hurt.

“That’s normal.” Tommy assured. “Pregnancy hormones. But I’ll make sure you’re real wet, baby, get on your back.” Doing as you were told, you roll over, Tommy slithering his way down you and pressing affectionate kisses over your swollen stomach. “So beautiful…”

He ate you like a man starved, like a past meal on death row, desperate and savoring every last taste. Joel always felt good, so, so, good, but there was an electricity here, all the built up tension between you two, like a rubber band finally snapping and he couldn’t get enough. Tommy worshiped at the shrine of you, adoration in the prayer on his lips, his arms wrapped around your legs as you grew closer so you couldn’t wiggle away, he needed every second, every inch, every taste, every sound reclaimed for him. It was a conquest, a crusade, a burning need as he licked into your folds, pleasure and fire and love building in your core, fingers opening up to prepare you to take him, fucking into you and god, you were moaning for him.

“Tommy! Tommy please make me cum, please, I’ll make you feel so good, I’ll do anything you want, just-”

“Lay there and take it, princess, that’s all you gotta do.” His head dived back between your legs and eagerly devoured, lips latching on your swollen mound, sucking noisily, soaking your as promised. Two fingers turned into three, and while his lips sucked his tongue flicked at your clit, causing your legs to shake. You entangle your fingers in his long, dark locks, having grown longer since you’ve seen him last and yank him towards you. You didn’t need to guide him, you didn’t need his tongue deeper inside you; he knew what he was doing. What you needed was something to grip onto as your world shattered around you. Tommy was always who you reached for. Everything you needed, Tommy did his best to provide, and when you were terrified, as Joel dragged you away to kill you, all you wanted was your Tommy. You screamed his name as you did now. Gushing cum on his face, you yank at his hair and fuck his face while you ride out your orgasm on his still moving mouth.

Vaguely, you register him kissing his way up your body, laying around you as he couldn’t lay on top, Tommy kissed you back to life, finding his soft eyes staring at you as you open your own…

“You still want me?” He asks, a rough but caring hand stroking your face.

“More than anything.”

He was careful, he always was with you, treating you like a fragile porcelain doll, but you promised him you could take it and he sped up, fucking you, really fucking you the way you had wanted for months after you grew comfortable in that house. He knelt before you knees on the hard floor but showed no signs of pain as his hips snapped into you, your moans growing louder.

“Tommy!” You call out for him, ecstasy building inside you like the sweat on his forehead.

“Right here honey, I’m right here.” He rubbed your knee that he had braced himself on. “Neve gonna leave you again, I promise.”

“You- you promise?” Looking up at him from this angle… he looked god-like. Tan and strong, but handsome and kind… you wanted him forever, you wanted only him and for him to have only you. He filled you up over and over and over, your hips canting up to meet him.

“Promise, princess. I’ll never leave you, ever. You’re mine.”

His.

“I’m yours” You whine for him, on the precipice of your climax, you just needed…

“And I’m yours. Now, I need you to come, and when you do, I want you to scream my name, okay? Can you do that for me, beautiful girl?” His hand was on your hip, large and rough and covering Joel’s initially branded on you.

You’re panting heavily, so, so close when he sets a brutal pace, spilling you over.

Tommy thinks this is the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard. All the times you called for him when you needed him, when Joel was done, when you were hungry or needed to use the bathroom or just were lonely, none of it compared to this…

You scream for him, crying out loudly as he continues to thrust into you, talking you through it like he had the panic attack that had overtaken you when you gave him your virginity.

“Just like that, honey, good girl.” He coo’s, ever letting up on your sensitive cunt. “So pretty coming on my cock, love when you scream my name… there you go, pretty little thing…”

Tommy was right. He made you scream his name louder than Joel’s.

When he came inside you, claiming you as his in a primal, animalistic sense, the cold began to settle on the sheen of sweat between you, and Tommy pulled a blanket over you. A little rest before heading out.

“Did you mean what you said?” You ask.

He didn't need clarification. Tommy knew you well enough. “Yeah, I did. I’m gonna stay with you, honey.”

“What about Maria?”

A fair question, but Tommy sighed nonetheless. “I’ll send word I won't’ be come’n back… I think… I think she knew, she knew before I ever did.”

When the two of you set out on the road again, you wanted to walk for a while. All the riding the last day made you sore and you just walked to stretch your legs, aching joints and pregnant body needing movement. You and Tommy talked, really talked about the future, what it would look like in Boston, wherever it is exactly Lorenzo and Zach had for you… Someone Tess knew? A couple who had been a ‘doomsday prepper’ before… You wouldn’t live on their farm, but in a house nearby. Somewhere fairly safe for you and your baby, and Lorenzo, Zach and Tommy to protect it… Tommy confirmed what you had secretly hoped but could never ask. He’d be your baby's father, he’d raise them with you, loving it as his own.

“Well ain’t that sweet.” You freeze in place when you hear Joel’s voice, the older brother stepping into sight from a tree, gun pointed at you and Tommy. “Fucked my wife, stealing my daughter,” he looks at Tommy. “I can’t believe you’d sink this low, Tommy.”

The irony of who was sinking low was lost on Joel, Tommy was aware. There was no point fighting it. One hand held the reigns of the horse, his right was in the air as yours were. “Joel, c’mon, I know damn well you aren’t going to hurt either one of us so just let-” He was cut off by his own scream, falling against the horse and gripping his upper arm.

“TOMMY!” You scream for him, rushing to his side before Joel shouts to get away. You want to help Tommy… but you had a duty to your child, a duty you knew Tommy would understand. You cried, looking him over. He was still standing, clearly in pain, but blood shooting out of his arm. Nothing vital.

Joel only looked at you. “That’s right, scream his name, little one. Always his name, isn’t it?” Joel stepped forward, ignoring Tommy’s anguished plea’s for him to stay away from you; Joel’s sights were on you and you alone. Nothing else existed, not even his bleeding baby brother. “Sceam’n for him when you think I’m hurting you, when you think I’ve been cruel, when you want his company because I’M NOT GOOD ENOUGH”

You barely registered your own tears, the trembling in your stance, knowing there was nothing you could do.

“That’s how I found you, heard you screaming my own fucking brothers name like a whore in that cabin while pregnant with my daughter!”

Shaking your head, you take a weak step back. “Joel, please, I was scared. I was so scared, you tried to kill me-”

“Is that what you think that was?” A cruel, mocking laugh escaped him in his mania before turning to Tommy. “Is that what she told you, Thomas? ‘Oh Tommy!’” His voice was light and girlish as he mimicked you. “‘Oh Tommy, Joel’s so mean to me!’ Well that ain’t the truth. She’s a cheating whore, and she needs to do better for Sarah, so I’m trying to teach her.”

Out of the corner of your eyes, you can see the visible confusion on Tommy’s face turn into shock and horror. “Sarah? Jesus Joel! Is that what all this is? You’re trying to recreate Sarah? Or is it the picket fence two parent household you never got with her?”

“Don’t talk about her!” Joel screamed at the younger man, his attention turning to Tommy, and you watched for your chance.

“SARAH IS DEAD! SHE’S DEAD AND SHE’S NOT COMING BACK!” His next words… Tommy didn’t mean, not one single bit, he witnessed himself how much Joel tried to save his child, the little girl who was the entire world to him… But he needed Joel’s attention on him, he needed to be the focus of Joel’s anger. “SARAH IS DEAD AND IT’S YOUR FAULT!”

You take a step back.

“SHUT UP!” Another scream from Joel.

“MY NIECE IS DEAD BECAUSE YOU DIDN’T LOVE HER ENOUGH TO TRY HARDER-”

“SHUT YOUR GODDAMN MOUTH!”

But Tommy already moved, Joel’s teary eyes and blinding anger slowing his perception and Tommy moved the barrel of the gun away from him and you before Joel took the shot.

“RUN!”

And you did. You didn’t know where to, but you ran for your life, for your babies. Hearing a gun go off again, you stop briefly wondering if you just heard either the man you loved or the father of your child die… but there was no time to mourn or think, you needed to go. 8 months pregnant, you do everything you can to keep running, but you are stopped by a blinding pain in your stomach, causing you to scream before you can even stop yourself.

When it fades, you open your eyes to see an infected.

There was no time for pain.

Contractions going again, you prayed for another round of braxton-hicks and not actual labor, you prayed Tommy was alive, you prayed the infected behind you couldn’t move fast due to one thing or another… but you couldn’t stop to look. The adrenalynn did most of the work, as did sheer willpower. You didn’t think you could power through running so fast and so long if it was just you, but the mother instinct to protect this baby went above everything. Like a blessing, you see the cabin you had stayed at and took off towards it, infected at your heels, horrific noises that you shall surely hear the rest of your life should you survive this letting you know there was no time to even wince at a particularly sharp contraction. They were not spaced… and if Lorenzo was right, and if this wasn’t braxton-hicks…. You were going to give birth in this cabin.

The slam of the door behind you did not save you, as soon you found yourself sitting in an empty room with a chair propped against the door as the infected tried to get in, your switchblade gripped in your hands, as the baby tried to come out.

You can’t help but scream in pain; the infected already knew where you were, it was only a matter of time until it came in and you had to be face to face with it for the first time. You’d seen them from afar of course, but you had never been close; someone always protected you, Zach, Lorenzo, Tommy, Joel… you’re whole life you had depended on men to save you from other men and a litany of evils in this world and none of them had been able to stop this. No one stepped in between you and your dad, no one stepped in between you and Joel, and no one would step between you and this abomination…

But you’d try your damndest to step between your baby and whatever might harm them, and if that meant facing this infected, you’d do it.

When it burst in, you don’t bother hiding our scream; they looked horrific and the sounds were just as bad, but god, the smell was nauseating to your pregnant senses. None of that compared to the genuine fear as you fought for your life and for this baby. The creature was right in your face as you stabbed him, the jackknife now successfully ending two threats to you; the infected and Nick.

The moment you have to breath is gone when you hear the cry of your baby on the floor. You had given birth to a baby girl, just as Joel wanted, alone, with a bite on your leg.

You were infected, and this baby would grow up without a mom and with a psychopath rapist and murder for a dad. Tommy was surely dead, and even if Joel found you in the cabin she’d grow up with Joel. You didn’t believe he’d sexually abuse her, but physically? She’d be lucky if she made it to 10, not the mention the other men around her…

There was no time to cry or to smile, you couldn’t rejoice in the birth of this little girl or cry at the circumstances, you thought back to what Maura instructed you, Joel, and Lorenzo to do in the event you gave birth without her. Using that knife, you cut the cord and tie it.

Had you given birth before the bite? Was she infect? Had all your efforts to protect this innocent been useless? You once again kick yourself for not leaving with Zach any of the times he offered…She’d suffer because of you, if she lived at all.

As your daughter screams, you scream too, loud and anguished and nameless. You didn’t cry for Tommy, for Zach, for Joel, for Lorenzo or June or anyone that had ever shown they wanted to help… no, you just screamed, because there was no other option.

Tommy had seen you run and tried to follow you, tried to call to you, but you either couldn’t hear him or could defier his voice from Joel who was currently crippled with a shot leg… Tommy couldn’t bring himself to kill Joel… he couldn’t. No matter how much of a big game he talked, Joel was still his big brother, and despite the telling signs of aging and the obvious way Joel was no longer Joel behind those eyes… They were still he eyes, and as Joel looked up at Tommy pointing the gun down on him, Tommy couldn’t fire. He couldn’t fire at the man who had saved his life countless times, the father of his niece, the father of the baby he had swore to raise as his own, and despite the way Joel had clearly lost his mind, lost all sense of reality… Tommy couldn’t kill his brother because yes, that was still his brother.

When he found you, it didn’t take long to figure out what happened, with the baby in your arms and the infected on the ground… your bite was clear and prominent.

“Oh honey… no…” Tommy dropped the gun on the floor and likewise dropped to his knees as he walked to you and the child. A little girl…

“Tommy, please, please take her. If you don’t want her, take her to Zach and Lorenzo, just please take her-”

“I’ll take her, I’ll raise her, I swear.” Maria and him had talked about kids before… would she want this? Tommy couldn’t stop looking you over, he couldn’t process that you had been bit… this wasn’t a rattlesnake bite, there wasn’t a way to get the venom out… it was over. “I’m sorry.” He cried, tears flowing over before he registered they were coming. “I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you, I’m sorry-”

“Tommy” You stop him, tears matching his. “Tommy, it's okay. Just protect her, okay? That’s what matters now, her.” Everything hurt, and you could swear there was something already changing in you, but maybe it was in your head.

Heavy boots clomping on the floor. “Get away from her.” Joel spoke, his voice low and dark, despite being unarmed. You notice his limp and the blood… Tommy hadn’t shot Joel to kill… and had greatly underestimated what Joel would do to get to you, including walking on a shot leg.

Tommy didn’t even turn around, still holding you and his, yes his baby, because there was no way in hell Joel was walking out with her. “She’s infected, Joel.”

Joel didn’t reply, and you looked up at him over Tommy’s shoulder, confirming it. You nudge Tommy to move, revealing his daughter. You speak before Tommy does. “I cut the cord before I was bit.” Your eyes dart to Tommy. “Before.” You lied, and you knew it was dangerous… but you needed your daughter to have a fighting chance.

