#I know it's in beta- I get it BUT I AT LEAST NEED THE HOT ALIEN I RELEASED TO HAVE A PHOTO POSTED

[atleastpleasetelephone]

Gentle On My Mind - Chapter 5

Initially set in 1967 when Elvis is filming Clambake. Feeling miserable and trapped after the Colonel banishes Larry and the spiritual texts, Elvis invites Gloria to keep him company through the last five days of filming. Gloria is an aspiring movie editor and more importantly she's a lot of fun. Will she be what Elvis needs to get him out of the depressive funk he's in?

Catch up with the other parts here.

Many thanks to @sissylittlefeather being my beta reader on this one.

Pairing: Elvis x OC - Gloria, a budding film editor.

Word count: 4.2k ish

TWs: Gloria's filthy mouth, angst, infidelity, blowjob, fingering, p in v sex, possessive kink, size kink, spanking, Elvis is quite dominant, think that's about it.

Elvis spends that afternoon’s filming trying very hard to concentrate on his lines and not daydream back to his lunch break, him almost dragging Gloria back to his trailer, both of them giggling like naughty kids and probably making what they were about to do incredibly obvious to half of the film crew. Going through additional takes of some of the opening scenes in the gas station, he fights the urge to think about the feeling of Gloria’s mouth all around him as he leant breathless up against the wall. Tries to forget for a few minutes the puzzle of what it was she’d done with her mouth and hands that had made him come so quickly right down her throat. Between takes, chatting to Shelley about how hot it is and whether that makes LA seem more like Florida, he repeatedly pushes the thought that this was the second time he’d left Gloria full of his come out of his mind. 

Gloria also finds herself a little distracted, her mind drifting back to the fun they’d had at lunchtime. But, as she walks back to his trailer at the end of the day, a little later than usual because she’d got so stuck into what she was doing, she reflects that maybe she’s actually learning enough to get herself a proper job. Or at the very least, enough to make those stuffy old men think that she knows what she’s doing. She bites the skin beside her thumbnail a little, thinking briefly about going back to San Francisco, and then her mind drifts back to Elvis in the trailer earlier, his hand over his mouth so everyone on the film set wouldn’t hear him moaning as she sucked him off. She’s pretty impressed with herself for somehow stuffing all of that dick into her mouth and down her throat, it’s definitely a record. 

“Where you been, honey?” 

Elvis is sprawled on the couch, taking up the entire thing. She looks down at him. 

“Got sucked into editing. I’m really enjoying it, I can’t believe how interesting it is when people actually let you do things rather than just making you get them coffee.” She picks his feet up just enough to give her space to sit down, replacing them on her lap. “Thanks for making it happen it for me.”

“No problem, Glory.”

She tilts her head to the side. “You okay?”

“Hmmm. You ever been to Hawaii?”

“Family vacation in Honolulu a few years ago.”

“Did ya like it?”

She nods, her hands resting on his shins. “Mmm yeah. Beach life. It’s definitely a nice vacation spot. But there are beaches here!” 

Elvis frowns. “Can’t really go to the beach here. Too busy.”

Gloria doesn’t miss a beat. “Not if you went in disguise,” she suggests. “Why don’t we sneak off now and go to the beach and get dinner there? Instead of just sitting in here and eating burgers again.”

Elvis is briefly completely baffled by this turn of events, and he’s about to say he probably needs to take at least one of the guys with him, and that he doesn’t know if there will be food he wants to eat at the beach, and that he really doesn’t go places that are so busy… and then he just doesn’t say any of those things and instead just says “okay.”

Gloria sits for a few seconds blinking in confusion. She had been expecting a little more resistance, but since she hasn’t got it she just pushes his legs out of the way and leaps up off the sofa. 

“Let’s go!”

***

They take her car, and he hides in the backseat as they drive off the set. Gloria has a hard time keeping a straight face driving through the gates, thinking of him in shorts and a denim jacket she’d somehow found for him to wear, lying down as flat as possible. Once they’ve got far enough up the road she pulls over and he gets out and into the front seat. She can’t help giggling at him. She’d jammed a baseball cap on his head and made him wear his shades too, and he looks successfully nothing like himself. He had complained a lot, looking at his reflection in the long mirror in the trailer, but he relented when she put her arms around him and kissed his neck and told him she thought he looked sexy. She wasn’t lying. Looking at him now, once the giggles have subsided, she thinks he looks really good. More casual than usual, which she likes. And he’s not wearing too many clothes. One of her main gripes with the movie, whenever she stops to watch a take or two, is that they’ve over-dressed him. Since it’s meant to be set in Florida, she’d have expected him in shorts and a t-shirt a bit more often. And more sensible shoes. She does have a soft spot for that all-denim outfit, especially remembering him changing out of it and giving her her first glimpse of the outline of that fucking huge dick, but it still seems an odd choice for the movie. 

“What’re you thinking about, Glory?” 

She shakes her head a little and looks over at him. “Your fantastic outfit.”

“I can’t tell if you’re making fun of me.”

“I like it.”

“Even this?” Indicating the baseball cap.

“Even that. In fact, you can leave that on later if you want, in bed.”

She starts to giggle again. Elvis shakes his head. “You’re unbelievable.”

“I know.”

He smiles as he looks across at her. She’s just put the top down on her car so her golden hair blows gently around her face under her sun hat. Her hazel eyes are shining with amusement and he watches her tanned arms on the steering wheel. She drives comfortably, seat back, keeping her eyes on what she’s doing but never looking remotely bothered by anything that happens. The car never jolts, the whole journey is a very smooth ride and Elvis wonders if he’s ever been driven by a woman who is this good at it. 

“God must’ve sent you to me,” he murmurs, almost to himself. 

“God?” She asks, spinning the steering wheel quickly as she looks for a space to park. “I’m agnostic, I don’t know if he’d have sent me. Probably would’ve wanted you to have a true believer.” 

She sticks her tongue out slightly in concentration as she backs the car up into a space. Elvis frowns slightly. 

“Agnostic?” 

“Hmm yeah. C’mon, we’re good, I’ve just seen a hot dog stand over there too. I bet you like hot dogs.”

“You don’t believe in God?” Elvis asks, following her as she bounds out of the car, barely stopping to lock it before she runs over to get in the line for the stand.

Gloria shrugs her shoulders. “Don’t think we can know so I don’t try. Maybe there is one, maybe there isn’t. Presumably I’ll find out eventually. Two hot dogs please, one with extra mustard.”

Elvis blinks at the heady mix of theology and fast food. He puts his arm around her as they walk down to the beach together. There are a lot of people, but none of them give him a second glance.

“I read the bible every day,” he tells her, somehow becoming deadly serious. “God is an important part of my life.”

She nods. “That’s cool. I wish I could believe in God but I just don’t have it in me. What about here?” She gestures to the bit of sand just in front of them. 

“Sure.” 

They sit down and start to eat. “You just believe in that white bearded guy up in the sky, or anything else?” She asks, with a mouthful of food. 

Elvis laughs and finds himself suddenly less serious again. “I’m interested in a lot of things. I’ve got this book which shows you how to calculate your number, and once you do that you can find out about your destiny and…”

“Numerology!” Gloria declares, completely interrupting him. “I love that shit.”

Elvis is immediately torn between loving her enthusiasm and being embarrassed by how loudly she just cussed.

“I’m a five, look,” she shows him the bracelet on her arm which has the number 5 hanging off it in the form of a golden charm. “What’re you?”

“An eight.”

“Oooooh we’re so compatible!” 

Elvis laughs. He finishes his final bite of hot dog and looks into her eyes. “Well it makes sense that you’re a five. It’s the number of freedom.”

“Yeah and I am still free from my panties, which I have to say is a very dangerous situation on this beach.”

“Oh. You could’ve brought a swimsuit.”

“Well no-one told me that!”

Their eyes sparkle as they tease each other back and forth, getting in a little play fight which ends with Elvis lying on his back in the sand, his cap knocked off, and Gloria half-sprawled on top of him. 

“Okay, so what are eights like then?” She asks, once she’s got her breath back.

“Great leaders,” Elvis replies, then giggles. 

“Oh, great leaders. I see. I’m just a mad impulsive girl who came to the beach with no swimsuit and you’re gonna be the president or something.”

He pulls her closer to him with the arm that’s currently wrapped around her shoulders. 

“It doesn’t look like I’m going to be the president right now, does it? No-one here has recognised me. Not one person.”

She puts her chin on his chest. “You’re in disguise.”

He huffs. “I was wearing a hat.”

They lie there for a while longer, talking about their respective numbers and debating whether Elvis wants to be recognised or not, and then he looks at his watch. 

“Think we should be getting back, Glory. The guys will be wondering where I am.”

***

Gloria notes the look of disappointment on Elvis’ face when he discovers that far from sending out a search party for him, no-one had even realised he hadn’t been in the trailer for the whole evening. 

“Can’t even pay people to give a shit about you,” he mutters, throwing himself melodramatically onto the bed, even though it's still early. 

Gloria kicks off her sandals and tries to dust the sand off her feet before getting onto the bed next to him. “I give a shit about you,” she says quietly, into his neck. 

Elvis is startled into looking down at her. He can’t see her face, buried as it is in the crook of his neck, but she sounds sincere. “I’m sure you do, honey.” He runs his fingers through her hair. 

She doesn't like his tone. It sounds like he’s dismissing her feelings, which had sort of snuck out of her when she wasn’t looking. She does give a shit about him though. It’s hard not to. 

“Well I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”

Elvis isn’t sure how to respond. He had thought that she just liked sleeping with him. But she has spent a lot of time listening to him over the past few days. 

“Um, thanks,” he mumbles, awkwardly. 

Gloria sighs quietly. Never mind her feelings then. Back to being her usual fun, sunny self. Only one day of filming left anyway. There’s no point in getting deep. 