Joel shook his head. “No, no we’ll get you help, theres gotta be-”

Grabbing his gun, Tommy turned around. “THERE’S NO HELP, JOEL!” He shouts. “This is your fault! This is all your fault and you can’t fix it!” His steps were long and quick, pinning an unarmed Joel to the wall gun to his head. Tommy was shaking, but you didn’t need to aim to shoot point blank. “I’ll fucking kill you for what you did to them.”

For once, you believed it.

And it seems Joel did too. “That’s my daughter, Tommy. Yuh ain’t take’n her.” But Joel’s voice was weak, small…

“Yes he is, Joel.” You speak from the floor. “He’s taking her, and one of you needs to kill me.”

Both of Miller brother turn to you at that, anguish and pain in Tommy’s eyes. “I… I can’t do that… I can’t… Honey, no…” You knew how badly he was hurting right now… but you didn’t want Joel dead, and someone needed to do it. You didn’t know how long you had.

“I know, Tommy. I know.” You smile sympathetically at your lover, and beckon him towards you. Tommy gives Joel a warning look, but takes the pistol off his brother and comes to you. “I know. I know you can’t and that’s okay. You take he, that’s what you need to do for me, okay?” Looking down at the crying baby in your arms you give her a kiss and whisper that you love her before pushing her into Tommy’s welcoming arms. “I know you feel guilty…” Reaching up to touch his face one last time, you smile as he leans into your touch. “Sweet, sweet boy… you have nothing to be ashamed of, you’ve always done right by me. But if you feel you need absolution, this is your chance.”

Tommy looked at the little girl in his arms… she was so small, so fragile… but he would protect her, he would do right by her the way he couldn’t do to you. She was his baptism, his new life, a fresh start. He was a father now. “I will” He looked at you again.

“Her name is Ellie” Fimly, you spoke it into truth. “It’s not Dorthy, it’s not Dolly, its Ellie.” Looking up at Joel, the hurt clear on his face at the erasure of what he wanted to give her, you offer a small mercy, the middle name he agreed on, named after the singer he liked so much, and your friend back home. “Ellie June.”

Tommy nodded. “Ellie June, it’s beautiful.” He touched his forehead to you softly and you slipped your hand to touch Ellie’s little toes. This little piggy went to market, this little piggy stayed home, this little piggy had roast beef, this little piggy had none, and this little piggy cried wee, wee, wee… “I’ll never forget you, and I’ll make sure she knows about you, okay? She’s gonna know who you are.”

“Zach… please, get word to Zach somehow, tell him he’s an uncle.”

“I will, I swear.”

“And Lorenzo, Lorenzo said he’d be the godfather. Please thank him for everything he’s done for me.” You sob thinking about your best friend.

“I will, I’ll tell him.”

“And Zach, please tell him I love him so much, and thank him for being my big brother.”

“They both love you, hermosa, I know they do.” He stroked your hair with his free hand.

“Tommy, one more thing?”

“Anything”

“June, please, can you find her? Tell her I loved her, she’s Ellie godmother in spirit.”

“Abslutly, is there anyone else? I’ll do it.”

You shake your head, tears flying as you do. “No, those three… they are all I know- wait, Maura and Jack, Jack risked everything to help me escape, and Maura with my pregnancy” You chuckle a bit. “Who knew dying had so many many loose ends to tie up” You hadn’t realized… you had grown a small community. It had taken a village to keep you and your baby alive.

He smiled. “I’ll tell them all, honey, I promise, especially Zach.” Tommy had an older brother too, and a;thought his had turn into a monster, he understood the love of a protective brother, and would not be who he is without Joel in their childhood and youth.

You whisper a thank you, before sealing his promises with a tearful kiss. When Tommy pulled away, you knew it was time…

“Goodbye Ellie, mommy loves you.”

Then, it was just you and Joel.

“I never wanted this, little one.” He spoke, voice filled with sincerity and pain. “I know you think I hate you, that I want you to hurt-”

“I don’t think that Joel.” You deny his accusation, but you are honest. For once, you can be honest. “I think you’re a broken man who doesn’t know how to love, but I don’t think you hate me, and I don’t know you never wanted any of this.”

“I loved you! Everything I did was for you!”

“You almost killed me-”

“THAT WAS FOR YOU!” He screamed at you, but it wasn’t rage or fury, it was wretched and broken and him. A heart broken father who had lost his daughter, and is now about to lose his wife, and if Tommy can help it, his brother and baby.

Closing your eyes, you move on. “You can’t have her, Joel.”

He steps closer, boots loud against the creaking floor. “Tommy ain’t taking my daughter, I ain’t losing her.”

A dry laugh. “I’m not sure you ever loved Ellie-”

“Her names not Ellie, it’s Dolly-”

“You loved Sarah, and Ellie was a replacement. What if we had a boy, Joel? C’mon. Let her be, let them go.” Couldn’t he give you this? A deathbed wish to save your baby…

“No.” But you could tell he was wavering. “That’s my daughter.”

“What’s your plan then? You don’t have day care. The only raiders you could have trusted with her are Tommy and Lorenzo and they are gone. You can’t do it alone… You’ve seen those men gang rape women, you think they won’t rape Ellie?”

“Stop calling her that.”

“You think they won’t beat her, touch her? Even if they don’t, is she suppossed to grow up around violence and rape? You gotta think this through, Joel! There’s no day care, no PTO, you’re two top men just left you, you can’t keep her safe! You can’t protect her, she’s gonna die like-”

“Fine!”

There's a long, shocked silence between the two of you, the gravity of what he’s agreed to give up… You weren’t sure if you believed in god, and if you did, whose god it was… you weren’t sure you believed in an afterlife, or anything of the sort. But if you did… you could be convinced that Sarah’s spirit touched Joel, breaking through his obsession, his mental illness, the delusions he had… to keep her little sister safe.

“I’ll… she can go with Tommy.” Heartbroken, Joel acquiesced, then knelt in front of your exhausted body. “I know you don’ think I loved you, but… just know I cared, okay? I just-”

“I believe you.” You took in his scent once more. “For what it’s worth, I think maybe we loved each other in our own sick way… It was always gonna end like this… ” You push the jackknife into his hands.

“Where did you get this?” Joel referenced the knife with wooden encasing.

“Nick’s skeleton.”

Joel couldn’t help but smile “Brave girl” He kissed you, and you allowed it, wanting to taste him just one more time.

Knife in grip, you taking rough hand and bring it to your throat, tucked under your chin just beneath where your wet faces pressed together, foreheads and noses and lips melding into one as he could consume your soul, bring you into him forever.

“I love you, little one. Always have.”

“And I loved you, Joel.”

“What’s that song you like?”

“Red River Valley”

“Yeah, that’s the one. How did that last line start?”

You smile, eyes closed, and start singing it. “Come and sit by my side if you love me…”

Joel joined in the pair of you singing together. “Do not hasten to bid me adieu, but remember the the red river valley” You’re voice choked up so bad on the last word, you couldn’t finish it.

You think back to the night Ellie was conceived, the night Tommy left, they way Joel fucked you, words uttering into life the possession he had over you. It was foolish to think you could be free of him in this life. That pain? The pain is mine. Your cries are mine, your cunt is mine. And if you bleed?

Joel sang the last line for you, voice as soft as a whisper.. “And the cowboy who loved you so true.”

His lips pressed a final kiss and you felt the sharp pain and oozing liquid leaving you, your gasps and cries of pain stifled by his mouth. Eventually, the warmth of the blood enveloped you into darkness, and the agony of this life you were subjected to since childhood ended.

If you bleed? Your blood is mine.

Joel inhaled your last breath into his, sucking in the evidence of your life with his lips attached to yours until his head grew dizzy from lack of oxygen. Your blood was cooling on his body.

Joel limped out of the room, covered in her blood, only to find Tommy rocking a baby in one arm and a gun aimed at Joel with the other, tears streaming down his face.

“You killed her.” Tommy stated the obvious.

Not even bothering to raise his hands, Joel replied. “The infected killed her, Tom-”

“No.” The low tone of voice warned of something serious, and Joel pondered if Tommy was capable of actually killing him. “You did this. All of this. This last year you beat and tortured and raped her and made her think this was love. Calling her your wife, Joel?” Tommy shook his head in disgust. “I didn’t think you were capable of this, even after everything.”

Joel glowered his eyes at Tommy, not happy to have this talk again. “I didn’t see you ever stop’n me, Tommy.”

“No.” Tommy’s answer was candid. “That’s my cross to bare. And she-” he needed down to the sleeping baby in his arms. “She’s my vindication, and I’m gonna do right by her.”

Joel held out his hands, causing Tommy to step back. “Give me my daughter, Tommy.”

Worry crossed his face. “You promised-”

“I just wanna say goodbye” It was rare Joel spoke like this… so quiet, so soft… But Tommy didn’t trust him. “No, you-you’ll hurt her.”

The way Joel looked in Tommy’s eyes was earnest… so much hurt and sadness Tommy felt like he was actually looking at his brother again… “I’d never hurt my daughter.”

Tommy believed him. “Gun to your head the whole time. You try to take her away, I shoot you.”

“Okay.”

He was right, the gun was pressed to his head as Joel said his goodbye. “I love you. No matter what anyone tells you, I love you, and I loved your mom. She’s up in heaven watching out for you, she’s there with your big sister, your grandparents, everyone. They love you, just like I do, just like Tommy does. I’m gonna protect you still, okay? Jackson is under my protection, nothing bad’s gonna happen to you or your family.” Joel will protect his daughter with his life, and that means protecting those who care for her. Tommy, Maria, all of Jackson. As long as she's taken care of they are safe. “I love you, baby girl.”

Hesitantly, Joel handed Ellie back to Tommy, her new daddy, and he felt like he was letting go of a peace of himself. Nother brother bothered hiding the tears.

“I never want to see your face again, Joel. Do not come near me or my child ever again.”

Joel wanted to argue, to say it was his daughter, and he could take her whenever he wanted… But she was right. Ellie was better off with Tommy. Tommy could provide a stable home, with a mom and a dad, a community to make friends, school, church, and most importantly, safety. Tommy was younger, he could keep up with a child, fight off what he needed to… Tommy was a good uncle to Sarah… he’d be a good dad to her.

“Tommy, wait” But Tommy kept walking. “Wait!”

“SHHH!” Tommy whipped around, whispering harshly. “You’ll wake her!”

As if Joel didn’t raise a whole child himself. “Just… here.” Joel cleaned of the knife and handed it to a nervous Tommy. “For her.”

Tommy glared at the gift. “You want me to give her the knife you killed her mother with?”

“She killed the infected with it, and that’s what I killed Nick with… I used it to ortect her, and she used to to protect… Ellie.” Joel said her name outloud now. “You don’t have to tell her about me just… I want her to have something, please?”

Tommy stared at Joel for several moments. He hated Joel… but he’d always live him. Joel raised him most of his life, and they raised Sarah together. Joel was his brother, always, and the reason his now-daughter existed. “I’ll tell her about Sarah. I’ll… She’ll know she has a sister.” A fresh tear escaped, Tommy wiped it with the sleeve of the arm holding the knife as he sniffled at the mention of his precious niece he loved so much. “I dunno how I’m gonna explain the rest, but she’ll know she had a sister.” A deep breath. “And she’ll have her knife, so no matter what… you both with be protecting her, okay?”

Joel nodded.

“But you can’t go after the others. Zach, Lorenzo, Jack, Maura, got it? They are gonna suffer enough. With this news, just… leave them be.”

Joel agreed, then explained his horse is out front, a quick ride back to Jackson. Joel would walk back on his wounded leg. “Thank you, Tommy. I love you. I’m always gonna love you, even if you hate me.”

Turning on a heel, Tommy walked away, carrying little Ellie, taking off his scarf to wrap around her in the cool weather. It wasn’t anything too cold, the sun was out and shining at least, and no wind. Tommy was dead set and determined to walk away, to never speak to his brother again… but he stopped. He didn’t look back, but he spoke, quiet but just loud enough for Joel to hear. “I love you too, hermano.”

With that, Joel watched the only two things left in this life that he loved, walk away.

***********

Joel at the end, what Tommy see’s as Joel exits the room after murdering little one

Art my @melodymakesart

Continue the story 16 years latter with Ghost of You, Ellie’s journey in finding out the truth

Wow. WOW. I cannot thank you guys all enough for how much support i've gotten on this series. Biggest thank you's to the-fox-den, dinsbaby, foggymoonbanana, primos world, Fen, my dear maura, miraclesabound, not a unique snowflake blog and koshkaj for always leaving such nice comments! (everyones comments are appriacted and loved i just see these guys do it every single chapter without fail.)

also thanks to everyone who reached out about the bomb threat. we are all doing much better now.

I love you al so much and cannot ever express how much the reaction to this series has touched me.

That's right, the baby is Ellie.

I do want to say, that in this series, since reader isn't Anna, this means Ellie can look like anything, no matter the race. It just matters she's ellie and she's immune. Little one isn't a great reader, she's largely oc but i wanted to keep things as inclusive as i could instead of an OC

and i did say major character death ;-; good bye little one. You deserved better.

THOUGHTS?!?!?! shout out to spadesjade on ao3 who correctly guess that little one dies and tommy and maria raise the baby!

Remember, there's still the alt ending! This one will be a bittersweet, happier ish ending.

As always, if you hate both endings, my fics are open for you to write your own version of the end or use this universe in anyway. And if you'd like, i'll add it to the masterlist for additional reading!!!

In the mean time, come read Dirty Little Secret, my dark!joel one shot

LOVE LOVE LOVE YOU GUYS!!!!

Remember, reblogs spread the work, comments motivate!!!!

@my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @howaboutcastiel @tidlewav3 @bunnnyy-dummy @slutfortimotheechalamet @foggymoonbanana@dinsbaby @miraclesabound @jenna-ortega @primosworld@marclovers @threeheadedlamb @secretwriterpp @the-fox-den

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enam3l · 2 years

Note

I just want to see how Eddie would react to reader using the safe word and how he would feel

eep thank you for being my first request and my first smut attempt! i hope it's okay and you like it, i kinda got carried away

2k words / SMUT! / tw: idk like a teeny daddy kink and panic attacks

Eddie hated being called a freak, it had followed him for years. Maybe it wasn't said to him anymore since he'd left high school but he couldn't shake the memory. It was a tagline that belittled and dismissed his passions and interests. A punishment for being anything other than an all American cookie cutter athlete like Jason fucking Carver or a Tom Cruise-esque heartthrob like Steve, who now was one of Eddie's best friends but still... Eddie couldn't help but think Steve's hair was fair more ridiculous than his own long curls.

Being called a freak sucked... until you said it. At the beginning of your relationship as you began to intimately discover each other's deepest desires, after hearing Eddie whimper the word 'Mommy' as you straddled him, you put your soft lips to his ear and whispered the words 'Oh you really are a freak aren't you Eddie Munson?'

:readmore:

For the first time his heart did not sink at the words. This time his dick twitched. Because this time being a freak was okay. Because now you were a freak too. Now long into your relationship and more in tune with each other's bodies than you were your own there wasn't much the two of you hadn't tried.

The day had dragged on, spending your day being belittled and cross examined by men without your skill set but a salary nearly double yours. Everyday you were grateful to find a job doing something you loved but you couldn't deny that you were exhausted of being in a male dominated environment. You always struggled to feel comfortable around men until you met Eddie, he was the exception. His soft and beautiful heart disguised under his hard grunge exterior. Sometimes you joked he was the human personification of a dark chocolate with a caramel centre. He pretended to hate that comment despite your sweet words making him feel gooey inside, further proving your point. But your colleagues weren't like Eddie. They wore tailored suits to cover their icy cores which no matter how hard you worked, you could never chip away at.

After hearing a prolonged period of shuffling and jangling from beyond the front door, Eddie finally opened it. He had expected to find your there, what he hadn't expected was you looking up at him, small, tired and wide eyed. Your bag abandoned on the floor, it's contents turned inside out in an attempt to find your keys. At his beautiful face, warm and kind, your bottom lip began to tremble.

Gasping at his forlorn love, he was quick to gather you in his big arms

'Baby! Baby, my baby girl, what is wrong?!'

You snuffled your face into his neck, hands clawing at his sides to bring him closer even though it wasn't physically possible. You needed his scent to overtake you.

'Just really really glad t'be home, with you Eds'

He knew there was more, he always did but it was better not to press right now. Between delicate kisses to your temple and calming strokes along your spine he whispered

'Yeah baby, it's okay, you're home now. We're home. Come on, let me take you in.’

He guided your legs around his waist and carried you over the threshold, using one foot to shuffle along your abandoned belongings. It took you a little while into your relationship for you to admit you loved letting him baby you, having previously never let yourself become so vulnerable under the touch of a man. And my god was Eddie thrilled, upon meeting you, a primal urge to protect and worship you filled him. It was something he never felt with anyone before.

Eddie carried you through your home and once you were in the bedroom he gently placed you on the bed. Immediately your hands reached out to desperately grab for him again.

'Are we being my needy baby girl tonight? That's okay love, whatever you want'

He knew the score and was already halfway climbing onto the bed, always unable to resist your sad eyes especially. His head barely hit the pillow before you're buried back into his side and pathetically pawing at his t-shirt

'What do you need baby, I can't help if you don't say?'

Your fingers had breached his clothes and were now working up his stomach.

'You' you finally admit, your voice muffled from your face being pressed into him.

'Me?'

'Yeah Ed, need you to be inside me.'

Eddie chuckles at your need for intimacy but simultaneously he can't believe how much you love him, he never will.

'Anything for you,' he admits as he raises up to undress himself and then carefully do the same to you, freeing your body of your work clothes.

The second the last item of clothing is shed you latch onto him, desperate to feel your bodies together. Your mouth sucks at his neck as your hands roam his biceps and the little trail of hair from his navel to groin.

Eddie groans, blissed out by your need for him. He roles over, slotting between your thighs which you instinctually spread. He rests propped up on his arms so he can look at your face. He sees the need in your slightly teary eyes and is encouraged by your hands on his ass pulling him towards you.

He guides his thick cock through your folds, coating himself in your sweet wetness. It's hard for him not to melt at the way you whimper and eagerly nod him on to enter you. Finally he slowly slides in. His dick gently stretching you and filling the emptiness you'd felt all day. Seeing the bliss spread over your features and the way your expression instantly softened feeling him inside you, Eddie coos

'Oh my sweet girl. This is what you needed, huh? Needed daddy to look after you. S'okay you know there's no where I'd rather be.'

And it's true, you'd both often wished your bodies could merge as one. Constantly desiring a level of closeness not physically possible.

He peppers your face in gentle kisses as he begins to move. Each worry from the day squashed by each thrust of his hips. It's slow and intimate and everything you need. Your lips find each other, frantic to taste the other. As your kisses grow more desperate, Eddie's thrusts speed up in time. The only noise in the apartment is your wetness each time your bodies join. The way he fills you is both comforting and overwhelming and your kisses are broken up as moans escape your lips. Allowing yourself to be totally overtaken by the sensation of him pushing deep inside you.

Eddie can never believe the effect he's able to have on you, especially in such intimate and passionate sex. You make him feel loved and desired in a way he didn't know was possible.

His hand moves to your neck, wanting to angle your head so he just watch your beautiful face react to each pump as you both grow closer.

And even though his grasp around your neck is gentle, he's barely applying pressure, for the first time his hands around your throat did not feel comforting. He is barely restricting your oxygen but it still feels too tight and doesn't fill you with a giddy sensation like usual. The closing in of your vision to just your boyfriends face didn't feel beautiful either. For the first time it all felt suffocating, as if the walls were closing in and every gap was stuffed with cotton wool, not a corner to wiggle to.

Sex with Eddie was always fun, intimate and beautiful and yes sometimes a little weird but suddenly it was terrifying. Before your brain could even compute just what the problem was, your throat rasped out a word you'd never uttered before 'Melon!' Your safe word. You decided upon it after both agreeing it was the worst flavour for anything.

Eddie froze then quickly shot up and practically ran over to the other side of the room. Terrified at the thought he had been scaring or hurting you. But what terrified him more was he truly had no idea what was wrong, this hadn't been one of your more experimental moments. It was raw and passionate and love filled.

His face fell as he saw you recoil into yourself and your face which seconds ago had been the image of content was now crumpling. Tears trickling down your face as you looked up at him. Eddie couldn't help but well up at the sight of your distress. You both stared at each other, distraught and confused.

Slowly he walked back over to the bed, careful not to scare you. Fuck, the thought of you, of all people being scared of him was truly his worst nightmare.

'Sweetheart... I'm so so sorry. Are you okay? Can you talk?'

You blink a few tears away and nod. Your hand reaches back out to him as you shuffle on the bed, indicating for Eddie to get back in. He felt his racing heart gradually slow down knowing you still wanted him near.

Pulling up the quilt and getting under, he nudges you to do the same.

He stutters 'Can... can I touch you?'

Your heart breaks hearing how nervous he is, you feel awful for saying it, worse for still not being able to conjure the words as to why. Reaching out to hold him, you both settle into each other's arms.

'I'm sorry I scared you Eddie, I don't know what happened I just -' a sigh escapes your mouth as you try to process.

His little kisses across the crown of your head help calm you and you feel the pieces of your emotions fit together. Sitting up and taking his hands in yours, you look at him. With a sniffle you finally admit 'Work... it's been horrible Eds. I'm so tired of them. I'm so tired of feeling like the smallest person in the room. These men standing over me, talking down to me...'

He listens so intently, absorbing every word you say, his thumbs brushing back and forth over your fingers.

'It's just when you put your hand on my neck... god you weren't even choking me but it's like my brain decided it to freak out. And suddenly everything was too much? I felt like I was spiralling, like I couldn't breathe or escape. It was scary. I've never felt like that before. Like everything came crashing down at once.'

Eddie nods, he knows exactly what you mean and he's so glad you're not hurt and he's so glad you're not scared of him. 'Oh my baby. I think you had a panic attack? I've seen Will have them before. It's like your brain was already overwhelmed and on edge and there's just one thing that can tip you over and your body just reacts.'

You let out what feels like your first real breath in several minutes now you know what it was. A small smile starts to form as you think how lucky you are to have a boyfriend as empathetic as him. 'Oh... that makes sense. I guess just everything has built up inside me and that's how it decided to release.'

Eddie's hand reaches up to your cheek, his thumb stroking you softly, 'But promise me, baby, promise you'll say if I was hurting you? Are you sure it was okay, I definitely wasn't choking you?’

Pulling yourself into his lap, you take his hand and link your pinkies together, 'I promise you my pretty boy. I'd tell you and truly, you weren't hurting me. It was just this once, I swear, I won't break if you touch me.'

You both stay wrapped up in each other's arms under the quilt as the sky outside grows darker. No pressure to speak or move. Both of you feeling at home with the other. Knowing there's not one place in the world you feel more comfortable in than within each other's embrace.

#enam3l x eddie #eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson headcanons #Eddie munson blurb #eddie munson x afab reader

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valmare · 9 months

Note

For your 300 party I was wondering if I could request reader lovin on Ice. I've read a lot of Ice taking care or protecting reader, but at this point in my life I need some soft, clingy Tom. Maybe he's sore from an ejection, or he caught some sickness (or maybe he get tension headaches from clenching that gorgeous jaw of his.....)

Idk, you do you boo

Okay, so, this is a little angsty but I think it accomplishes the mission at hand. Somehow it ended up 14 Google Docs pages, but, I'm not complaining. Enjoy the Iceman, love.

Keep Me Alive

“God, it’s good to be home.”

If the little edge of impatience weren’t so evident in Slider’s tone, the way he shifts a little on his feet and cards fingers through his hair would be evidence enough. For the better part of an hour, they’d been standing on deck as the carrier slides home to quay, dwarfing any and all the bodies that have gathered to welcome some six-thousand men home.

For the first time Tom is conscious of, the beast beneath his feet isn’t moving, cutting through dark waters. Bobs on the surface of glassy waters, like God’s bath toy, but isn’t in motion. Knocks against the wharf every so often. A sure sign he is home.

Mentions of home have kicked anticipation down the length of his spine like a mule for nearly a week. He hadn’t slept soundly since they’d pointed the rig in the direction of the golden coast. There’d been no better way to spend time on this thing than counting the days he’d be docked, feet planted on solid ground. Even on his hops, he’d been half distracted thinking about home—his bed, his car, all the meals gone cold from being too busy holding you. Eight weeks on the water was enough–two of them in Medical had driven him just short of insanity.

Medical had taken a concussion and a jacked collarbone all-too seriously, but that was the Navy for you. Making a big deal out of injuries when in reality, it came with the gig. Maintenance issues happened, cropped up out of nowhere all the time—facts of life, all that. Traveling at mach speed, pulling Gs and breaking sound barriers tended to work a bird pretty hard. Loosened some screws. And he didn’t exactly take it easy on his rig, that wasn’t his job. He flew the damn things, went to work, ensured national security, and came home.

But, a hundred and fifty miles out is a helluva distance to bail and watch the ocean consume forty million tax dollars. Man doesn’t really know what insignificance feels like until he’s surrounded by churning waters and open sk.Dwarfed by the cruel joke that is the behemoth of the ocean. Reality had hit him as soon as he’d broken the surface, Ron a few hundred feet to his right—he wasn’t as indestructible as adrenaline would lead him to belief.

He’d almost bought it. Died. In a matter of seconds, everything he’d known about the world hadn’t mattered. He’d only thought of his little slice of home in San Diego, you waiting for him on the front porch. His car parked in the driveway—the life he could have with you. All the things he’d never said but wanted to have bludgeoned him like a sledgehammer. Seconds were all he had, but he lived an entire life in those heartbeats—or, rather, hadn’t lived.

Ice didn’t have any idea how actually freezing the Indian was. Well, more accurately, how freezing open ocean was. Survival training had been forever ago, the body easily discarded information that wasn’t necessary to immediate survival. His feet had hit the water first, its glacial bite cutting straight to his bones as the full weight of miles of endless depth had attempted to pull him under surface. He’d immediately started shaking, heart kicking against his ribs, brain somehow managing to tell his limbs what came next. Lungs immediately burning, Ice realized he was a complete pussy—not built for the cold, couldn’t hold his breath for shit. Realized how actually awful he was at swimming. Cursed the Navy for not enforcing mandatory swim training as he’d cut through the water, grappling for air.

The black veil of unconsciousness pushed inward from the perimeter of his vision. Hadn’t even been aware he was still wearing his helmet, it did nothing to cut the roar of a spinning ocean. Bile splashed in the back of his throat he’d taken one breath of air, panicked, and dropped back down. Might as well have weighed a thousand pounds. Seconds from kicking off his boots, his vest engaged to float him up, and a firm kick of his legs sent him popping back above the water.