***

The final day of filming is a busy one for Elvis, and he barely has a moment to himself. He looks longingly at Gloria from time to time, but there’s no opportunity to talk let alone anything else. He keeps thinking back to what she said about giving a shit about him. Running the conversation over and over again in his mind, he feels like he should’ve said something better than thanks, but once he’d missed his initial opportunity she had just started prattling on about numbers again. And not long after that she’d taken her dress off and he’d forgotten all about anything she might’ve said. 

“That’s a wrap!” 

Elvis sighs with relief at the words. It’s fairly late and he’s desperate to be alone with Gloria, on their final day together. Then he remembers the wrap party. There’s no way he’s going to get away without going, and probably staying for most of it. He doesn’t have any excuses. 

***

Gloria flits about the party, talking to anyone and everyone. She loves an opportunity to socialise, and this is even better because she’s making contacts in the industry too. Contacts outside of her daddy and his friends. And because no-one knows who she is, they treat her differently. With respect. She can see Elvis out of the corner of her eye, his flirting with Shelley getting almost completely out of control. She knows he’s trying to get her attention, but she doesn’t care about him flirting with actresses. After all, it’s not as if they’re going to be together after tonight. He’s going home to marry Priscilla. 

***

Elvis is pulling out all the stops with Shelley. Laughing loudly at everything she says that’s remotely funny, leaning in close to her when she’s talking quietly, carefully brushing a strand of hair from her face. Even going so far as to wrap an arm around her waist. Shelley’s enjoying herself but she’s not daft. She can see Elvis’ eyes flicking across to the pretty blonde on the other side of the room to see if she’s noticed what he’s doing. Shelley is amused that Elvis Presley is trying to get a girl’s attention, and in such a roundabout way. She decides to help him out a little. 

“Do you think it would help her notice if I did this?” She asks, putting both of her arms around his neck and looking up into his slightly surprised face. 

“Ah-I-I… I dunno what you’re uh… talking about,” he replies, stumbling over the words but putting his hands on her hips instinctively. 

“Ah come on, yes you do. You’re flirting with me to get her attention!”

“Oh no, baby, I wouldn’t do that… I-I-” 

“If you wanted to talk to me you just had to come over.”

Elvis looks away from Shelley’s amused face to see Gloria standing next to her. 

“Oh-Ah-I… honey, I jus’...” 

Both women laugh as Shelley removes her arms from around his neck. “See you later. Nice working with you again,” she tells him, giving him a kiss on his now burning cheek. 

“You looked busy,” Elvis tells Gloria, sheepishly. 

“I was networking.”

“Networking?”

“Yeah, you know. Making friends who don’t know who my daddy is.”

He nods. “I’m dying to get out of here.”

“Me too. Think you have to do a bit more though,” she nods at a man with a moustache making a bee-line for them. “Let me know when you’re ready to go. You can just come over and tell me this time.”

***

They finally get back to the trailer in the early hours of the morning. They’re barely through the door before they start pulling at one another’s clothes in an attempt to get them off. 

“I’m disappointed I was too busy filming to do this earlier,” Elvis pants, between frantic kisses. 

“Me too,” Gloria moans as he starts to kiss her neck. “And I hate that the party went on for so long. God, I thought we’d never leave.”

He unclasps her bra now that he’s taken her dress off. “When Bill started that speech…” he groans, then slides his mouth over her nipple. 

“The world’s longest, most boring speech, you mean?” She arches into his mouth as her hands find his belt and undo it. 

“Mmmm. Worst. Speech. Ever.” He punctuates each word with kisses that get lower and lower until his mouth is just above her clit. 

She squirms, her hands in his hair trying to push his head further down. He smirks and kisses his way back up her body again, lips finding hers. Moaning into his mouth, she grabs one of his hands and tries to guide it to where she failed to get his head to go. He chuckles as he pulls away from her again. 

“Needy little girl, aintcha?” He teases. 

She nods. “Been needy for you all day, big boy. Feel.” Finally managing to get his hand between her legs, she directs his fingers to run over her soaking pussy. 

He groans. “Bet ya ruined that skirt you were wearing earlier.”

“Yeah, it’s actually a great way to give yourself extra laundry,” she jokes. “As I’m sure you know, Mr. I Don’t Wear Underpants.” 

“Don’t do my own laundry,” he replies, before picking her up and putting her over his shoulder. “Right, you. Bed.”

Gloria squeals and kicks her legs and he gives her a quick sharp slap on the ass. She squeals again, in surprise and delight. Walking the few steps to the bedroom, he throws her down onto the bed so hard she bounces back up slightly. 

“Oooh Mr Dominant!” 

He shakes his head, trying to look stern but unable to keep himself from smiling. “It’s Mr Presley.”

She throws her head back and laughs uncontrollably. “Oh, is that what you want me to call you?”

Still giggling until she finds him on top of her, pinning her hands above her head, his eyes full of lust. “No, you know what I like you to call me. My needy girl.”

She moans a little at the name, trying to wriggle her hands free but unable to get away from his firm grip. “I want you… so bad… big boy,” she whines, arching towards him, desperate for more contact. 

“Think I might want to tease you a little first.”

She can’t resist trying it, despite what he just said. “Yes, Mr Presley.” 

He feels his dick get immediately harder at her words. He hadn’t thought he’d like it, usually people calling him Mr Presley made him feel old. But her cute west coast accent, her fluttering eyelashes and the slightly desperate tone in her voice have changed his mind. He leans down, kissing the skin just beneath her ear. 

“You can keep doing that.”

She bites her lip and rolls her body into his, now he’s that bit closer. “Yes, Mr Presley.”

He groans. Fuck. It’s going to be more difficult to tease her than he thought, if she keeps saying that. It’s going to be very hard for him to not just come in his pants. He kisses her again and then shifts so he can take the rest of his clothes off. Leaning back over her, he starts kissing gently down her body, enjoying watching her squirm trying to get him to move more quickly, deliberately stopping and peppering her with kisses just below her belly button until she’s groaning in frustration and begging him to move lower. 

“Please. Oh fuck. Please. I’m dripping for you.”

His eyes roll back in his head at the description and he decides to give her what she wants, spreading her legs with his palms and kissing her soaking wet pussy. She moans pornographically, hands grabbing his head as she grinds her hips up into his face, completely ignoring the fact that he’s only gently kissing her. He growls against her, vibrations making her moan even more loudly. Grabbing her hands and pulling them off his head, he looks up at her. 

“Don’t think my girl is doing as she’s told.”

She whines and wriggles. “I just want you to touch me…”

Shaking his head, he suddenly grabs her and wrestles with her until he has her over his knee. He brings his hand back and then slaps her hard on one ass cheek. She squeaks. 

“Feel like my girl needs to learn her lesson.”

Gloria rubs her thighs together, desperate for some friction. She’s so turned on she can barely stand it. She’s starting to wonder if she could just just come from him spanking her and calling her his girl. 

“Yes, Mr Presley,” she breathes. 

He bites his lip and tries really hard not to let on how much he’s enjoying this, though he’s sure she must be able to feel his erection digging into her. Slapping her ass again, he watches it jiggle and get red and listens to her moan and whine. Then he slides two fingers into her pussy. 

“Oh, fuck.”

Her head flops down onto the bed as she feels his fingers slowly thrust in and out, pleasure building inside her. Just as she’s starting to really enjoy herself he removes them and slaps her again. She screws her eyes shut and tries to control the noises that are coming out of her mouth as he continues alternating between touching her and spanking her. Eventually she completely loses control. 

“Oh fuck please Elvis please I want you so bad I’m sorry for being a bad girl.”

He chuckles and gently lifts her head with his other hand. “I better put ya out of your misery, huh?”

Her head flops back down again as he starts rubbing her clit quickly, pushing his thumb inside her, listening to the pleasured noises she makes as her orgasm builds quickly and then completely overpowers her. 

“FUCK.” 

If he thought her cussing on the beach was too loud, this was on a completely different scale. He puts his hand over her mouth as he gently rubs her through her high, shushing her. Her hot breath and mumbled curses against his skin. He doesn’t let her lie there for long though, he’s so desperate to have his fill of her.

“On your knees, baby.”

She gets up slowly until she’s kneeling on the bed, looking up at him expectantly. 

“No, not like that. Hands and knees.” He gestures at her to turn around so she’s facing away from him. 

He strokes her ass with one hand and his dick with the other. “All that looking at your ass made me want you like this.”

Her moans start off soft and soon crescendo again as he starts to push inside her. Groaning as he finally bottoms out, he pushes her head down onto the bed. 

“I need you to be quiet.”

She whimpers a little at the feeling of being so stretched in this position. “Yes, Mr Presley.”

Trying his best to hold it together at those words, his hands grip her hips as he starts to move inside her. She presses her face into the bed to muffle the noises she makes as he pulls almost all the way out and then slides in again, repeatedly. Elvis is driving himself crazy too, the intensity of the feeling of her all around his dick is almost too much. He gives up on moving slowly, his thrusts hard and fast now, making her body rock with each one. Her fingers dig into the mattress, trying to stop herself just collapsing on the bed with the force of his movements. He’s pounding her so hard she can feel tears gathering in the corners of her eyes. But it feels so good too. So good that she can feel her second orgasm building in the pit of her stomach.

Elvis is so close it’s almost killing him but he really wants to feel her walls squeeze him again. “Is my good girl going to come again?” He pants. 

“Y-yes… yes Mr Presley…” she pants back, getting up onto her forearms and pushing back against him with every thrust. 

His eyes roll back in his head and then all of a sudden he feels it, the squeeze of her walls around him as she falls forward onto the bed, only the force of him gripping her hips keeping her from collapsing completely. 