Treading water became second nature. He hadn’t even registered the pain of his arm until the glass ceiling of reality had shattered—Ice went through the motions, almost like routine. Popped ink. Sucked frigid, biting air into his lungs. Watched his chute roll away on the water, tipped his head back to see the still-there trail of smoke he’d left behind. Remembering Slider, he was prepared to meet Kerner halfway. Angled to attempt a crawl. Instead, white-hot, shooting pain rocked him to his back, twisted his freezing facial muscles into a grimace. Arm rendered all but usable, it was already throbbing despite the freezing water trying to suck him in.

You passed through his mind on a continuous loop, unstoppable. Beautiful. Every few seconds he was smacked with the truth of his current state of affairs, that he could still die. Die without telling you again how much he loved you. How you were the sun, he but a revolving moon chasing after you. You put him back together, took him apart. Fixed the places the world dared to break. He allowed you to, because nobody touched him like you could—nobody saw him like you did. They saw the Iceman, the master of the skies, the man without mistakes. The saw who they wanted to see.

You saw him for who he was—imperfect. Broken. You saw the reflections he hides for the world. Demons he fights. And, you loved him. You still worshiped him, sought him. Ran into his embrace when he came home—because. Just because. His reward; witnessing parts of you that locked out the world, that rattled the cages of those who looked inside. Imperfections that only resurrected in the valleys, when the time was equal parts right and wrong. You didn’t ask him to fix you, to do it the right way. Expectations were a discussion, not a right.

Ice didn’t have to be the Iceman when you held him. You allowed him to be Tom, to pursue his own mistakes—to make them. And when he did, you helped him fix them. He could be just Tom. Like nobody else had allowed him to be. Since he’d been able to walk he’d run in the shadow of his family name. The Academy had created Iceman. Buried any form of the little boy who had raced across Hawaiian sands and drank in the ocean, who had become a man. And you? Well.

You saw the Iceman. You remembered the boy. You embraced both sides of him and understood they reflected off the other. Chose to see both sides of him when the world only would witness one.

And dying—God, dying apart from that feeling? Hell reincarnated.

Aware that you already knew all these things was poor man’s poison. He could tell you a hundred times he loved you, could hang it in the sky and write it in blood and everlasting starlight but he’d starve over it again and again. It could never echo loud enough. He was going to die sometime, probably in situations not unlike the one he’d been in. He would die like this, knowing that even telling you endlessly would never be enough. That was hell.

Small eternities had passed, tossed around in frigid whitecaps and swelling waves, before Slider had cut through the bleeding ink to him. Ron was fine, thank Christ for him. But he’d known nearly immediately that Ice was not. Shaking hands managed to tether them together, and a flyby exam had Kerner suspecting that he’d wracked up something in the top shelf. Together they’d just bobbed there. Waiting for SAR, maybe dying. It was anybody’s guess.

SAR had sent him straight to Medical, where he’d been in and out for two weeks nursing a concussion and a cracked collarbone. He’d lasted three days in a brace and had tossed it across quarters. Hadn’t worn it sense, but had been restricted to light duty. Grounded. His plane buried miles beneath the dark water. He’d almost anticipated them flying him off, but the O-6 had thought he’d be useful running comms and flight sims. Fuck Captains and the crazy stick up their asses. He could’ve been home, with you, sleeping in a bed more his than any of the ones he’d even been assigned—eating hot squares, watching you make his assignment a home.

It doesn’t matter, not in hindsight. He’s docked and home. Somewhere in the press of bodies at the wharf, you’re there waiting for him and will welcome him with open arms and that gorgeous smile that’s ravaged him from the first time he saw you, at that stupid volleyball game where he’d lost to Maverick. Fucking Maverick. His ego would probably never recover from that one.

Thank God for that loss, though. Maverick. If Mitchell hadn’t been trying to smile at you, pick you up, he’d never have barged over and smiled back. While there was a lot about Mitchell that pissed him off, his timing wasn't always terrible. And he had good fuckin’ taste in women—he’d wanted you. But miracles did exist — you hadn’t bought his cowboy attitude, abs and smile and all.

“It’ll take a lot more than a pretty smile and skin, cowboy,” you’d shrugged a shoulder, swung a leg over the bleacher you’d been parked on, and effortlessly your eyes had skated over to him from the other man. Maverick dared to comment that you were unreasonable. “Oh I’m not unreasonable. You’re just more trouble than you’re worth. Anyone ever tell you you’re dangerous, honey?”

Signed, sealed, delivered. He was sold. Shoving Slider’s proposition for another game off, he’d thrown on a shirt and eyeballed you as you’d cut back to your car—the ‘72 Chevy C/K with a four-barrel V8 and fat, gorgeous tires that still killed him. Powder blue with a strip of cream, it had all the right curves. Like you. All sure signs you were worth the effort of jogging over and making his case. You’d agreed to a drink, just one– he’d offered to pick you up. You’d laughed and he’d been boneless.

You did not take rides in cars with boys. Even if they wore wings and looked pretty in their U.S. Navy best. And his favorite thing about it? You had boundaries. Standards. Boundaries that preserved whatever sweet thing the two of you had. He’d never met a pretty little thing that hadn’t folded under the right smile. Whites always impressed the tits anywhere he’d ever gone—and while he’d caught you more than appreciating him, it wasn’t enough.

Never since his time even in the Academy had Ice imagined there being anything that could parallel the rush of cutting through the air. Racing by at mach speeds, the sting of adrenaline in the blood. For so long that had been it for him, nothing boots on the ground could compare. But then you’d come into his life, and everything and nothing started making sense. He’d kissed you and his heart had been avalanched wide open, in ways he hadn’t known existed. You’d asked him to stay. Tethered him like a kite to the earth, beckoning him back to somewhere that had meaning. Even if that somewhere had never before been home.

“Ice. Kazansky—you okay, chief?” His gaze snaps up, all too quickly. “Fucking hell, Ice—you’ve got it bad. Dick really that hard over her already?” He’s not serious, but the glint in the other man’s eye is enough to send Ice’s own eyes rolling. Exasperated, he shakes his head a little.

“Shut up, Slider,” he manages the growl as quietly as possible, while slipping aviators into place, “don’t act like I don’t know you haven’t been fucking yourself for eight weeks.” Ice can’t help but rally in his victory of heat rushing to the tips of Kerner’s ears, “You and I both know you’re in whatever pussy so much as bats an eye your direction.”

“That right?” Ron cuts a look over his shoulder, and Tom’s cheshire grin is unmissable, probably from space. “Think you’ve got me all figured out, don’t you, Kazansky?”

“Tell me I’m wrong, Slider,” he shoves at Kerner’s shoulder, sending the man forward, “I’ll wait.”

“Screw you, Ice.”

Commotion on deck signals the ramp’s letdown. Slider’s elbow knocks his, jostling him a bit as he bends for his gear, hauling it up to his shoulder. Ice manages his own, but forgoes his shoulder, favoring the injury that still aches as he falls in behind Ron. Kerner’s height towers above most and cuts a path through the gaggle of bodies lingering on deck, waiting for them disembark. It’s a perk of being an aviator.

Last to load, first to leave.

He can’t help but laugh at the man’s sour expression, but he’s beat and Slider knows it. It isn’t a serious offense, but the heat hasn’t dropped out of Slider’s ears yet, which sends a bolt of pride down to his face. It sounds off in a sure smile.

Slider might hate it, but he knows his RIO pretty well. Cold beer, some laughs and a good fuck constitute a successful date is really all it takes to impress his backseater. And Ice can’t really fault him for it. To each their own. Slider hasn’t met the perfect girl yet—he doesn’t get it. He may never. But that isn’t exactly Ice’s problem.

He knows he’s right, though, as the ramp drops to the quay, rattling the chains between scuppers. It’s all the release the atmosphere on deck needs—nearly instantly, the weight of six thousand men press around the small crop of aviators stepping off, all bristled with the anticipation of finding family and going home. But they don’t get to leave, not for a few days. Families waiting at the base of the ramp are for aviators, him. It’s a powerful, alarming feeling. He can’t imagine the torture of being so close but so far away.

But he doesn’t care—immediately he begins looking for you, eyes scanning over a few dozen nameless faces in between heartbeats. He can’t see over Slider’s goliath height as they meld into the press of nearly-silent people, and for a second, Ice wonders if anyone can feel his heart throbbing like a jackhammer against his ribs, or if that’s a privilege reserved just for him and blood in his ears.

Someone clips his injured arm and he grimaces, releasing a low huff at the bolt of pain that zings to his fingertips and down his spinal column. It bleeds into the familiar, dull ache again as Slider continues cutting between bodies. Guiding him to the perimeter of the crowd, neither of them spotting you. For a second fear sinks deep fangs into the back of his head—you could’ve forgotten he’s home today. There could’ve been an accident, you could be a thousand miles from here.

But you aren’t in the press of bodies waiting at the dock. Mingling with the other families and making small talk, reeling in the nervous energy of waiting wasn’t all that appealing for so early in the morning as you’d parked your pickup in the lot, well beyond the dock. You’d gotten here earlier than the other families—you always did. Watching the carrier rumble into port without the white noise of milling families was its own kind of magic. Especially in a quiet cab with hot coffee, a journal, and Sunday’s notes skittered across the dash.

It’s the worst possible Saturday your boyfriend could dock, when you’re preaching Sunday. Scheduled to stand before nothing short of a couple hundred people at your family’s church, you’d been nervous about this for weeks. When you’d been approached for the opportunity, almost immediately you’d remembered the date circled on your calendar. The papers Tom had talked to you about nearly eight weeks ago—he was due home. Today. Hours before you were giving your first sermon as a graduating minister, the sermon that would lock in your credentials and guarantee you a diploma. Trembling from excitement and nerves, you’d accepted the opportunity and scheduled a date to meet with the church’s board of elders.

And between cleaning the house, sermon preparations, your thesis, and missing Tom you’d been scrambling well into the early hours of dark morning. Hadn’t collapsed into bed until well after two in the morning, you’d gotten up at six to be out the door. The dock wasn’t far from assignment housing, but family’s have had vehicles parked here for a few days. Not wanting to grapple for parking, you’d just decided to camp here, when the carrier had been little more than a speck on the gray horizon.

Sipping at your coffee, your eyes dart up from the material you’ve been pouring over for the better part of a week. Paul and the church of Corinth, the subject of your thesis. You can’t wait to preach it. It sends zips of nervous energy to your fingertips, thinking about it, but it blows away like a late summer breeze when you spot Slider’s height through the crop of people. Your heart slams to an all-stop as he cuts out of the crowd, a head of blonde hair not a breath behind him.

Your smile broadens when you see him casing for you. Fingers effortlessly pop the latch of your door and you slip out onto the step bar, balanced against the door. Slipping fingers in your mouth you release a sharp whistle, then reach down to punch the horn a couple of times. You break out in giggles and see the minute he spots you, waving at them with a bright, goofy smile. Even from here, his pearly smile is captivating and unmissable.

Immediately they both start making their way from the dock and you drop back into the cab, hurriedly closing your materials and tucking them up on the dash against the windshield. Flipping the visor, you check what little makeup time had allotted for you to apply, and with a shrug you smack it closed. Acceptable, your fingers brush the keys in the ignition when you pop out of the truck, batting the door closed behind you.

Darting around the pickup, you step from the concrete to the steps sloping from the lot, heart rate nearly at odds with your quick feet. Taking them nearly two at a time, you forgo the last step with a little hop. And when he’s close enough, his bag drops to the ground and his arms open. Scooping you up, you don’t miss Ice’s grunt of pain upon impact. He slides his glasses into his hair, doesn't make a big deal of his injury. You don’t either, and within seconds his hands are cradling your face for a hard, desperate kiss.

You’re happy to stay here and drink him in, to never stop and let the world bleed away, until Slider makes a gagging sound over Ice’s shoulder.

“God, this is embarrassing—alright, okay, we get it, you’re made for each other. Now if you’re done eating each other’s face, let’s get the hell out of here.” He sounds irritated but you know better—Slider’s a jealous creature, but it's all in good fun.

You snort out a laugh against Ice’s mouth and break back with a wet pop to look over at Slider. A crooked smile twists up his mouth as he adjusts the bag on his shoulder. Offering him a lazy smile, you rest your head against Ice’s chest as his arms snug up a little tighter around you, which wrinkles your nose affectionately.

“Hey, Kerner.” He’s smiling at you when you slip out from Ice’s arms to wrap the RIO in a welcoming embrace. He bear-hugs you, thick arms arm as he exaggerates his hug with a little growl, nose tucking into your neck for a breath of your perfume. “Good to see you, Sli.”

“Hey yourself, pretty,” he claps a hand on your shoulder and you lift on toes to kiss his cheek hello, which sends a sparkling smile to his lips. “Got enough room in daddy’s pickup for the three of us?” He knows you do, but makes a show of flexing his chest to emphasize his size. The running joke, always. You can’t help the smile and little roll of your eyes, shoving him back at the shoulder.

“Of course I do, if you ride in the back, Ron.” you step back, Ice’s arm lifting over and he laughs. Full and loud, rich and genuine it prompts a smile from you as he slips his aviators back into place, your arms sliding home around his middle as Slider rolls his eyes and makes for the stairs, looking miffed.

Slider tosses his and Ice’s bag in the bag of the pickup, and as he does so, Ice crowds you against the driver’s door, arm draped through the open window. His hand moves to play with one of your curls, the lazy smile on his face coquettish as his eyes scan over your face, drinking you in. Your bottom lip rolls in under your teeth and you sink back against the door a little beneath his gaze. Swirl of butterflies in your stomach, the muscle of his jaw ticks with a repressed smile.

“Hey you,” his finger slips your curl behind your ear, then slowly falls down the cut of your jaw to hook your chin in place. You manage back the most pathetic return “Hey,” that’s more of a squeak than anything that could be considered a greeting. You jump when two sharp bangs erupt from the box, Slider’s fist knocking against the side of your pickup with deliberate force.

Brows lifted, the look says everything as he gestures to the truck. “We leavin’ or what?”

Ice’s look is stone cold. “Ron. Shut up.”

Your brows lift as you turn back to Tom, shifting on your feet a little as your eyes sweep down his frame, which is slung forward to pin you against the door. Pleasurable color rises to your cheeks as you feel Ron open the passenger door. “You two always this married?” And you don’t miss the amusement on Tom’s face as you smile at him, eyes purposefully lidded. His lips part to respond but you reach behind your back, pop the door, and nudge it open. “You drive, I’ll ride middle seat.” And you slip through door along the bench seat, in next to Slider.

It’s a tight fit, but comfortable enough when Ron lifts his arm along the back seat, allowing you to rest against him as Ice flicks the keys forward, the 350 rumbling to life with a smooth growl that sends appreciation through your blood. Ice has always looked delicious driving your pickup, but eight weeks of not seeing him hits differently in the pit of your gut. Your tongue skates along your low lip as you devour him navigating the parking lot, the cut of his arm in short-sleeved khaki.

The jaunt to your little rental isn’t long, but Slider’s complaining of the cramped quarters anyway when Ice pulls the pickup against the curb, making room in the driveway. Kerner wastes no time getting out of the cab, retrieving his gear beside Ice as you scoop up your reading material in the crook of your arm. Ice passes you your keys and you hurry up to the door to unlock it, slip inside, and dip into the attached garage to slap at the door controls.

Dropping your stuff in the kitchen, you sling your keys into the tray they’re always parked in. You straighten your college sweatshirt a little, push the sleeves up to your elbows. Nervous habit— you’re more than a little anxious to have that eyesore of a Trans Am out of your garage. It’s been sentinaled beside Ice’s Chevelle since he’d parked it there, in your spot. More than once you’ve thought about rolling it out to the curb so your baby can rest in its rightful spot, but you aren’t that soulless. Even if it’s the ugliest damn thing you’ve ever seen.

Telling yourself you’re genuinely glad to see Ron and that you don’t actually want to chase him out, you can’t ignore Ice’s taste still on your tongue, the need you have to be alone with him.

Bouncing down the two steps into the garage, you pass between the Chevelle and Pontiac, finger deliberately tracing the sharp body lines of the Chevy at a slow, swaying pace that’s enough to notice Ice’s attention side-eye over to you. Leaning against the side of the garage, he’s been discussing something or another with Kerner in one-word answers. The back of your mouth thickens with dry—his sun-kissed arm flexes the material of the khakis as he crosses his arms, his fingers all but magnetic as they slide over his skin.

Electricity at the mere sight him cuts down your spine and you jump a little, moving to dip low through the open window of the Trans Am. Your fingers find the keys along the column. A peek over the steering column and you catch Ice watching you, reveling in the sight of you slung into Ron’s car. His expression isn’t readable as your lips twist into a grin, and you deliberately linger to draw his attention. And you can’t miss how he rubs his hand along his jaw, attempting to stifle the absolutely filthy look glinting in his eyes.

Slipping back through the window, you pop tall and spin Slider’s keys on your finger. “Kerner,” he stops mid-sentence to glance at you, hands still mid-gesture. His expression changes from one of passive indifference to sexual appreciation as your hip falls against the door of the Pontiac with deliberate flirtation. Underhanding his keys to him, you crook a smile. “Get this sorry piece of crap out of my garage before I roll it into the middle of the frickin’ street.”

Ice’s cough is more a laugh as he sets his jaw, impressed with the look that muddles Kerner’s face. The RIO’s brow drops into a frown as he snags the keys from the air in his hands, looking from them back to you. You’re giggling at him, brightening the smile on your face to indicate that you’re only teasing, but not really. And then Ice looks at you, his wolfish gaze dragging over you slowly. Lingers where your hands knead through the front of your sweatshirt, the cut of your hip that’s more than a little cocked. You offer him a greedy look of your own. Exaggerate licking your lips. And it says everything.

He looks good. You look as good as you imagine you can, in jeans and a college sweatshirt and what little makeup you normally wear. But you know it doesn’t matter what you wear, not really. Eight weeks nearly lifetime-guarantees interest, even if you’d been wearing a nunnery. Locked in a wordless conversation, Ice’s brow raises a little and his head cants to the side. You look away, purposefully.

Cat and mouse, forever and always. All the little games that you love, come ashore to play. Heat simmers at the base of your spine, and you absently spin the ring on your finger, rocking up on your toes as your eyes fall back to the Chevelle, which you love. You love this damn car. Probably more than you should.

Passing the keys between his hands, Slider rolls his eyes and audibly groans. Moving to haul his gear to his shoulder, he points first at Ice and then at you, finger cutting between the pair of you as he moves to the Trans Am, you crowding back against the Chevelle to let him by.

“You both behave yourselves,” he chucks his bag through the window to the passenger seat. Popping the door a little, he turns to thrust an accusatory finger in your face, “Don’t do anything I would do, Reverend.” Trying to sound serious, his lips curl up into a barely-contained smile that makes you giggle.

“Ew. No,” you try to look serious. It cracks beneath a hint of a smile.

He points to the side of his mouth, indicating a kiss as he slips sunglasses into place from the pocket of his uniform. Rolling your eyes, you press a soft kiss to the spot, Slider beaming proudly at the accomplishment. He looks to Ice and wags his brows, and Tom rolls his eyes. “See ya later, pretty.” He makes a show of grabbing you aggressively, like he wants more than just a friendly kiss. He doesn’t, but it pushes Tom from his leaning position against the garage all the same.

“Get lost, Slider,” Ice moves in beside you, and you shove at Ron’s shoulder. Impressed with himself, Ron’s grin widens and he kisses your forehead, lowering the shades on his nose enough to wink at you before he claps a hand on Ice’s uninjured shoulder, nodding at him.

“Alright. I’m outta here.” The RIO drops into the Trans Am, fires it up, and tears out of the driveway. You watch him from the vacated spot until the eyesore of a Pontiac is down the block and out of sight, the exaggerated muffler making your eyes roll to the ceiling of the garage as Slider purposefully feeds the thing fuel.

You don’t even have time to think before Ice grabs your arm and pulls you over to him, crowding you up against the back of the Chevelle. The steel is warm beneath your hands from California heat as Ice captures you in another hard kiss, licking into your mouth with a filthy moan that nearly cripples you where you stand. Suddenly unaware of anything but his sun-chapped mouth on yours, you melt into his touch when his hands find your thighs, nudging you back farther against his car.

In one fluid movement he takes your chin and angles it up a little, bracketing you against the car until he urges you to actually sit. You comply, more consumed with pushing and pulling at his lips when his hands move to push your legs apart, allowing him to step into place between them. His fingers are thick and burning even beneath the denim of your jeans, and your fingers curl into the line of buttons on his uniform to beg him closer.

Hands sliding to your hips, he moves to press a thick kiss to the pulse in your neck, your head canting to allow him. The sensation sends a bolt of heat down your spine and to the low of your gut, and your bare toes curl nearly to breaking. Heels dig into the warm chrome of the bumper, sheens of perspiration catching over your skin as Ice’s tongue lathes into the salty taste of your skin. It pulls a filthy mewl from you. Your arm slings around his neck, pulling him in and closer—you miss the bulk of whatever has him wrapped into place. The grunt he hisses into your skin jumps through your chest, making you gasp.

His shoulder. You angle back and away, a hand to his drawing him back to you. Beautiful color dusts over his nose. His eyes simmer with lustful light. And despite his best effort, you can see the lingering pain in his expression, the exhaustion in the shadow around his eyes. He looks tired—looks like a man recovering from crashing a taxpayer jet in the middle of the Indian. But there’s something else, something in his expression that you can’t quite put a finger on—something you’ve never seen before.

Swallowing a shallow breath, your fingers gently skip over his collarbone, your hands moving to undo the first few of his buttons. Pushing aside the collar of his shirt and tugging at the undershirt, sure enough—gauze is wrapped beneath his arm, around his barrel in a light brace.

“Ice,” you breathe a little when his fingers brush at the hair sticking to the sweat on your face, “are you really still this sore? How bad is this?" He’s too busy looking at your mouth to catch the worry mottling your eyes, and you’re thankful for that as your heart picks up within your breast, “You didn’t tell me it was this bad.”

“Because it isn’t,” he bites a bit sharply, tongue parting the seam of his lips a little in a greedy, hungry way, “The concussion from the impact was worse than the collarbone. Kept me in Medical for a few days, but really—I’m fine,”

“A concussion? Ice! Are you telling me you’re concussed? You drove us here!”

The look on your face prompts his shrug and the slight eye roll, but you snag his chin and pull his gaze back to yours. Wrinkled, you attempt your most concerned expression, though all you can feel is the fire of his touch flaming through you like a wildfire. “Kazansky—you have to tell me these things.”

He rolls his eyes, heaving a nearly bored sigh. “I tell you the important things.” It’s all he offers.

But his voice is more assured than his expression, and that little something creeps into the light of his eyes. It robs the mirth, muddies the waters of endless gray depth that usually have you tethered to somewhere far away, that doesn’t resemble the world. And then the muscle in his jaw ticks, in a way that isn’t his normal. The beast bucks the chain, and slips into his expression for all of a few seconds.

The crash. It’s still there—fear. Cold, detached fear. It still has him out in that ocean, somewhere, a thousand miles from you. You’ve never seen Ice off his game, never seen him this vulnerable. Watching his tongue fill the pocket of his cheek as his eyes drop from yours, you’ll never forget the bristle of discomfort the moment brings him. Something akin to shame hangs in his posture, skirts in and out of the shaky breath he releases. Tom has always been a barely-held-together pillar of strength, broken in all the ways men who crave control are. But he’d never been afraid.

“Tom,” your hand moves to cup his cheek, and he leans into the contact, and his eyes close. His exhale is much more confident, but he can’t shake the tremble. Not yet. His cold sweat skims into your palm, he’s never this clammy. “Ice. It’s okay—”

“Don’t.”

Nearly instantly Ice’s hands drop from your hips, his expression hard like a child that has been reprimanded. He attempts to take a step back from you, but you beat him to it—leaning forward, you snag the first few open buttons in your fist, tugging him back against your chest with an exaggerated pout about your face. Fist curling around the material, your brows avalanche into a hard line. He plants his feet, head kicked back a little to stare at you, expressionless. More like a man standing in the face of a drill sergeant than a lover. Passive, tolerant. As cold as ice.

Compassion rattles your chest for a minute before the muscle in your jaw ticks, burning with effort to keep your expression checked. “Cut the shit, Ice. You crashing into the ocean is important. Talk to me.” His eyes snap up to you at your use of language, which is very rare, as a minister’s daughter and student of the church. He holds you there, seated on the back of his Chevelle, with the weight of the world. “Ice. Please. Tell me wha—”

“I thought about you,” he takes your face between his hands softly, thumbs gently skipping over your cheeks as he drinks you in, studying with deep, attentive eyes. Your hands move to slowly slip along his forearms, welcoming the contact, and you gently wrap your legs around his hips, drawing him a little closer. “The entire engagement, all I could think about was getting back—coming home, seeing you, and—” In a very rare show of inarticulance he tumbles, gaze dropping as he attempts to rally. Stumbling about unintelligible attempts for a few moments, his eyes close and his head drops.

The moment of weakness won’t last, he won’t let it. And you don’t want him to. Ice has allowed you to see him so unfurled only a few times in your relationship. Carding your fingers through his hair, his hands move to hold you by the shoulders, firmly. Like he doesn’t want to let go. You're about to slip off the car when his hands firm up on your shoulder, softly jerking you to a halt.

“No, please. Stay.”

He pulls you forward for his head to rest against your chest, you feel him inhale the scent of you deeply. Gently sliding your nails along his scalp, you hum a little, exhaling a toe-curling breath. Tears gloss over your vision but you dismiss them. Relish instead in how he nuzzles into the rhythm of your heart, the warmth of your sweater. You can see him drifting, still at sea. Fighting to come back.

The Iceman. While it fits him to a T, it is such a foreign concept. Vulnerable, melting within your very grasp–everything an Iceman isn’t. It’s a power unlike anything you’ve ever known. And there’s nothing more beautiful. Like the slow bleed of the sun to the earth, giving way to night. Holy, magical. Breathless. This is how it is meant to be, between man and woman. Eve taken from Adam, not to be apart from him, but to complete him.

And you will complete him. God will you complete him.

“I love you, Tom Kazansky,” if he’s forgotten who he is, it’s your job to remind him. And it will be, as long as he allows you the privilege. The idea of him thinking about you during engagement sends a thrill through you, and you take one of his hands to draw his palm to your lips, softly. “I love you.” You say it again and again, leaning forward to press a soft kiss to the crown of his head.