“Oh fuck,” he murmurs, and just like the last time it’s only one or two more thrusts before he’s coming too, deep inside her. Letting go of her hips they both collapse in a heap, breathing hard. 

He rolls off her and then pulls her into his arms, covering her face in kisses. She smiles and wraps her arms around his neck. Breath still uneven, he looks at her with grave seriousness. 

“Are you okay Glory? I don’t know what came over me then…”

Her mouth curls into an even bigger smile. “I’m great, thank you, Mr Presley.”

Wrapping a leg around his waist as she watches him cringe a little and blush.

“Oh God you’re never going to stop with that now, are you?”

“Never. Thought you were enjoying it. I know I was.”

He moves to kiss her neck. “Yeah I was,” he murmurs against her skin. “You sure I didn’t take it too far?” He looks up, his face worried. 

“No way. That was so hot. You can throw me around like that any time you want.”

She watches as his face changes from worry to a look that’s almost pride. Then it changes again to sadness as he remembers that “any time” will be over in a matter of hours. 

“Do you have to go back home tomorrow?” He asks, urgently. 

“I don’t have to do anything,” she replies. “But um, no I can stay, if that’s what you’re asking?”

Is that what he’s asking?

“Yes please. Please stay.”

***

Taglist:

Please let me know if you want to be added or removed:

@vintagepresley @arg-xoxo @from-memphis-with-love @msamarican @blursedblegh @returntopresley @another-identityofmine @eapep @everythingelvispresley @i-r-i-n-a-a @sissylittlefeather @arrolyn1114 @jhoneybees @cattcb @polksaladava @lookingforrainbows @jkdaddy01 @ccab @epthedream69 @lustnhim @elvisslut @pomtherine @that-hotdog

[hydrangeyes]

[soaps-mohawk]

Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 36: To The Sea

Summary: It's time to move on. You're not sure where you're going exactly, but anywhere is better than Texas

Pairing: Poly 141 x reader

Word Count: 7,816 words

Warnings: ANGST, injuries, medical stuff, descriptions of pain and injuries, brief discussion about strangulation, mentions of PTSD and nightmares, so much crying, Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Alternate Universe, angst, a very little sprinkle of comfort, language, mentions of medications, still very heavy emotionally

A/N: Not actually a lot of warnings for this one. It's a lot of dialogue and inner monologues. Not a lot happens, just mostly setting the scene for the next chunk of the story. Bring tissues though, the last part of the chapter emotionally wrecked me but also might be the best thing I've ever written.

MASTERLIST | <- Previous | Next ->

It’s warm outside. 

Not even the shade from the building can completely shield you from the dome of heat that seems to surround the base. It seeps into the concrete and asphalt that lock it into place, trapping everyone in a bubble that may as well be an oven. It’s always hot in Texas, though. You hate it. You’ve been spoiled by the cold, rainy seasons in England. You’d gladly take that over Texas. 

You’d take anything over Texas. 

The heat prickles at your skin, your arm starting to get sweaty in the sling. It had been Dr. Keller’s idea to keep your shoulder as still as possible so you don’t continue to cause yourself pain when you move. It still hurts, but at least you won’t instinctively try to use your left arm now.

Despite the warmth, there’s still a chill deep in your bones. The warmth of the pain medicine has worn off and you’ve been left with the perpetual ice that has seemed to coat your insides. Dr. Keller says it's the stress giving you a fever. Every nightmare, every flashback sends your body temperature spiking, your heart beating right out of your chest. You’re not out of the woods yet. It can take a long time to recover from that level of distress and the omega taking over. You almost regret it, but there was no guarantee you would have lived either way at that time. You did what you had to do, and it did work out in the end. 

But at what cost? 

Dr. Keller’s phone buzzes in her pocket and she pulls it out, staring down at the screen for a moment. “Kyle wants to come by.” 

You don’t want to see him. You don’t want to see any of them. 

“I think you should see him. Even if it’s just for a moment.” She squeezes your hand. “I’ll be right here.” 

It’s a predicament. Dr. Keller supports your decision to keep them away, putting some distance between all of you for the time being. Yet, she also says being close to your pack will help your healing. Having your pack around will help your omega settle once again. She needs that safety, that security before she finally lets go completely. 

You don’t want to be close to them, but you may not have any other choice. 

You sit there in silence, picking at the fabric of your sweatpants as you wait for Kyle’s arrival. Sweat has started to bead on your back, the day only getting warmer and warmer as the sun moves higher in the sky. You want to go back inside, back into the cool air conditioned building. You want to crawl back onto the hospital bed and lay there for the next few hours. 

You can’t. 

Footsteps approach, but you don’t look up. You know who it is. You don’t want to see him. 

“Kyle.” Dr. Keller greets. 

“Christine.” He says back. It still throws you off, hearing Dr. Keller's first name. She'll always be Dr. Keller to you. Kyle turns his attention to you, still standing a few steps from the bench you're perched on. “Hi, love.” He says. The affectionate nickname almost makes you wince. You don't look up at him. You don’t want to see his face. “I wanted to stop by and see how you’re doing.” 

You don't move, don't give an answer. You don't have an answer to give anyway. You shouldn't have to give an answer. 

He lowers himself onto the bench, sitting as far away from you as he can. “It’s hot today.” He says, adjusting his hat. Always wearing a hat. Maybe that's why he and Price work so well together. 

He stares at you for a long moment but you don't bother moving, your gaze still on your sweatpants. They're starting to get a bit warm, even with your perpetual chill. 

“I’m not here to apologize.” He says, breaking the silence. “You’ve probably heard enough apologies to last you a lifetime.” He shakes his head. “Words can’t fix what we did. Nothing can fix what we did, how we left you there. All we can do is give you what you need, try and make you as comfortable as possible.” 

Tears burn your eyes as you listen to him. He's not wrong, an apology won't fix what happened. No words will ever be able to fix what they put you through. You're not sure there's anything they could do that would make up for it. An apology still would have been nice, despite the fact you know how guilty he is. Their avoidance of you, their willingness to give you such space in an unknown place just proves how guilty they all are. 

That doesn't make things hurt any less. 

You slowly turn away from Kyle, angling yourself towards Dr. Keller. 

He doesn't say anything further in that regard, taking your movement as an answer to his non-apology. He leans forward instead, resting his elbows on his knees. “I just wanted to let you know that we’re getting ready to leave soon. We’ll be heading somewhere safe, somewhere quiet and secluded. I think you’ll like it.” 

Dr. Keller had informed you of that earlier after she went to speak to them. They've decided what to do, what's best for the pack again. You might have protested, except for the fact it meant you were getting to leave Texas. Where exactly they're taking you, you're not sure. You just know it's not Texas. 

“I want you to know that we’re here if you need us.” He stares at you for a moment longer before pushing himself up to stand. 

If, not when. 

Maybe they're finally getting the message. 

Dr. Keller stands, touching your right shoulder gently before she steps away with Kyle, speaking quietly with him, but you can still hear every word in the nearly silent space around you. 

“In an attempt to remain a neutral, professional party in this situation, I feel it would be appropriate for me to tell you not to beat yourself up too much about this.” Dr. Keller says. “The unprofessional side of me has many words I’d like to say to all of you.” She clears her throat. “That being said, on a positive note I can say you’re all doing the right thing for once, prioritizing your omega and fulfilling her needs, even if her needs require you to leave her alone for now. I know it’s hard, I know every instinct is screaming at you to help her, but just take comfort in knowing you are helping her. You’re doing the best thing you can do for her at this time.” Dr. Keller puts a hand on his arm, squeezing it gently. “Even if it is tearing you up inside.” 

“Thanks, Doc.” He says. 

“I’ll see you soon.” She says, patting his arm before she heads back towards your bench. 

You turn your head just slightly, not missing the way Gaz lingers for a brief moment before he turns his back on you, walking back down the sidewalk. 

It hurts. 

You want to cry with every swallow. No matter how much you chew, it doesn’t ease the pain of trying to swallow solid food. Even the worst sore throat you’ve ever had pales in comparison to this pain. Tears burn in your eyes as you eat, unable to refuse this time in favor of choking down some liquid nutrients. Even liquids make your throat ache, but they are easy to chug to get it over with at once. 

This feels like torture. 

Dr. Keller looks guilty as she spoon-feeds you the soup. Chicken noodle, something simple and easy but still something with some substance. It makes you think back to when you were sick as a child, your mother dutifully feeding you homemade chicken noodle soup until you reached the age you could feed yourself. 

You do feel like a child again, unable to even hold the spoon. Well, you could hold it, but it would have come at the expense of some burns from how badly your hand was shaking. 

So instead you sit here, being spoon-fed soup you can barely stand eating. 

“I know.” She says as a tear finally falls, your inhale shaky from the ache in your throat. “You need something in your system for the sedative. It’s a long flight and you’ll be sick when you wake up if you don’t have anything in your stomach. That’s going to hurt a lot worse than eating now.” 

Yeah. You’ve already figured that out. 

“Strangulation is a tough thing to survive.” She says, dragging the bottom of the spoon against the edge of the bowl to wipe off any soup that might drip on you. “Then again, so is getting shot, and distressing to the point of your omega taking over.” She holds the spoon up to your lips, and you’re tempted to refuse. “You’ve survived a lot, more than most could. And to look this good after...” 

You blink up at her, teary eyed and sickly looking, exhausted and bruised. Your left eye is still almost swollen shut, and your hair is tangled perhaps beyond saving, tied up in a bun at the top of your head. All just reminders of what you survived, all reminders of what happened to you. Of what was allowed to happen to you. 

You’re not quite sure when the last time you had a real shower was either. 

“I know.” She says, spooning more soup into your mouth. “You might not feel like it, right now.” 

“I want a shower.” You say, your voice still hoarse and cracking through your throat. A real shower might solve a lot of problems for you right now. It won’t fix much, but being truly clean would make a lot of things feel better. 

“I wholeheartedly agree.” Dr. Keller says. 

You give her a look. You don't smell that bad. She should know, she’s the one that cleaned the blood off of you and the one who gave you the sponge bath this morning. 

She gives you a look back. “I meant it would be nice to take a real shower. Once we get where we’re going, we can work on the logistics of a shower.” 

Right. You can’t exactly stand for a long time on your own, not to mention the problem of only being able to use one arm without bringing blinding pain upon yourself. That’s where the pack would come in handy. 

The thought of one of them seeing you vulnerable like that, putting their hands on you right now makes your skin crawl. 

A shiver runs down your spine, your body shuddering uncontrollably. You grunt as your shoulder screams in pain, another electric jolt burning straight through your nerves and down through your feet. Fuck. You mouth the word, squeezing your eyes shut. It makes your stomach churn, the soup starting to burn a path back up through your esophagus.

“Breathe for me.” Dr. Keller says, putting a gentle hand on your right shoulder. 

In and out. You focus on your breath, the only thing you can do without feeling like you’re going to go insane from the pain. It’s all you can do in this situation. It’s the only thing you can do at all. Breathe. Just keep breathing. 

Sometimes you don’t want to. 

The pain passes as it always does, leaving behind a subtle ache that will linger until the next flare of pain. It’s a constant, never-ending cycle that you can’t escape from. Weeks, Dr. Keller had said. It can take weeks to heal. You’ll be stuck in this cycle for weeks and weeks. What if it never heals? That is a possibility. It’s always a risk with any injury. 

What if the rest of your life is like this? 

You’re crying again, hot tears blazing a path down your cheeks. They won’t stop, they never stop. There’s a constant stream down your face, even in your sleep. You’ve woken to find your face and neck damp from the never ceasing flood of tears. 

How you can’t wait for the time to come when you have none left.

You’d welcome the numbness at this point, greet it like an old friend and invite it in for tea. Anything over the pain and tears that won’t stop. The depression-fueled numbness that had filled you when Price and Gaz left, then Soap and Ghost would be a welcome relief at this point. Anything would be better than the pain. 

You almost wish you were in a coma right now. Then you wouldn’t feel anything at all. 

Dr. Keller puts the spoon back into the soup bowl before rolling the table to the side. She puts a hand on your head, gently stroking your hair as you cry. The room is silent aside from your sniffles, Dr. Keller not having to say a single word. The silence is almost a blessing. You’re tired of hearing words, of hearing people speak. There’s nothing anyone can say that will do anything to help you, to comfort you, to make it better. 

There’s nothing anyone can do to make it better. 

You’re so tired of being like this. 

The sedative is kicking in before you even reach the airfield. She can see the way your head is drooping further and further forward in the car, your body jostling without any complaint. It had started kicking in before you even got into the car, as you offered very little resistance when Kyle helped her mauver you into the front seat. She chose Kyle out of everyone to help her in hopes it would be easiest on you. Your claimed alpha’s beta is a good place to start in rebuilding the bonds within the pack, and his calm demeanor certainly helps. He is a caretaker through and through, that beta trait prominent above the others in him. He would have made a good medic, had he gone that route. 

Your chin drops to your chest as the car comes to a stop in front of the plane, your body slumping to the side against the door. 

“She’s out.” Christine says, unbuckling her seatbelt. 

“Makes this easier.” Kyle says, getting out of the car. 

They maneuver you into the wheelchair, Christine easing your head onto your right shoulder to avoid aggravating the left. The less pain you’re in when you come out of it, the better, though pain will be unavoidable. Kyle pushes the wheelchair up the ramp of the plane, Christine following close behind. She’s glad she gave you the sedative before you left the med center to avoid as much pain as possible. She almost wishes she had given it to you earlier, as getting you into a sweatshirt had been a battle of its own. Though, the longer it stays in your system, the longer you’ll sleep through the flight. The longer you sleep through the flight, the longer they can delay the inevitable emotional storm of being enclosed in a tight space with your pack. 

If you’re lucky, you’ll be out of it long enough for them to reach the cottage without incident. 

John is waiting near the front of the aircraft, his eyes watching carefully as Kyle helps maneuver you into a seat. Even with the turmoil in the pack bonds, an alpha will always feel protective over their omega. There’s some things that can’t be undone, even in such a fragile state. Some instincts can’t be unlearned, no matter what. 

“I gave her a sedative.” Christine explains as she gets you as comfortable as possible in the seat. “It won’t last the whole flight, but it’ll take a while to wear off regardless.” 

“Is that more for her or for us?” John asks. 

“Both.” Christine says. “Mostly for her. It helps with the pain of moving around, but it will also keep her calm in close quarters like this.” 

“Here.” John says, handing her something. It’s a blanket, brand new by the feel of it. “Johnny made a store run this morning. It’s going to get cold in here, so he got the warmest one he could find.” 

Christine takes the blanket, the fabric thick and soft in her hands. It’s a touching gesture, speaking volumes of their desire to still care for you despite everything, their willingness to do what they have to, to keep the pack together. “Perfect.” She says, carefully draping it over you and tucking it around you before John gets you secured in the seat. 

“It’s going to be a long flight.” John says, taking a step back. 

“It is.” Christine says, pulling out her thermometer. She takes your temperature, letting out a hum at the number that pops up on screen. “I need to monitor her temperature.” She explains as John gives her a look. “It’s been spiking when she gets stressed.” 

“She's not quite out of it yet, is she?” John asks.

“Not quite.” She says, putting the thermometer back in her bag. “I’ve only seen two omegas successfully come back from that point, and I know the number across the board isn’t very high. It takes a long time for the body and the brain to get back to normal.” 

“And on top of everything that happened...” 

She stares up at him for a long moment. “She’s very strong. I knew she was a fighter, but to come out the other side even where she is now...” Christine shakes her head. “I didn’t want to say this at the time, but I was expecting the worst. When that call came in about what state she was in...” She bites her lip, holding the emotions back. “Her resilience and fortitude is what kept her alive. That and Simon’s courage to do what needed to be done.” 

“I know.” John says, looking past her. “We all owe a lot to him.” 

Christine puts a gentle hand on his arm. “You’re doing what’s best for her. No matter how much it hurts, no matter how much it goes against every instinct you have, it’s what she needs.” 

“That’s all that matters to us right now.” John says, staring down at her hand for a moment. “There’s nothing else we can do, so it’s time we start putting our priorities where they should have been the whole time.” 

Christine gives him a small smile. “I’m proud of you for that. It takes a lot to unlearn the things you’ve been told since the beginning.” 

The corner of John’s lips twitch before his face falls into the emotionless mask he’s been wearing for the last few days. “It’s about time we get our heads out of our arses.” 

“I can’t blame you totally.” She shrugs. “We were all just doing what the initiative was telling us to do. We couldn’t have known. There wasn’t any room to question it.” 

“I wish we would have figured it out sooner.” He sighs. 

“Things might have been worse if the truth did come out sooner. If you started digging into the initiative too soon, Shepherd might have gotten antsy and taken more drastic measures to stop the truth from coming out entirely.” She glances down at you. “I think this was all inevitable.” She turns her gaze back to John. “What happened, happened. None of us can change that. All we can do is keep moving forward with what we have right now.” 

He stares at her for a long moment. “The more time passes, the more I’ve come to realize why Kate chose you for this position.” 

The corner of her lips turns up in a smile. “Well, I am rather good at my job, which, among other things, involves advocating on behalf of omegas.” 

John huffs. “Wish we would have listened sooner.” 

“You can’t change the past.” She repeats, looking down at you again. “But you can change the future.” 

You woke from your sedation about four hours from Helston. 

Well, ’woke’ might have been too strong of a word for it. Your eyes opened, but you were still hazy, movements sluggish and entirely unaware of the world around you. You floated between sleep and awareness for an hour before finally gaining consciousness completely. Awareness took quite a while to return, though. Not until they were moving you to the car from the plane. 

Even still you’re groggy, slumped against the door in the back seat of the car. You blink slowly, eyes unfocused as you stare out the window at the blur of green passing by. 

“How is she?” John asks from the driver's seat, glancing up at the rearview mirror. 

“Cow.” You say, blinking slowly as the car passes a field of cows. 

“Still out of it.” Christine answers from the back seat where she's sitting next to you. Your response might have been enough to answer that. “Better than being in pain, though.” 

“How long will it take for her to get out of it?” Kyle asks. 

“Hopefully she’ll be more lucid by the time we get there, but it could take a few hours for it to completely wear off.” Christine says, wiping a bit of drool from your chin. “Probably not a bad thing. This is a big change, and with everything that’s happened, it’s going to take some time to settle in.” 

“Things are going to be rough.” Kyle says. 

“Yes.” She agrees. “Being enclosed in a small space with the people you want to see the least in the world isn’t an ideal situation. It’ll be an adjustment for everyone. I trust all of your abilities to adapt, though. Just don't go in expecting things to be the way they were.”

John's hands tighten around the steering wheel, his knuckles going white. Kyle cracks his window open, prepared for the thickening of John's scent in the air. Christine knows she hit a nerve, but it needed to be said. Even if you were open to forgiveness right now, even if they had chosen to go after you right away, things still wouldn't be the same. Things won't ever be the same. It is their fault deep at the root of it. Those cameras were put up because of them, you were taken because of them. You were chosen for the “initiative” because of them, because Kate thought you'd fit in well with them. Their decisions shaped your life, and will continue to shape your life. 

Can you ever come to forgive them? Christine likes to think so. She has the hope that they can put in the work and regain your trust and earn eventual forgiveness. She knows you'll allow them to try once the initial hurt and emotions begin to fade, once the two of you put in enough work to start processing the trauma around the events that happened. It will take time. Probably a long time. 