When he lifts his head, a Tom Kazansky you don’t remember stares back at you. His eyes are red and rimmed in shadows. He isn’t guarded in the way you’d expected him to be, but instead, Ice looks as if he’s taken a great breath of fresh air, buoyed. Drunk on your words. For a fraction of a second you see the glint of moisture in his eyes, but it passes when his hand wraps around the back of your neck and forces you into a soft, barely-there kiss.

He sighs against your mouth, tipping his forehead against yours. “I love you.” It’s a statement, not a phrase. Nothing follows, nothing proceeds. Vibrations of it rip through you like a shockwave, his lips brushing over yours lightly as he bips at your bottom lip, wanting. “You keep me alive, fuck you keep me breathing.”

Arms laced behind his neck, your fingers slide through his hairline. He’s hot. Burning up, really, and sharing his head beads sweat across your forehead, in the ravine of your spine. Swallowing each of his breaths, you lazily kiss the corner of his mouth, until he turns to slant his lips over yours, hand roughing against the back of your neck. The other pulls at the front logo of your sweater, and your little sigh against his mouth pulls him back with a thick, wet pop.

Offering him a small smile, your fingers skip over his injured shoulder and up his neck, to cradle his jaw. “You should crash for a few hours, I have to prepare. You look like you’ve been hit by a bus.” That makes him splutter out a tired chuckle, nodding as you slip off the car and take his hand to guide him through the garage, into the house. “Wanna stay for dinner, or are they wanting you back?”

He stops you on the stairs, fingers lacing through your belt hoops to draw you back against his chest. Kissing your neck, his arms slide home around your middle as he takes a breath of your hair, a low moan rolling around the depth of his chest that sounds like “Nowhere to be,” but just makes you chuckle. The words rumble against your spine, before you step forward out of his arms and into the cool house.

Without further prompting the Iceman slips back into the rhythm of your home, as if he never even left.

Taglist: @cherrycola27 @thedroneranger @mayhemmanaged @desert-fern @startrekfangirl2233 @soulmates8 @chicomonks @dakotakazansky @books-are-escapes @sarahsmi13s @cassiemitchell @lovinglyeternal @bobby-r2d2-floyd @that-one-random-writer @horseshoegirl @lavenderbradshaw @bradleybeachbabe @roosters-girl @footprintsinthesxnd @chaoticassidy @roosterisdaddy36 @callsignharper @hisredheadedgoddess28 @ohgodnotagainn @moonchild-cupcake @aviatorobsessed @kmc1989 @imp-number-3 @spicydisaster14 @thescreamingpeach @your-local-crzy-lady @sakar-rad

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cryptidclaw · 1 year

Text

Brambleflower aka. Brambleclaw redesign! Here he is malewife-ified Brambleclaw! I made him a more dull dusty cream tabby to reference my Tigerstar’s dull coat! I also wanted him to have a different coat color from his mom and Mothwing while still being blonde! He also has a little flower that he wears in honor of him mama :)

I know I already posted about my character/ plot changes for Bramble but I think I might change his plot even more... I just want him to be likeable! I want you to feel bad for this man! I am basically completely changing his character too lol, he is now a soft spoken anxious guy who is wayy to naïve (he doesn't notice how evil his brother Hawkfrost is bec “He’s my brother, he loves me :)”

I think I will have him never be in contact with Dark Forest Tigerstar, because I don't think this version of him would stupidly just hang out with his evil dad?? Like he knows how bad Tiger is! His mom, sister, and Firestar told him as much! He would NEVER trust Tiger! I think instead Hawkfrost just manipulates Bramble by using the “We are brothers” card to his advantage, as well as Bramble’s desperation for a sibling connection.

Also I might have him only start officially dating Squirrelflight after his fight with Hawkfrost and subsequent stepping down from Deputyship.

Idk , I will write up a new summary for his character later! I am just very determined to make him a loveable guy instead of his abusive asshole self in canon!

Image ID below v

[Image ID: A digital drawing of Brambleflower aka. Brambleclaw from Warrior Cats. He is standing with his left side showing, and he has a shy expression on his face, along with a shy smile. He is a big long furred tan and cream tabby tom with yellow and orange eyes. He is mostly a light dusty tan color, with a lighter cream color closer to his stomach, and on the bottom of his legs, he has white on his muzzle , long cheek fur, neck, stomach and paws. He has dusty brown stripes and a long hair tuft, of the same color, covering his right eye. He has a scar over the bridge of his nose, as well as two scars on his ide and a torn left ear. His scars, inner ears and nose are all pink./End ID]

#cryptidclaw's warriors au #rise of change #brambleclaw #bramblestar #brambleclaw design #bramblestar design #thunderclan #brambleflower #brambleflower au #brambleclaw au

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elliexmylove · 2 years

Text

Let me care for you

PAIRING: Peter parker x GN reader (I imagined tom hollands Peter while writing but it works for any)

SUMMARY: You're sick and Peter wants to take care of you even if you don't let him at first

WORD COUNT: 1.8k

WARNINGS: none :)

NOTE: I changed the first person pov half way through for some reason sorry and idk how I feel abt this but enjoy<3

Being awoken to the vibration of my phone was annoying to say the least, my head hurt, my eyes were watery and puffy, and my nose was runny and slightly blocked.

"Hello?" I croaked,

"Y/n? Are you okay, why do you sound like that?" Peter's voice came through the other end,

"oh, hey Pete, I'm fine, I just woke up."

"Okay, well, I'm about to come over,"

"By that do you mean like a normal person would, or do you mean swing over?"

There was a pause,

"Does it matter?"

I slightly smile, "No, but I'm sorry you can't come over,"

"Excuse me?"

"Not today Peter," I say as kindly I can,

"I've never been told I can't come see you y/n, this is like freaking me out what do I do if I can't see you-"

"Bye Pete, love you." I say needing to blow my nose badly,

"No y/n wait-!"

Hanging up, I reach over to the tissue box my mum bought this morning, although they feel soft of my hands they feel rough on my red nose from doing it so many times.

To sum up how I feel is the word eugh.

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

An hour later I had fallen asleep watching a movie on my laptop, so failed to hear the gentle knock on my window. The knock was louder the second time, and a little louder the third time.

With a crying groan I sat up, squinting my eyes to the window in my dark room, Peter?

There he crouched on the fire escape, spider suit on, mask in hand.

I peeled the blankets off of me and got up, seeing white for a second as I regained my balance, obviously I got up too fast.

Window now open I spoke,

"Peter, what are you doing? I said not today."

"I've never been told that by you! You can't just expect me to stay home and not see you all day," he waves his hands around, and you feel the need to sneeze,

don't look at the light, don't look at the light, don't look at anything light.

Well, too late, you turn around and sneeze into your arm. Ah frick. Gross.

You race to get a clean shirt, that being an oversized t shirt. After getting changed and throwing your pajama top in the wash Peter now sits on your bed in the dark room.

"Are you sick?"

You give up on acting as though you're not, he basically knows now anyways.

"Yeah,"

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Becuase I knew you would want to come over and take care of me, as sweet as that is I don't want you getting sick as well."

"Well I don't care about getting sick, c'mere," he opens his arms up,

"Uh uh, you're not getting sick because of me, it's a really bad cold."

"Exactly why I should comfort you."

"No."

"Yes."

I begin walking put my door, to which Peter puts a stop to by shooting a web and pulling you back.

"You wanna watch movie?" He asks once he has you sat in his lap, chin resting on your shoulder.

"Already watched one."

"Do you want snacks?"

"Don't feel like it."

"Cuddles?"

"Nope."

He puffs his cheeks and blows the air out.

I make a move to get out of his embrace,

"No." He tightens his grip around you, leaning slightly to get to back in place.

"I need to blow my nose," he narrows his eyes at you suspiciously but allows you to get the tissues. Once done you lie back onto the bed,

"Hey," the boy whines,

"You can stay, but we're gonna keep our distance so you have a better chance of not getting sick."

He doesn't look happy.

"Can you imagine spiderman being sick? You would have to swing through cold wind, and fight people with a stuffy nose, not to mention the mask feeling disgusting and getting other people sick,"

"Don't care." He webs the box of tissues to you, and suddenly you need to sneeze, so you take one just before you do.

"How did you-"

"Spidey senses."

"Thank you,"

"You wanna repay me?"

"By doing what?"

"Cuddles,"

"No Peter."

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

I had been playing pocketlove on my phone for the past while while Peter had a shower because I "so rudely refused to do anything with him".

A knock on my door made me lift my head up, mum appeared checking if I'm okay,

"You alright hun?"

"Yeah, thank you,"

"I'll be in the lounge if you want anything,"

I smiled at her and she closed the door, one second later another opened and Peter walked out with wet hair, he walked to my clothes draws and rummaged through them,

"You can turn the light on if you want,

"No its okay, do you still have one of my hoodies here?"

I scoff, "check the third draw,"

As he does five hoodies come into view and he gasps,

"I wondered where this was!" He holds up the last one I stole, he yanks it over his head and it falls a little below his waist, Peter also bought oversized things, just not as much as you.

I tap on my phone bringing up my heartstopper lockscreen, and also the time, 3:02.

"Quiet day on crime huh?"

At this Peter looks a little guilty,

"I don't know,"

"Aren't you a little obsessed with this stuff?"

"Wha- pft no,"

He crosses his arms playing it off,

"Yesterday you were looking for stuff to help with, and stopped a guy from stealing a bag of sweets."

"It was a bad thing to do!" He defended,

"I would have done it,"

He collapses onto the bed,

"You put on the spidersuit just to do it-"

"okayokayokay, shhh." He holds his hand against your mouth,

"get off, my germs are going to spread onto your hand," your words echo a bit, and he rests his hand back by his side,

"You needa wash them now,"

He sighs and goes to the bathroom, leaving you and pocketlove to spend quality time together.

Peter emerges from the bathroom one minute later, "what're you doing?" He lies on the bed behind your back,

"PocketLove," You say eyes intently focused on the game,

"Do you want food ye-"

"Shh, I'm going on a date with my partner,"

"Well alright then." He fauns being deeply hurt,

"You could download it, actually please do."

"Okay, gimme a sec,"

He shoots a web to his phone lying on your desk.

A few minutes later and he's chosen his character,

"What should I name my boyfriend?"

"Uhmm, Jupiter?

"Jupiter it is."

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

Both of you were very focused on the game, obviously Peter had taken a liking to it as well,

"Can I see your house?" He rested his chon in the crook of your neck while you lie on your side.

"C'mere," You shuffled around so he could lie his head on your chest.

"I originally had a normal house but I decided to recreate places from heartstopper."

"oh no-"

Peter webbed a tissue to you,

ACHOO

"Thank you," your voice came out croaky.

"Back to your house?"

"You're going to get sick." You whine,

"What places in heartstopper?"

You were a little obsessed with the comic and now series, and he knew this, he also knew asking about it would get you ranting about it which is exactly why he did it.

"Okay so, this room is from Charlie's birthday at the arcade, and this is the cinema, I haven't got all of the stuff for it yet,"

"Oh my god it's amazing,"

"and lastly the uncompleted beach room."

You seemed pretty proud, and for good reason.

"Its amazing. My house has plants, chairs a bed and a frog mat."

"Oh! I still have that,"

"It must have taken so long to get all this stuff,"

"It did." You smile,

"Oh sorry Pete, sit up for a minute,"

He reluctantly does as you asked and you turn away coughing into your arm.

"D'you want some water?"

"Yeah I probably should." You get up and walk towards the door,

"Huh? Wait no! I meant it would get it,"

He quickly scoots off the bed,

"Just come with me," You walk out into the light and he trails behind you like a puppy.

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

"Peter, I didn't know you were here!" Your mum says, rather surprised from the couch, Peter flinches a little not knowing she was there.

"Haha yeah, I'm here."

"But I didn't see you come through the door-"

"Hey mum, do we have any lemons?" You intervene, relieving Peter.

"Yeah in the bowl on the bench hun."

"Thanks." You croak out feeling worse again.

Squeezing the lemon juice into the water you try to make sure no seeds get in it. Turning around you see Peter, arms filled with snacks, ready to go.

"Just in case." He defends himself.

"Okay let's go I need to blow my nose."

Back in your dark room Peter let's the snacks fall onto the bed and you get a tissue your head was pounding and you felt very sick again.

"Can we cuddle?" You finally give in wanting to feel love and comfort,

"Really?" Peter's face lights up and you nod, without wasting time he fell onto the bed taking you with him,

"Pete,"

"Sorry."

A little more gentle this time, you two got comfortable, Peter's arm was under you allowing you to lie on it and his other was wrapped around you.

"Do you wanna watch Narnia?"

"Mhm." You sigh,

Peter shoots a web to your laptop lying on the ground then sitting right on his lap, "what's your password?"

"That's top secret information."

"Y/n what's your password."

"Itsallbanterinit"

"You're crazy,"

"There's no helping my obsession Peter,"

He grins and squeezes you with his arm lying under you.

"Is it on disney+?"

"Yeah I think so."

The comforting movie starts playing and you already feel better, but still sick.

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

As Lucy meets Mr tumnus you feel the presence of marshmallows calling you from the end of your bed, trying to ignore the urge doesn't work,

"Petee,"

"Yeah?"