She'll be there every step of the way. 

“Ashley did some shopping for us, picked up some stuff to get us until we can get into town.” Kyle says, looking at his phone. 

“Good.” John says, his shoulders starting to relax. “Should wait a couple days before going. Get settled in.”

“She's still working on cleaning up. Probably still be there when we get there.” Kyle says, putting his phone back in his pocket. 

“That's fine. We’ll probably have to utilize her a bit.” 

“Doubt she'll complain.” Kyle says, looking out the window. “Be thrilled to have something to do besides work.” 

You let out a quiet groan, shifting against the door. “Hurts.” 

“I know, honey.” Christine says, carefully adjusting your left arm. “I’ll give you more pain meds once we get to the cottage.” 

“We’ll be there in half an hour.” John says, glancing up at the rearview mirror again before turning his eyes back to the road. 

The half hour seems to take the longest as you continue to become more and more lucid and aware. The pain sets in first, your brain picking up on those signals before anything else. John’s knuckles are white around the steering wheel as you begin to whine and whimper around every bend in the road and turn he has to make, every jostle of the car. Every instinct in his body tells him to pull over and comfort you, but he can’t. It’s more important to get to the cottage, and there’s no guarantee you’d even let him. It might make things worse. 

The last thing you need right now is for things to get worse. 

Christine breathes a sigh of relief as they pull up to the cottage, glad she can finally get you somewhere more comfortable. You’ve been in far too many uncomfortable positions today, moved around too much. She would have liked to keep you in Texas a couple more days, but she knew as soon as you were able to travel, the better. The sooner they could get off the grid, the better. 

The sooner they could get out of Texas, the better. 

Kyle is getting the wheelchair out of the trunk when Johnny and Simon pull up, not having been far behind. They likely took a turn around the back roads to ensure no one was following and to keep things from looking too suspicious. 

Christine keeps you from slumping out of the car as she carefully opens the door on your side. You’re more awake than you were, blinking up at her with almost startlingly aware eyes.

“Crutch.” You pout when she pulls the wheelchair closer. 

She gives you a look. “Honey I'm not sure you could even stand right now.” You may be more aware, but that doesn’t mean your body is working as it should.

You let out a defiant noise as you attempt to get your legs out of the car, trying to hide your grunts of pain and discomfort. 

She's tempted to stand there and let you try, but she knows all hell will break loose if she lets you fall. She's not willing to take that risk, not to mention it will cause you more pain to get you up off the ground. 

“Come on,” She says, stopping you before you can get your feet under you. “Nice and slow.” 

You let out a quiet growl of indignation but you allow her to help you, your legs trembling as she eases you up. Kyle is there with the wheelchair, getting it as close to you as possible so she can sit you down quickly. 

“Ow.” You breathe, eyes pinched closed as you breathe through the pain. 

“I know.” She says, patting your good shoulder lightly. She's glad she put you in the sweatshirt before you left Texas. It's chilly outside, chillier than it was further inland a few days ago. 

It's hard to believe it's only been a few days since you were taken. Barely even a week. So much happened in such a short period of time. It feels like it’s been weeks since everything started, but then again, it had been weeks since John and Kyle first left. It had been weeks since you had been around your whole pack together by the time you were taken. The deep depression you sunk into before the events of the last week had been draining you slowly for weeks before this. It had started before John and Kyle were deployed, back to that day when you revealed the cameras and the secret you had been hiding from them. 

How long you’ve gone in such turmoil. 

How far you still have to go. 

The path up to the door is rocky and uneven, the wheelchair jostling as she pushes it up towards the door. She can picture your face, the way it has to be screwed up in pain. You're silent though, holding it all in. She almost wishes you weren't being silent about it. 

The door is already open, light shining from inside as she approaches. Kyle is in the house already, having gone ahead to greet his sister. John is right behind the two of you as Christine turns to wheel you up the steps into the house. His eyes are on you, focused and ready should you fall.  

Christine would never let you fall, and from the way your hand is gripping the arm of the chair for dear life, you probably couldn't anyway. 

She wheels you through the entryway, the inside warmer thanks to a fire that's burning. It's a nice cottage, far nicer than she had been expecting judging from the outside. 

Johnny lets out a low whistle as he enters behind John, looking around. “Yer parents own this?” 

“It was given to our mum by our grandparents. They did some...renovations before they passed it on.” Kyle says. 

“Yer tellin’ me.” Johnny says. 

It looks new inside. New wood floors, freshly painted walls. The furniture looks like she would expect to find in an English seaside cottage, though. Kyle’s parents went to France for summer vacation instead of utilizing the cottage, and none of his siblings had wanted to use it, he told them. It looks almost perfect, like it came right out of a home renovation show. Kyle’s sister must have worked some sort of magic to get it this clean. 

It is a very nice cottage. It’s small, the door opening right to the main area. There’s two couches and a chair in the middle of the room around a coffee table. To the left of the couches is a fireplace, the fire already lit and crackling. It looks original, likely having been untouched in the renovations. There’s a door to the left of the fireplace closer to the main entryway. A bedroom maybe? To the right of the front door are two doors, one on the far wall and one facing the front door. 

The stairs are in the middle of the house, leading up to the second floor where there’s likely more bedrooms. On the far side of the main area is the dining area and beyond that is a sliding glass door. Around the corner on the far side of the stairs is likely the kitchen. She can see the fridge from where she’s standing. It’s new. Very new. Makes her wonder just how long ago it had been renovated. 

“Everyone, this is my sister Ashley.” Kyle says, introducing the other woman in the room. 

“Hello,” she says, giving everyone a wave and a dazzling smile. 

She’s dressed simply in jeans and a t-shirt, her medium box braids pulled up into a bun on top of her head. They look a lot alike, her and Kyle. Tall and slender and stunning. They have the same smile and the same soft brown eyes. She's wearing scent blockers, but Christine can imagine her having a soft scent like lavender or something fresh like mint. 

“There's two rooms down here, and two upstairs.” Kyle says. “The main bedroom is through there.” He points towards a door to their left. “I figure we'll give that to our omega. The bathroom in there has a walk-in shower.” 

“Perfect.” Christine says. That will make getting you in and out of the shower easier at least, and you won’t have to go far to use the bathroom.

“You should take the other room down here.” John says, looking at Christine. “So you can be close in case of an emergency.”

And so you don't have to be too close to them, so you won’t feel like they’re hovering.

He doesn't have to say that part out loud. 

“I put new sheets on all the beds.” Ashley says. “I also picked up everything Kyle sent on the list. Food, some clothes, some other necessities.”

You let out a quiet groan, Christine patting your head gently. You have to be exhausted and sore after the day. She should give you another dose of pain medicine like she said she would. You’re going to need it tonight. 

“Let's get you laying down for a bit.” She says, wheeling you towards the door. 

Kyle opens it for her, revealing a spacious room with a big window looking out towards the sea. You're going to spend a lot of time in front of that window, she thinks. The bed is in the middle of the room, and there’s two chairs facing the window. She’s almost tempted to sit you in one of the chairs, but laying down will be more comfortable for you right now. 

You're still too out of it now to care much as she wheels you to the double bed. With Kyle's help they get you horizontal, Christine draping the blanket at the end of the bed over you. It’s not very soft, but it will do for now. She’ll have to get the guys to pick up some soft blankets for you when they go to town. She has a whole list of things starting in her head she needs them to pick up.

She leans your crutch against the end of the bed just in case you might need it for an emergency. She hopes you’ll yell first, but you always have been stubborn. Being mostly bed-bound has only made that worse. 

“I’m going to go look through the things Ashley picked up.” She says, patting your leg gently. “Get some rest.” 

Christine leaves the door open a crack as she exits, wanting to give you a little privacy as you nap, or at least she hopes you’ll nap. It’s going to be a rough adjustment, and you’re going to need as much rest as you can get. 

“I’m assuming you’re Christine.” Ashley says, walking up to her. 

“I am.” She says, giving Ashley a smile. 

She can’t help but get lost in Ashley’s soft gaze for a moment. The Garrick siblings seem to share the same magnetic energy. There’s something almost ethereal about them. She could easily imagine them with glowing halos and angel wings. It’s almost like she’s being blessed with the opportunity to look upon her. She could spend an hour staring at Ashley’s face and not grow tired of looking at her.

“I picked up the items Kyle said you needed.” She says, motioning to the bags on the coffee table, pulling Christine out of her daze. “I couldn’t find the exact nutrient powder you asked for, so I got one that was as close as I could find.” 

Christine glances through the bags. She was thorough, getting at least two of everything. 

“I got warmer clothes for her too, since it can get chilly out here this time of year. Just some simple things for now until you guys get into town.” Ashley says. “I did some research too and I read that omegas like comforting things so I picked up some extra blankets and pillows” Ashley says, motioning to a couple bags sitting on the couch. “I also picked up this,” She pulls a stuffed dog from one of the bags, holding it up. “It was the softest one I could find. I thought it might help.” 

A small smile forms on Christine’s face, her heart fluttering in her chest from the sweet, thoughtful gesture. Ashley doesn’t even know you, nor did she know exactly what happened to you, and yet she went so far as to pick up some comfort items for you. You have nothing right now, only the borrowed clothes on your back. All of your belongings are still on base, all of the things that you had built to make your perfect nest. Would you want any of them still? Or have they been tainted by the events of the last few weeks? 

That Ashley thought to do this has warmth flooding Christine’s body. You can have some comfort now without having to wait for their trip to town. She almost feels the urge to cry. She wants to hug Ashley, thank her over and over for her kindness. Ashley has no idea how much her small act of kindness means, how much it's going to mean. 