"Marshmallows? Please?" Once again he uses those amazing webs of his and pulls the packet right to you.

"Thank you love." You kiss his cheek,

"Wow so now you're trying to get me sick?"

"No I'm sorry I just thought-"

"No wait wait I'm sorry, I was kidding!"

You let out a quiet, wheezy sigh, one second later sirens sound from below, on the roads,

"You gonna go spider man?"

"And leave you? The chances of that are very unlikely."

"Wow, an avenger, not doing his job so he could take care of me, I'm in love."

He scrunches his nose in a dorky little grin looking at you,

"Edmund made me want a Turkish delight."

"Would you trade me to the white witch for one?"

"Yeah probably." Peter gasped,

"Sorry Peter you know I love them, and you know I got slytherin in the pottermore quiz."

"Yes yes okay."

"In fact I would probably trade you for her coat too."

"Okay I get it."

"Maybe even her crown."

"Y/n!"

"Love you."

#peter parker #peter parker imagines #peter parker x reader #peter parker fluff #imagines #fictional lover #sick peter parker imagine #y/n x peter #gender neutral imagine #gender neutral y/n

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jakecockley · 2 years

Text

- our forsakened love - (prologue)

✧ pairing: santiago “pope” garcia x f!reader

✧ summary: santi recruits you for a mission in south america, but thing is: it’s been years since you’ve last seen each other. the tension is thick, especially when you two have… a past.

✧ genre: angst/fluff and smut in future chapters

✧ warnings: cursing, mentions of a break-up

✧ author's note: yeaahh, um idk, i was thinking of making this a series ?? this was originally just a fic but no longer ig LMAO tagging @marc-spectorr n @slenderclaw

You were bitter.

What fucking audacity Pope had when he simply showed up out of nowhere in front of your door. You didn't know what to think, what to feel, seeing his face just feet away from yours. You didn't know whether to pull him by the collar and kiss the hell out of him or slam the door and go on with your life, but a part of you said no, let's see what he has to say after all these years. That was the curious side of you talking.

You were also shocked.

When you heard the doorbell ring, opened the door, and saw who was there standing, you felt as if a bucket of ice was dumped on you. You were frozen, unable to move. Your hands felt clammy. You felt your heart beating faster. You certainly didn't expect your ex-boyfriend, the one who left you, to appear at your doormat. It wasn't like him, to randomly pop up like this and you sure as hell weren't going to entertain the thought that he might apologize for what he'd done.

Pope breathed out your name softly, but it did no difference to the cold look on your face, yet your heart cracked a little at the sound of his voice. You haven't heard it in a long time. Oh, how you missed it, the smoothness of it yet as well as the slight roughness.

He was wearing a simple black shirt with grey linen pants, laced with a belt. The colors brought out the silver strands through his dark hair and those piercing raven eyes. You noticed the thin chain necklace hanging on his neck, hidden underneath the fabric.

To be honest with yourself, you never really got over him.

You looked to the side, glancing down for a second before leveling your gaze on him again.

"What do you want, Pope?" You asked with as much steadiness you could muster, not wanting to show any vulnerability. You noticed how sort of uneasy the man was, but he regained his posture and cleared his throat. Seems you weren't the only one affected by this.

"Can we talk about this inside? If that's alright with you."

"...Fine."

▬

"You want me to what?" You chuckled coldly, leaning back against the chair you sat in, arms crossed. "To South America? You can't be serious, we- I almost died there, Pope. I won't be going back."

Did he suddenly lose his mind over the years or something? Well, you shouldn't be surprised, if you think about it. He was known for taking risks, going for them despite the consequences. But going after a dangerous drug lord was something else entirely.

Pope almost winced at the slight crack in your voice. His dark eyes gazed over the thin scar that streaked across your neck and collarbone, then back to your face. He didn't forget that night either.

Eyes following up on his own, you didn’t know what else to say. Your fingers fidgeted with each other, a habit you always did when you were anxious. The awkward silence was deafening to both of you, mostly to Pope.

Maybe he should leave and find someone else, but maybe he could convince you. After all, you were the best sharpshooter he knew. He had to take this chance, despite his history with you.

His voice cut through the tension.

"That last mission it was just us, Y/N. This time, we'll have the guys, just like before. Benny, Will, Frankie, and... Tom. I haven't spoken with him yet but I'm sure he'll be with us,” he told you with a soft tone, trying to ease your mind.

It didn’t really work, though.

"I have family here and for once, I'm finally taking care of them. If this job goes wrong, who will?" You argued sternly. "I'm not sure about the Miller brothers, but Frankie has a wife... a kid, Pope. Why drag him into this?"

"If we do this right, which I’m sure we will, the money we get out of this will support your family without you having to lift a finger anymore. It will be worth it, trust me,” Pope urged. "Frankie knows what he's doing, and he agreed to it."

“Once we’re done and safe, we go our separate ways.” He gestured with his hands.

“…How much?” You hesitated.

Alright, he had you there.

“Hundred million, more than that. We can discuss everything with the guys, the plan especially. I can... give you a day to think about it, though," Pope speculated caringly. Standing up from the chair and looking down at you, you brought your head up to look at him. His heart ached to see you smile again, noticing the way your expression had softened, but your eyes still held their hardened gaze.

He wanted to apologize. He wanted to get on his knees and tell you just how sorry he was, how much he missed you, how he thought about you every day, never ceasing away from his thoughts. He wanted to tell you why he left.

He shrugged off the unrelenting urge. Now wasn't the time, he knew it and he had to remind himself that. He came here to recruit you, not open up an old wound, although he believes he already did that to himself just by looking at you when you opened the door. He ignored the feeling.

His voice was smoky, "Come to this address when you're done thinking about it. Tomorrow." His hand pulled out a card from his back pocket, handing it down over to you.

You didn't answer him immediately, simply nodded and took the white, written piece of paper from his hand.

"Alright," you say, fingers playing around with it. Pope was surprised to hear that harsh tone gone, instead replaced by a soft one. You watched him begin walking to the door.

You got up to walk him out and once you closed the door, you sighed, eyes shut before you opened them. Maybe you should accept, your family would thrive with the money. You gently shook your head.

Goddamnit. This was such a bad fucking idea.

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#santiago garcia fanfic #santiago garcia x you #santiago garcia x reader #santiago garcia imagine #santiago garcia fanfiction #santiago pope garcia imagine #santiago pope garcia x reader #santiago pope garcia #santiago garcia #santiago garcia angst #triple frontier #triple frontier fanfiction #triple frontier fic #oscar isaac #oscar isaac x reader

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toomanybandstocare · 2 years

Text

{Argyle}

Blister in the Sun

Program: Argyle is something of a s'mores connoisseur and takes pride in his skills. But he easily can let it get to his head. Luckily, you're his favorite distraction. Pairing: Argyle x GN! Reader Genre: Fluff

Tainted Love Series - On Pause

Program: Argyle is a ray of sunshine that envelopes everyone in his warmth and softness. Everyday, you have the privilege to bask in his light and enjoy the high his shares. When thunder heads roll in and cloud your senses, one night tips you over the edge of no return and shatters everything you so dearly care for. Pairing: Best friend! Argyle x Best Friend, GN! Reader -> FWB! Argyle x In Love, GN! Reader Genre: Angst, Some Fluff, IDK about NSFW yet

Headcanons

What I think their DnD class would be based of playing for a year and character vibes. What they would wear to a Halloween party and how they would spend the night. Hobbies they have from ones that I have enjoyed some time or another in my life. Fall activities the older kids like to do as a friend group. What movie I want to watch with them and how we watch it. What clothing item would I steal from them to keep/wear. Favorite fall candle and a memory they look fondly back on. How they express their love: love languages. How they feel loved: love languages.

{Robin Buckley}

Headcanons

{Johnathan Byers}

A Groovy Kind of Love

Program: Finally able to celebrate graduating college, the two of you seek new adventures in beautiful Acadia. Freezing tides bring you closer together as hopeful dreams are shared. A future home where your childhood friends can come visit and where a new family can find comfort. Pairing: Johnathan Byers x GN! Reader Genre: Fluff

Blurbs

Hammock musings about the future while camping.

Headcanons

{Billy Hargrove}

Cherry Pie

Program: Summer's coming to an end with the Hawkins town fair under way. While every typical couple seems to be excited about the ferries wheel or the tunnel of terror, you and Billy have your eyes set on the demolition derby. Adrenaline and pride course through veins watching Billy in his element- even if it scares the shit out of you. Pairing: Billy Hargrove x GN!Reader Genre: Fluff/Suggestive (IDK it's a demo derby, it's gonna be messy but I think it's cute)

Tom's Diner

Program: Exhaustion blankets you as you work through your shift at the local diner. The same faces tiredly greet you for their usual order. A static hum scratches the wrong side of your brain from the broken radio. Until a newcomer sits at the countertop with captivating blue eyes that make you stop. A brewing countertop crush. Pairing: Demo Derby! Billy Hargrove x Server, GN! Reader Genre: Fluff

Cover Me

Program: The diner rush is never fun, but it brings in good money. It seems as if everyone is in a dark mood from the roaring storm this evening, and two patrons can't seem to keep it to themselves. Even though you desperately try to ignore the insults and harsh words, Billy isn't letting it fly. Tonight or any other night. So, the two of you create a little countertop ritual to bare with the shitty coffee. Pairing: Demo Derby Driver! Billy Hargrove x Server, GN! Reader Genre: Fluff Sequel to Tom's Diner

Isolation

Program: It's never us. Never a friend group. Never a sense of connection. Just them and you in the same room. Billy just happens to catch a glimpse of your lonely self when it's too late to grab onto you. Before you disappear from their lives with no note. No phone call. Nothing. Pairing: Billy Hargrove & GN! Reader Genre: Angst

Doubts Even Here

Program: News of your disappearance and last known where abouts have folded into the city police reports. After a call into the station and a reunion with the former Hawkins police chief, nothing sits right in Billy. Not the lax reactions of your friends to the news. Not city sheriff's quick accusations. Certainly not the woman of his nightmares at the steps of your apartment. What happened to you? Pairings: Billy Hargrove & Missing, GN! Reader Genre: Angst and Mystery Part two to Isolation- recommended to read that ficlet first.

Blurbs

Nickname sweetspot when all of your boys call you similar petnames.

Headcanons

{Steve Harrington}

Fascination Street

Program: Halloween night invites trick and treats of all kinds. Though the small town of Hawkins still celebrates, the reigning fear of the past four years of murder cannot be forgotten. Absolutely smitten by his partner, Steve hopes to spend a sweet night alone together at his house. However, the night takes a turn when things get too freaky. Pairing: Steve Harrington x Slasher, GN! Reader Genre: Angst, Horror/Slasher

Look So Good in Blue

Program: You've found a home in the arms of another. Sure they may not belong to who you originally imagined and daydreamed about, but they hold you safe and sound while pushing you back to your old self. Laughter and child like joy finally lights up the Harrington household, one rainy night. Pairing: Platonic(ish)! Steve Harrington x Platonic(ish), GN!Reader Genre: Fluff, Requested Warnings: Couple of swears, thunderstorms Counselor Note: This is a one off from the Heartbreaker Series under Eddie's section, but it can be read on its own.

Sweet Child of Mine

Program: It's summer and you have no where to be. To be quite honest, there's no where you'd rather be then held close in Steve's arms. Hidden in your own little world and enjoying each other's presence on a sunny, summer afternoon. Pairing: Steve Harrington x GN!Reader Genre: Fluff

With or Without You

Program: It's time to move on. Just about everyone else could easily go about their days, but it felt like there was nothing left. Until Steve Harrington decided to crash your pity party and push you back into reality. Pairing: Platonic(ish)! Steve Harrington x GN, Platonic(ish)! Reader, Best friend! Eddie Munson x Heartbroken! Reader Genre: Angst, Heartbreak, Learning to move on Counselor Note: Part Two of The Heartbreaker Series under Eddie's section, but can be read on its own.

Blurbs

Nickname sweetspot when all of your boys call you similar petnames.

Headcanons

Taking a shower with Steve and just cares for you with so much love and attention. Bad food days happen, but when you let Steve in, he does everything in his power to support you how you need. What I think their DnD class would be based of playing for a year and character vibes. What they would wear to a Halloween party and how they would spend the night. Hobbies they have from ones that I have enjoyed some time or another in my life. Fall activities the older kids like to do as a friend group. What movie I want to watch with them and how we watch it. What clothing item would I steal from them to keep/wear. Favorite fall candle and a memory they look fondly back on. How they express their love: love languages. How they feel loved: love languages.