A smile forms on Christine’s face as she stares at the stuffed dog. “It’s perfect.” 

You can hear it. 

In the distance, the quiet roar reaches your ears as you’re dragged from the sweet arms of sleep. It must be a dream, or perhaps the sedative is still clinging to your mind, making you imagine things. 

No. 

You’d know that sound anywhere. 

The effort to push yourself up to sit is a momentous one, every cell in your body protesting after a day of being moved and jostled. The last thing you want is to move right now, but you have to. 

The pain meds have done little to help.

The crutch at the end of your bed must be a thousand miles away as you sit there and stare at it. The ache in your body only increases as you become more and more aware of the pain, almost as if it can tell what it is your mind is planning. 

The door is cracked open, letting in a slit of light from outside. It’s dark in the room, the curtains pulled over the window. It’s a blessing compared to the bright yellow light outside the door. You welcome the darkness as your head begins to throb. You could call for assistance. You’d get more help than you needed. More help than you want. 

No. 

You need to do this. 

The effort it takes to get standing nearly sends you back onto the bed. The pain nearly blinds you as your feet touch the floor, your body leaning against the side of the mattress out of desperation. If you fall, you’ll never be alone again. You can’t afford that. You don’t want that. 

If you fall, you’ll never get up again. 

The breaths out of your nose are short and sharp as you reach for the crutch, fingers trembling in the effort to fight the pain threatening to blind you. You’re trembling like a leaf in a storm as your fingers finally wrap around the cool metal. The rubber bottom drags across the floor as you tug it over to you, holding it against your chest for a moment. 

Breathe. That’s what you need to do. Breathe. 

In and out. 

Nice and slow. 

The pain is only a memory. The pain is nothing. The memories forming at the edges of your mind will take over and wipe out the pain and the misery. You just have to be sure. You just have to be certain.

You push yourself upright using the crutch, tucking it under your arm. You should go back to bed. You should rest. 

No. 

You need to know. 

You need to be certain.

The first step you take nearly makes you sick. 

It’s like watching a baby deer walk for the first time, knees wobbling, feet shaking. You lean heavily on the crutch, your determination the only thing keeping you from tumbling to the floor in a heap. That might almost hurt worse than forcing yourself to stand upright. 

If you fall, you’ll never get up again. 

Inch by inch you move across the floor, silently grateful for the socks on your feet. They allow you to slide across the hardwood, but they also pose a threat. Slide too far and you’ll lose your feet. 

If you fall, you’ll never get up again. 

The determination and your desire for certainty is what keeps you sliding inch by inch across the floor towards that strip of blinding light in front of you. It’s hovering before you, threatening you. How do you know there’s not one of them standing guard, waiting for you to try and leave? You can’t know. You don’t have a clue what’s waiting on the other side of that door. It could be nothing. It could be your entire pack. 

Breathe. 

In and out. 

You take a moment at the door, resting your aching feet. Your body is throbbing from the effort to keep yourself upright, the sedative still numbing your brain and your movements. It’s like treading through honey, everything twice as hard as it should be. You can walk. You’ve done it before. You did it in the medical center. 

You can do it here. 

You use the crutch to push the door open more, your free arm still tucked in a sling to keep you from moving it. Reaching for it with that arm would have put you on the floor, would have caused more pain than you needed, would have made you fall. 

If you fall, you’ll never get up again. 

Breathe. 

The light burns. Explosions of yellows and whites erupt behind your eyelids as you screw them tight against the sudden onslaught. The sun is in the room, shining its rays directly into your sensitive eyes. Your stomach churns, your fingers tightening around the crutch so tight your knuckles begin to ache. The oppressive light makes you want to recede back into the darkness of the room behind you like a vampire shying away from the light of day. 

No. 

You won’t be defeated by the harsh artificial lighting. You need to know. 

You need to be certain.

The others are moving around. You can hear voices around the corner, voices upstairs with thudding footsteps. The air is thick with a mesh of scents, cleaning chemicals, and the burn of scent blocker. Your nose wrinkles at the sudden onslaught against your senses, your sedated brain making it all seem so much worse. 

You need to know. 

The hardwood floors continue and you use them to your advantage as you shuffle your way across the main area. The fire crackles as you pass, the popping of a log making you startle. Your feet slide again, your body pushing up against the crutch to hold yourself steady. 

If you fall, you’ll never get up again. 

Your target is dead ahead, a mile away but so close you can almost taste it. Just past the dining table and straight on till morning. 

Despite your snail’s pace, no one seems to notice you shuffling your way across the house. It should make you upset, the fact that none of them notice you moving around, but instead it makes you glad. They’d try to stop you if they noticed you, turn you around and shuffle you back to bed. Or worse, they’d carry you. 

How easily you could slip away, though. 

Well...in theory. 

Perhaps that’s why they ‘re not paying you any mind. How far could you really go in your current state? 

Why would you want to stray from the only safe space you have? 

The world outside is more dangerous with the state you’re in. Not just because of your injuries and your status, but also because you know Shepherd is still out there, and for all you know Graves is as well. 

He could be waiting right outside the door. 

No. 

They’d know. 

They’d protect you. 

They failed. 

You push past the fear in favor of certainty as you push forward, passing the dining table in your slow crawl towards the sliding glass door. 

It poses an entirely new threat as you stand before it, staring out the darkened glass. You have to get it open. Getting it open takes strength and you’re down to one hand that’s trying to keep you upright. 

You have to know. 

You have to be certain. 

You lean your weight on the crutch, ignoring the way it digs into your armpit as you reach for the handle. You click the lock, wrapping your fingers around the plastic before pulling. Your body screams with pain as you tug, the door sliding in the track as slowly as you had moved across the small living area. It’s almost as if it's mocking you. 

It’s open only as wide as you need to crutch your way through, doing your best not to knock your left shoulder against the frame. 

If you fall, you’ll never get up again. 

Breathe. 

You can smell it. 

The salty sea air invades your senses, slipping up through your nose and straight into your brain. Memories come flooding back of childhood vacations back when things were simpler. Back when nothing mattered but the sand and the water and avoiding getting chased by your brothers carrying the piece of seaweed they found. 

Polkadot bathing suits, bright red to be seen easily. Toes in the water, sand everywhere. The nap in the silent car home. 

How simple life was back then. How easy life was. 

Your heart aches for those days again. The days when you could exist without a care in the world, trusting your pack would keep you safe, trusting your family would care for you. Your mind yearns for that sense of safety and security again. 

The world is grey as you hobble across the porch, the grey seeming to go on forever. You missed it, the chill in the air, the gloomy grey overhead. How you yearned for the gloom of England while stuck in the heat of Texas. 

Anything is better than Texas. 

Your forward shuffle pauses at the edge of the deck, your eyes looking out into the grey. Your breath catches in your throat as you stare out into the distance, the ache in your chest intensifying. It blocks out the pain in your body, numbing you to everything else as you stand there, legs trembling from the effort of going the short distance from your room to the end of the porch. 

You can see it. 

Emotions swirl inside of you like a hurricane as you stare out where the grey water meets the grey sky in the line of the horizon. Those emotions threaten to choke you as you stand there trembling at the edge of the porch. There’s a breeze, a cold one that bites through the fabric of your sweatshirt and into the skin below, but you don’t care. 

You can’t care. 

Your legs shake from the exertion, the neverending exhaustion that’s settled deep into your bones. It’s not just a physical exhaustion, but a mental one as well. It’s been a long week. 

Only a week. 

So much has happened in a week. 

You want to sit. You want to sink down onto the porch and rest. 

If you fall, you’ll never get up again. 

There’s a pain in your chest as your breath catches in your throat. The emotions are whirling, tightening around your chest, squeezing your lungs until they feel like they might pop. 

Breathe. 

In and out. 

You needed certainty. You needed to know. 

You can hear it. You can smell it. You can see it. 

A single tear rolls down your cheek as you stare out at the sea. 

NEXT ->

To be notified about new chapters, please follow HERE and turn on notifications

[pedrospatch]

fall into temptation | three

Jackson! Joel Miller x Preacher’s Daughter Reader

series masterlist

summary: Of all the women to catch Joel Miller’s attention—it just had to be one of the goddamned preacher’s daughters.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. SLIGHT PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION OF READER, mentions of her hair which she can put up into braids as well as her style of clothing. despite the nickname Joel gives her, it does not speak to her body type or size. AGE GAP (reader is in her 20’s and Joel is 56). several mentions of religion and religious symbols, reader has a father and two sisters, all who come with names, reader gets put into a a very uncomfortable situation, insecurity, anxiety, Seth is an asshole, protective Joel, he threatens to break someone’s jaw which is a warning in and of itself. SMUT. loss of virginity, reader is inexperienced but not totally clueless, oral (both m and f receiving), risky unprotected p in v sex (please wrap it up), lots of praise and pet names (baby, babygirl, honey, you know, the works), Joel gets a teensy bit rough, creampie, hint of aftercare, ends with a cliffhanger, but also not really if you think about it?

MOODBOARD FOR AESTHETIC PURPOSES ONLY, NO MENTION OF RACE OR BODY TYPE.

word count: 10k

a/n: it was not my intention to post this on jesus day, but here we are. this took forever and a day considering the second part was posted back in september, but i am so so proud of myself for finally completing a wip i could cry. i did a bulk of the editing while i’ve been sick and in all honesty i probably should have asked someone to beta for me because i think i coughed out like 90% of my brain cells this week, but i think it turned out okay. ish.

Somehow, even over the volume of the live music, you could still hear their hushed, astonished whispers.

“Are you seeing what I’m seeing?”

“Is that Joel Miller with Pastor John’s daughter?”

“What’s she doing holding his hand?”

“He’s got to be at least twice her fucking age—”

Throat bobbing anxiously, you glanced up at Joel.

His shoulders were squared back, his head held high. 

Solid. Steady.

Joel couldn’t seem to care less about the bewildered stares, the judgment that was being flung his way. Not once did he seem to waver. But you?

Oh, you were already starting to crumble underneath it all, on the verge of falling apart right before everyone’s prying eyes. Shame sat heavily inside of your chest, the weight of the feeling suffocating you, making it harder and harder to breathe as it prevented air from reaching your lungs.

It had nothing to do with Joel. Of course it didn’t. It had all to do with you and with who you were. Their beloved preacher’s sweet, innocent young daughter. 

His youngest daughter. 

Suddenly, the whispers were no longer whispers.

“Oh God, she’s not going home with him, is she?”

“That’s not right! Someone should say something!”

“Pastor John would never allow something like this.”

“Poor thing’s naive—she doesn’t know any better.”

Hot, stubborn tears of frustration glazed over your eyes and threatened to spill. It was as if you were a child who didn’t know any better, a gullible, clueless little girl with nothing in her brain who needed to be rescued—saved from the bad, bad man before he did bad, bad things to her.

Had it been anyone else, no one would have batted an eye. No one would have noticed, let alone cared. But it was you that Joel Miller was leaving the bar with in the middle of the night and it was you whose hand he had clasped in his own. That is what made it wrong. That is why it was a problem.

Everyone’s concerns had nothing to do with him at all, they had everything to do with you. You, you, you. You were the sole reason why it was a problem, the reason why he was being perceived as the Devil himself, horns out as he dragged the poor little unsuspecting angel down to the fires of Hell.

“Joel?” Overwhelmed, you instinctively reached for his arm with your free hand. Cold and trembling, your little fingers curled tightly around his bicep, digging into the firm, bulging muscle through the thick corduroy fabric of his sleeve. You whispered his name again. “Joel—”

“S’alright, babygirl,” he reassured you quietly over his shoulder. He gave your hand a comforting squeeze. “S’alright. Just keep your eyes on me, sweetheart. I’ve got you. You just keep on lookin’ right at me, okay?”

Nodding, you inhaled deeply and focused on him. Only him. The broadness of his back and his shoulders. Tufts of hair that curled over the collar of his shirt. Only him. He’s what mattered. He’s all that mattered.

“Almost there,” Joel murmured, squeezing your hand again as the door came into view. “Breathe, baby. We’re almost there. I’ve got you. You’re alright. Ain’t gonna let anythin’ bad happen to you. Promise I’ve got you.”

It wasn’t until his fingers wrapped around the old, brass handle that you finally exhaled the breath you had been holding out in utter relief, though it was very, very short lived. Just as Joel pulled the door open, you felt a hand wrap around your arm. Dry, slender fingers dug into the soft flesh above your elbow as an attempt, and a feeble one at that, was made to tear you out of Joel’s grasp.

The music stopped and the bar fell silent. Everything and everyone came to a sudden standstill, freezing mid dance, mid drink, mid bite, mid gossip.

Shocked, you glanced over your shoulder. “Seth?” you squeaked his name. “What—what are you doing?”

Seth didn’t acknowledge you. His focus was on Joel.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, Miller?”

Joel’s anger couldn’t be seen, but it could be felt. So palpable you could have wrapped your fingers around it. It radiated off of him and loomed over the entire bar like an incoming storm cloud. Threatening. Dangerous.

“Where are you taking her?” Seth demanded, his other hand curling around your wrist as he tried, but failed, to snatch you from Joel’s side once more. “Let the girl go! You let her go right now, you hear?”

Caught in between the two men, you nervously turned to look at Joel. Nostrils flared, jaw clenched, seething eyes that did the talking for him. His message was loud and oh so abundantly clear.

If Seth didn't take his hands off you, he wasn’t going to have any hands.

Not after Joel Miller was through with him.

Blazing heat flooded your face. As if it couldn’t possibly get any worse, everyone had now gathered around you to watch the tense encounter, eyes wide, brows raised and jaws practically on the weathered, hardwood floor.

Tommy Miller stood among the crowd, subtly shaking his head, his lips pressed together in a tight, thin line of disapproval as he glowered at his older brother. Would he be looking at Joel like that had it been Esther in your place? If she was the one he was taking home? Would any of this be happening if it was her instead of you?

“Seth.” Uttering his name, you shifted your attention back to him. You sounded calm and collected, despite feeling anything but. Joel’s hand in yours was the only thing keeping you steady and grounded. His touch was the only reason you hadn’t yet spiraled into a state of panic. Clearing your throat lightly, you spoke again and tried your hardest not to waver. “Please let go of me.”

Still fixed on Joel, he spat, “I’ll be damned if I let him take you anywhere.”

“He’s not taking me anywhere, Seth.” Without thinking, the words came tumbling out of your mouth—loud and clear for everyone in that room to hear. “He isn’t forcing me to go with him. I’m making the choice to leave with him. Out of my own volition. Please let go of me.”

Finally, Seth looked at you. His old, worn features were twisted in disbelief. “What?”

You swallowed dryly. Part of you wanted you to shrink away, curl into yourself. Instead, you straightened your posture, forced yourself to stand a little bit taller. Willed yourself to have a backbone for once in your life.

“You heard me,” you said, lifting your chin in defiance. Several onlookers gasped in surprise at your rebellion. Where had this insolence come from? “I’m choosing to leave with Joel. Now, please let go of my arm.”

Behind you, Joel stood silent and still. 

Watching. Observing. Waiting.

He wanted nothing more than to intervene. Rip you out of Seth’s hands and shatter each and every last bone in all ten of his fingers for putting them on you. Had Joel not realized that this was probably the first time in your whole, entire life you’d mustered up the courage to use your voice, he would have easily given into the urge. He wanted to protect you. He needed so badly to protect you. Yet, he knew you weren’t helpless or incapable of standing on your own two feet. He knew you deserved the chance to stand up and speak for yourself after a lifetime of being silenced, a lifetime of being forced to stay in your place, seen but never heard.

“Seth, let go of my arm,” you repeated. It was no longer a polite request. It was a demand.

He scoffed. “Do you honestly think I’m going to let you leave with somebody like him? You think I’m just going to stand back and let him take advantage of you?”

Oh, you hadn’t liked that insinuation, not one bit. 

It caused something inside of you to finally give way.

Snap.

The blood in your veins boiled, ran hot enough to make you feel like you were about to burn from the inside out. “Joel isn’t taking advantage of me! It isn’t like that,” you seethed, furiously. The quiet, well mannered, obedient good girl everyone in Jackson knew was gone. And she could stay gone. In your periphery, you could see Leah elbowing her way through the sea of people to the front of the crowd with an incredulous look plastered on her face. She stood there beside Tommy, who appeared to be just as incredibly bewildered by your outburst. “Don’t treat me like I’m some child who doesn’t know any better! I’m an adult and I’m old enough to make my own choices, okay?”

For a moment, you had forgotten it was Seth standing there in front of you.

“I’m capable of making my own decisions! I don’t need you to dictate my life. I don’t need you to tell me what is and isn’t good for me—controlling what I should and shouldn’t believe in.” Your voice trembled as emotions you’d been suppressing for years bubbled their way up to the surface. Amidst the chaos, you could feel Joel squeeze your hand again, as if silently encouraging you not to lose your nerve. He was your anchor, the only person who could keep your world from capsizing. You knew he wouldn’t let you drown. Not even God, who you had always been forced to believe was your pillar of strength, had ever made you feel this protected. Safe. “I don’t need you to tell me how to live and much less when it’s the end of the world.”

It wasn’t Seth you were addressing.

It was your father.

Your father, who controlled every last thing, from what you would eat to the way that you dressed and how you wore your hair.

Your father, who refused to let you have a mind of your own, who simply could not bear the mere thought of you thinking for yourself.

Your father, whose love felt like shackles, heavy, rusted metal restraints that had been digging into the flesh of your wrists for far, far too long.

“You need to let me go now,” you said, swallowing back the lump in your throat. Once more, you caught Leah from the corner of your eye, your heart lurching in your chest when you noticed her desperately trying to wipe at her eyes with the back of her hand. She was the only person in the room who understood how you felt. Her rebelliousness only ever masked the pain of knowing her father’s love came with terms and conditions—and the fear of knowing what would happen if those terms and conditions weren’t met. For several weeks, you’d gotten a taste of what she went through everyday, how her fear of putting her foot down led her to run around in secret and live a double life. “Just let me go.”

Seth firmly shook his head. “No! I’m not letting you go anywhere with him. I don’t know what the hell he did to you, but he’s clearly got you all fucking brainwashed.”

That was fucking enough. Joel stepped in, lowering his voice as he said, “Y’know, I’ve just ‘bout lost count of how many fuckin’ times she’s asked you to let her go now and it’s really startin’ to piss me off.” Raising an eyebrow, he laid his offer out on the table. “Here’s the deal. You let go of her right now and I won’t shatter your fuckin’ jaw into pieces. That seem fair enough to you?”

“No.” Seth gripped your arm even harder, prompting you to let out a little yelp as his nails dug painfully into your skin. Though it’d been accidental and he hadn’t meant to hurt you, it didn’t matter. He’d just set off the ticking time bomb that was Joel Miller.

Furious, Joel snatched a fistful of his shirt with his free hand—the other still held yours. Gentle, despite being mere moments away from beating someone to within an inch of their life.

“Joel! Stop!” Tommy’s voice broke through the tension as he approached. His footsteps were slow—careful and cautious, as if he was afraid to make any kind of sudden movement. “Joel. Hey. C’mon now, let’s not do this, alright? Ain’t gotta handle things this way. We can talk it through. No need for anyone to wind up bleedin’ in the fuckin’ infirmary tonight, so just take a breath and let him go.”