{Eddie Munson}

Good Times Roll

Program: Eddie is the type of boyfriend who will do absolutely everything for you in order to make you happy. But he's also a little shit who can't get enough of you. Pairing: Eddie Munson x GN! Reader Genre: Fluff

Heartbreaker Series

Program: Coming home from college should have meant you had all the time in the world to hang out with your best friend. Coming home, you should have been greeted with a hug and promise of summer fun. Coming home, you found the love of your life finally got the girl of his dreams. Instead, heartbreak greeted you with open arms. Pairing: Best friend!Eddie Munson x GN, in love!Reader, Platonic(ish)! Steve Harrington x GN, Platonic(ish)! Genre: Angst, Heartbreak, Learning to move on

Need You Tonight

Program: Finals are stressful enough as a new college student, and your boyfriend doesn't seem to be making it any easier. He just wants a little love, but he needs a reminder that he can't just grab and beg for it. So now, you're left revising your lessons while teaching Eddie a little lesson in patience. Pairing: Eddie Munson x GN! Reader Genre: NSFW, Requested

Somebody to Love

Program: A lazy day in, hidden from the world. It's the perfect excuse, as if you ever needed one, to fall further in love with Eddie Munson. But one little quirk of his makes you skeptical of some of his habits. Pairing: Eddie Musnon x GN! Reader Genre: Fluff, Requested

Super Trouper

Program: An unlikely friendship becomes Eddie's safe haven. But this shitty little town has fed him lies and hurt him day after fay, leaving him with thick skin and impenetrable walls. Even after finding comfort in your Sunday getaways, Eddie thinks it too good to be true letting anxiety get the best of him. Until you give hims a peace offering: matching friendship bracelets and a smiling promise. Pairing: Platonic!Eddie Munson x Platonic!Reader Genre: Hurt -> Comfort, Probably?

Blurbs

Hellfire's Captain Munson of the seven seas. Hellfire's Crew and their roles on the ship. Nickname sweetspot when all of your boys call you similar petnames. Nose kisses make Eddie flustered.

Headcanons

What I think their DnD class would be based of playing for a year and character vibes. What they would wear to a Halloween party and how they would spend the night. Hobbies they have from ones that I have enjoyed some time or another in my life. Hellfire's crew alongside Captain Munson, Shepard of Lost Souls. Fall activities the older kids like to do as a friend group. What movie I want to watch with them and how we watch it. What clothing item would I steal from them to keep/wear. Favorite fall candle and a memory they look fondly back on. How they express their love: love languages. How they feel loved: love languages.

{Nancy Wheeler}

Just What I Needed

Program: The last day of vacation calls for a take out, sunset dinner at the beach. Through the course of the night, both lovers desperately just want to show their devotion to their partner. Whether it's capturing memories on film or sharing a soda pop. Pairing: Nancy Wheeler x GN! Reader Genre: Fluff

Headcanons

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saintsenara · 11 months

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You are both hilarious and insightful, so…I’ve created a second edition of my ship ask:

Classic: Neville/Luna

Niche: Snape/Narcissa

Tastefully deranged: Voldemort/one of his horcruxes

Deranged: Umbridge/Filch

Crack: Fudge/Margret Thatcher, who canonically tried to throw him from a window (quite an enemies to lovers opener…)

thank you for the ask anon! these are amazingly deranged...

neville longbottom/luna lovegood

i have the toxic trait of really disliking fanon!luna. my girl is not a dreamily misunderstood clairvoyant, dispensing pearls of folksy wisdom. she's a conspiracy theorist.

which is to say, show me a neville/luna where they're both being sweet and taking edibles and talking about, idk, how plants are our friends, and it's a no.

show me neville returning to his pre-war awkward passivity and therefore unsure about what to do in the face of luna coming home with "evidence" that seed oils destroy the magical core and the battle of hogwarts was a hoax, and i'll tune in.

narcissa malfoy/severus snape

i sincerely think this is implied by canon - how do you know where he lives, eh, narcissa? - and that it's probably one of the better relationships either of them ever have. after all, they are aligned on how children should be raised [not as death eaters], what relationship to have with your in-laws [bella and wormtail, you are not wanted here], and what to do with a toxic boss [lie to his face]. all things that matter.

and let's be honest, lucius malfoy has selfish-in-bed vibes, but severus "i will sacrifice everything for even a crumb of your regard" snape? oh, he fucks.

lord voldemort/his horcruxes

this one obviously has several potential manifestations...

voldemort/the non-living objects the horcruxes are made from:

if you can find a way to fuck a tiara, full respect to you.

voldemort/nagini:

nagini's a lesbian, so she ignores all advances and flirts with the malfoys' peahens instead. importantly, she has only ever been a snake and the fantastic beasts films don't exist.

voldemort/harry:

canon.

voldemort/the victims

i have a soft spot for the potential of tom riddle/myrtle warren, because i was also an annoying and dramatic teenage girl, and sometimes those girls should be allowed a little crush on the hottest boy in school at a treat.

tom riddle/tom riddle sr.? well, voldemort does have unbelievable daddy issues...

voldemort/hepzibah smith? only if he got a payrise for doing it.

voldemort/unknown locket and diadem murders? why not.

voldemort/lily potter? hot, but he was too busy simping for james [no he did not face you "like a man, straight backed and proud", he ran into the hall without a wand, flailed, and then died] to notice the potential.

voldemort/frank bryce? i'm not entirely sure that soul baby had the ability to fuck, but if there's anyone who knows enough magic to try...

tomcest:

tomcest should appeal to me - and frequently does - because if there's anyone who would consider the only suitable partner for himself to be - well - himself, it's lord voldemort.

but.

i am someone who is quite critical of the default sexual dynamics in a lot of voldemort-centric slash [especially tomarrymort], which i often find to replicate a lot of heteronormative ideas about queer sex. voldemort is generally written as exclusively topping, largely - it seems - because many authors and readers equate taking that position with being in control of/more powerful than the bottom.

i prefer a dark lord who'll try anything, because enjoying getting railed doesn't make you any less capable of being a terrorist. and, luckily, there are lots of fics which feel the same way, and i've had lots of great conversations with other voldemort enjoyers about it.

but, one thing i think is worth being aware of is that a significant percentage of bottom!voldemort fics are tomcest, which - in my opinion - kind of defeats the point of saying that bottoming doesn't automatically require a relinquishing of power or a choice of passivity - obviously voldemort would be prepared to be passive with himself.

what i'd like to see more of is a voldemort who doesn't think the way he likes to get fucked reveals passivity at all, whether he's with himself or not, but atm i'm finding tomcest isn't entirely bringing it to me.

argus filch/dolores umbridge

i reckon this would be quite mutually fulfilling, actually. they do caretaker/headmistress role-play. i.e. their jobs.

cornelius fudge/margaret thatcher

fudge is elected in 1990, which means he gets to meet thatcher while she's on her way out, seeing betrayal around every corner. hurt/comfort for dayysssss.

#asks answered #asenora's opinions on ships #unhinged and deranged ships

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mashas-rotting · 6 months

Text

The Slytherin Princess

Chapter 3

Chapter Warnings: fighting, blood purity discrimination, blood, pain, torture-ish, p in v sex, kinda soulmate au, attempted murder, death threats, again maybe dead dove. Idk anymore

"HOW DARE YOU!?" You screamed at the tall wizard leaning against the door way of your detention. Detention, you now had until the end of the year of due to you "tampering with the quidditch equipment" and almost killing Moore, the only muggleborn on the slytherin team. The head master told you if he had been killed you would have been expelled and never allowed to do magic again. "I don't know what you mean, but you should lower your voice. I hear they're trying to expel you." Tom taunted.

Infuriated you pull out your wand, but before you could cast anything you were writhing on the floor in pain. It was like being burned from the inside out. If the write-offs had been a 1 on a scale of 1/10, this was a 20. Only when you saw tom standing with his wand drawn did you realize he had cruxiod you. "Him" an ethereal voice whispered inside your head.

Merlin, anyone but him.

"You are pathetic. I tried to be merciful and have them take your magic away, but blank had to live, and now I'll have to deal with you how I should have from the beginning."

"Depulso!" You cast slamming him into the wall behind him before he could throw another curse.

"Exspeliamus!" He tried to unwand you but you were able to avoid it which also somehow put you closer to him. "Not many have been able to land a spell on me, you should be proud. It is both the only and last impressive thing you will ever do. The dark haired wizard laughed as you circled each other. His eyes held something wild and feral in them. He was enjoying this... and so we're you.

Spells flew through the classroom. Books were thrown from shelves and jars of various dead specimen shattered. Still, neither of you landed another hit on the other. Both of you were out of breath. Tom threw his head back in laughter and began walking towards you his wand at his side. You waited curious to see what was coming. He stopped closer to you than you expected. You could feel his breath on your face as he smiled down at you.

You don't know why, but when he raised his wand to your collar bone, you just let him. "Do it." You heard yourself say, although you don't remember saying it. Tom looked confused for a moment. Recovering quickly, he dragged his wand down your chest, slicing your skin and part of your shirt. You gasp at the familiar feeling. It wasn't meant to kill. It was exactly as deep as the quill had cut you.

Your eyes were locked onto each other's. "Again." You whisper. "Fuck" you groan as he adds another slice following the line of your hip bone, making you subconsciously arch your hips into him. The blood dripped slowly, staining his shirt as your bodies now press together. The sharp bite of his wand pressing harshly under your chin forced you to tilt your face up and therefore closer to his. "What... are you doing... to me." He questioned somehow making it sound like a statement

"Nothing."

"What do you want from me?" Finally, a question you could answer.

"Everything "

His lips were soft against yours before either of you realized it was even happening he pulled back as if he had been electrocuted. "Ruin me." You grip his house robes pulling him tighter against your body. "Please." You begged in a whisper when he didn't move. Suddenly he spun you around so that you faced the wall and pulled your hips back to meet his very apparently hard cock that was currently held back by his pants. The pressure made both of you moan in unison.

"Ah!" You bury your face into the wall as a familiar sting sliced across your back. This shirt would never recover. Your breath catches before you whimper at the both painful and pleasant sting of his tongue on your back licking your blood. "Tom, I need it." You're not sure if you meant more pain, or his cock. "Needy little thing." He sounded disgusted, but it sent shivers through you regardless. Slowly Tom lifted your skirt. Another slice caught you off guard this time across your ass, leaving you exposed as it cut through your underwear. Jerk, he could've just taken them off.

Before you could voice your disapproval at the loss of your panties you felt him sliding the head of his cock between your lips hitting your clit. "Fuck." You breathe out and grip the wall spreading your legs so he can get better access. "I could kill you." He says holding his wand against the side of your neck. "I still think you might." You reply laughing. In one motion he shoved himself inside you completely. The action makes him drop his wand and bite your neck to keep from groaning. You cry out at the sudden feeling of complete and utter fullness. Fuck you'd never been this full. It stung a little as he stretched you.

And just like that he was pulling your hips into his as he thrust into you. Every movement fueled pain from the cuts that littered your body and pleasure from the absolute insanity that was fucking Tom riddle. He was owning you, ruining you, destroying you. Somehow you had become completely and utterly his. In this moment you would have done anything for him. Your moans became more and more incoherent as he fucked you stupid. Neither of you noticed as the scattered items from your battle began to float.

"Gonna come for me, little one? Gonna make a mess? You know I can feel you tightening around me?" His words meant to taunt you brought you crashing down. You screamed as you came and the feeling was too much for him. He came hard with you. Pulling you back harshly by your hair,l he roughly kissed you as you both rode your release. He pulled back from the kiss as your orgasms faded.

Both of you jumped when the loud crash of pretty much everything in the room dropped. "How did you do that?" Tom asked. "As good as you feel inside me, I'd rather have this conversation after you pull out." As you separate his cum rushes down your legs and you hear him inhale sharply.

"You are the only person to ever survive a true duel with me." He states the accusation. "I don't doubt that." You reply, turning to face him, not wanting to disclose anything, even though you know you'll have too. "You hold back in defense against the dark arts." Another accusation. You nod and slide down the wall not trusting your legs after the brutal fucking you just received. You wince as your ass touches the ground, not caring that your skirt did nothing in this position to cover you. Tom smirks briefly at his view of your cunt before continuing. "Just because my cum is leaking out of you does not mean I've decided not to kill you. Explain yourself." You toss him his wand which he catches easily. "Have at it." You say in a challenge when he doesn't react you sigh.

"I'm not a mudblood." You finally answer. "Though I'm not sure their magic is weaker than a pure blood's." Tom scoffs at this. "L/n is not in any of the pure blood family books. They keep quite the record. Do not lie to me."

"I'm not lying."

"Then why hide it?"

"I... cannot tell you... yet. Please, don't tell the others. It's important that no one knows." You plead with him. He just looks at you with distrust. "Okay look, I can't tell you why, but I can tell you where to find proof. You'd have to make an unbreakable vow with me." Tom tilts his head in interest. "So you want me to vow, to not tell anyone you're a pure blood if you tell me where to find proof of your claim?"

"No. I want you to vow to never tell anyone of my blood status unless I say otherwise so long as I provide you with where to find proof."

"I would require something in return for this vow... If I am to do this, you will duel my... friends. Everyday. In private. No holding back. I imagine they could learn a thing or two from you. And any spells you know that they do not you will teach them."

You sigh. This is a mess. "Fine."

Tom nods taking in your ruined state. "And your detention tonight will be spent cleaning this room, since it's your fault it's in such a disarray."

Tom made you clean without magic and without changing. Which made the process longer and more humiliating. It seems he wasn't done torturing you. After you finished cleaning the two of you made the vow.

"Check the restricted section of the library. Look for dark witches and wizards." You tell him once it's done.

"If your family is so infamous, why has no one heard of them?" Tom crosses his arms. "It's a small family, with only one heir at a time. It's kind of our... tradition. Just find the information and we can be done with all of this." You answer exhausted and ready to sleep. "Not quite. You still have to duel my followers everyday until the end of your detention, which I believe is the rest of the school year." With that Tom turns and leaves

#reader insert #fanfiction #smut #tom riddle #harry potter #dead dove #slytherin #slow burn but this is kinda the chapter it starts #soulmates #dark magic #this fic is self indulgent

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