Blatantly ignoring Tommy’s attempt to keep the peace, Joel tugged Seth forward, yanking him closer. “Listen to me and listen to me good ‘cause I ain’t gonna fuckin’ say it again. You’d best take your fuckin’ hands off her right now unless you wanna spend the rest of the night sweepin’ up your teeth off the floor of your own fuckin’ bar,” he threatened, his tone enough to send a chill up anyone’s spine, even your own.

“You wouldn’t dare, Miller.” Somehow, Seth managed to keep a straight face, but you could see it so clearly in his eyes and in the tremble of his lower lip—oh, he was terrified of Joel and rightly so. “Not in front of all these people. Not in front of your brother. That wouldn’t be a smart move considering you’re already on thin fucking ice for what you did to that boy’s face, now would it?”

Joel tugged him closer. “Test me,” he hissed through gritted teeth. “Go on. Fuckin’ test me.”

His challenge was immediately met with a pathetic look of defeat. Seth dropped your arm and he was released.

“S’what I fuckin’ thought.” Without another word to the man, Joel whirled around and roughly pulled the door open, leading the way outside. As you both descended the building’s old, creaking wooden steps, you began to shiver and he suddenly remembered he’d left his jacket behind inside the bar. He wrapped an arm around your shoulders. “C’mere, my little dove,” he murmured as he tucked you against his side for warmth. “I’ve got you.”

The first thing he did was light the fireplace.

“Should start warmin’ you up, sweet girl,” he’d said to you over his shoulder. He tossed a log into the blaze as you sat perched on his couch rubbing your bare arms with your hands. “M’gonna go upstairs and find you a blanket, alright? You stay put.”

“Okay,” you’d mumbled, knowing there was no point in telling him not to fuss over you.

Even with the soft, fleece throw blanket he had draped around your shoulders and the warmth of the flames in front of you, you continued trembling. Subtle, but he’d noticed it, felt it when he had sat down beside you and pulled you close against his side. “Oh baby, you’re still shakin’?” That was when he realized you weren’t cold. Frowning, Joel rose to his feet and disappeared down the hallway. He came back to the living room a minute later with a glass of water in his hand. With a small, labored grunt, he dropped to one knee in front of you and held it out. “Here.”

“No, thank you.” You shook your head. “I’m not thirsty.”

“Maybe not, but I’m kinda worried you could be in a bit of shock, right now,” he stated, the creases in between his brows deepening as he observed you for any other physical signs of distress. Carefully, Joel lifted the glass to your lips, gently coaxing you to take a drink. “C’mon, darlin’. Think you can be a real good girl for me and at least take a couple sips? Hm?”

Sighing softly, you nodded and did as he asked of you, taking a small sip of water. It soothed your dry mouth and throat and you took another one. Maybe you were thirsty after all.

“Little more, now. Little more. That’s it. That’s my good girl.” Once he was satisfied with how much you’d had to drink, Joel set the half empty glass down on the oak coffee table behind him. He turned back to you, placing his large hands on either side of your thighs below the hem of your dress. He started tracing soft, soothing circles into your skin with his thumbs. “M’real proud of you for standin’ up for yourself back there, sweetheart. Took a whole lot of fuckin’ courage to do that, y’know.”

You glanced down at your hands in your lap. “Mhm.”

“Baby. Hey. Look at me.” One of his hands abandoned your leg and he reached up, delicately taking your chin between his thumb and index finger. He tilted your face upwards, his worried gaze meeting your own. “Talk to me. M’right here.”

“That—that was a lot,” you admitted meekly, shoulders sagging as the adrenaline started wearing off and your body slowly came down from the peak hormone rush. “It was a lot.”

Sighing, Joel’s hand fell away from your face. “Yeah, I know it was a lot, babygirl. I know. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

“No.” You were quick to cut him off. “Don’t be sorry.”

His chest heaved with another sigh, this one deeper, heavier, bearing the weight of his guilt. “Well I am,” he said. He planted his hands on either side of you on the couch and lightly shook his head. “Didn’t even fuckin’ think twice when I pulled you outta that fuckin’ supply closet and took your hand in front of all those people. I was so fuckin’ hellbent on showin’ everybody you were mine that I didn’t even stop and think ‘bout what all it would mean for you. It was selfish of me. Real fuckin’ selfish. And I’m sorry, little dove.”

“Do you regret it?” you asked, quietly.

Joel chuckled in spite of himself. “M’pretty sure I’m the one who should be askin’ you that question, darlin’,” he remarked. “Tell me. Do you regret it? Do you regret me pullin’ you outta that closet?” He momentarily paused. There was a stutter in his heartbeat when you dropped your gaze away from his, silence your only reply. “Do you regret me takin’ your hand in front of everyone?”

Of course not.

You wanted to be his and you wanted everyone to know it. There was no regret, none. 

Still. 

The consequences that you would undoubtedly have to face in the morning were overwhelming. Daunting.

Surely, by then, your father would know about you and Joel. When he came downstairs right after sunrise and he discovered you weren’t in the kitchen helping Lydia prepare breakfast, he would question where you were and make some kind of remark about how you should not be sleeping in this late. He would tell her just how irresponsible it was for you to ignore your duties and obligations to him and the family. Sloth was one of the seven deadly sins, after all. He would make her trek upstairs and wake you, and when she did, your sister would find your bed empty.

Meanwhile, there would be a knock at the front door.

No stranger to having members of the congregation show up on his doorstep when they were in need, be it of prayer or comfort, your father would answer it only to find someone, not in need of solace, but who felt that it was their responsibility and moral obligation to inform him that they had seen his youngest daughter leaving The Tipsy Bison with Joel Miller in the middle of the night, hand in hand.

He wouldn’t believe them.

“Now, that is simply not true,” he would say, offended that anybody would have the nerve to show up at his door and accuse you of something so vile. “That’s not possible. I know my daughter and she would never do such a thing. It must have been someone else that you saw with him. Someone who looked like her, perhaps.”

Then, Lydia would descend the staircase and tell him you weren’t in your bedroom. “She must have gone up to the main street as soon as she woke up,” she would suggest with a shrug, not yet privy to the events that had taken place the night before at the party you and Leah had snuck off to. She never had to worry about you, the good one. “I did notice we were running pretty low on eggs. Sugar, too. She probably wanted to be the first in line at the pantry to—Papa? What’s the matter?”

The color would drain from your father’s face when the realization slowly sank in. No, you weren’t out on the main street picking up eggs for breakfast and sugar for his tea. You were lying up in Joel Miller’s bed—defiled, impure, and with the curse of Eve on your flesh. Even after dedicating his entire life to making sure you did not stray from the path of righteousness, he had failed. You had fallen into temptation. 

There was a chance he would have mercy on you. All you had to do was beg and plead for his forgiveness—and more importantly, for the forgiveness of God. “Vow to atone for your sins,” your father would say, his gaze fixed on the Holy Bible in his lap. He probably wouldn’t be able to look at you, not after what you had done. “Repent. And swear to me, child, that you will never so much as glance in that man’s direction ever again.”

No. That’s not what you wanted.

You wanted Joel and the freedom to be with him. 

But that freedom came with a high, high price.

You were willing to pay it, but you’d be lying if you said you were prepared to navigate the consequences. Then again, was there really any way for someone to prepare themselves to be shunned by their own father?

“I can take you home,” Joel offered quietly, the sound of his voice taking you out of the future and bringing you back into the present.

“What?”

“I can take you home,” he repeated himself. “I can take you home right now if that’s what you want, sweet girl. Won’t give you any kinda grief ‘bout it.”

Confused, all you could do was stare at him.

“Listen to me, baby. You mean a lot to me. More than I can even begin to explain,” Joel reassured you before any kind of doubt could find its way into your mind. “I want you to stay with me. There’s nothin’ on what’s left of this fuckin’ earth I want more than for you to stay here with me. But what you want matters to me a hell of a lot more than what I want.” He reached up, lightly stroking your cheek with his thumb. “If you decide you wanna go home and go back to your family—back to your old man—then that’s where I’ll take you. Okay?”

Your father would give you an ultimatum. But Joel? He was giving you a choice. And he’d respect that choice.

“I wanna free you from your cage, my little dove. But I think we both know you’ve gotta make the choice to fly outta there on your own.” He lightly swept his thumb over your quivering bottom lip, his eyes meeting yours as he whispered, “Door’s wide open for you. What you do next is all up to you.”

“I’m afraid, Joel,” you confessed. A tear slipped from the corner of your eye and rolled its way down the side of your face. He was quick to wipe it away, along with the others that followed. “I do want out of my cage. I really, really do. But I’m terrified. All I have ever known is my family and my faith. I have never been apart from my father and my sisters.”

His expression softened. “I know you’re scared. Can’t promise you things will be easy, but there is one thing I can promise you.”

“What’s that?” you questioned, then waited with baited breath.

He gingerly cupped your cheek in his large palm. “I’ve got you,” he swore to you, just like he had done so back at the bar. “If you decide to stay, I promise I’ll take real, real good care of you, alright? For the rest of my life, I’ll take care of you. You won’t ever have to worry ‘bout a thing with me by your side. Swear it on my life.”

Warmth blossomed in your heartspace and finally, you stopped trembling. Lifting a hand, you curled your fingers around his wrist as your gaze fell to his mouth. “Joel?”

“What is it, darlin’ girl?”

“Kiss me. Please.”

With a gentle nod, Joel’s other hand found your hip, the warmth of it seeping through the cotton fabric of your dress. Leaning in, he brushed his lips against yours. It was a chaste thing, soft and innocent until you grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled him closer to you. “Babygirl,” he mumbled against your lips. He deepened the kiss, sweeping his tongue through your parted lips and into your mouth. He tasted like bold bourbon and citrus beer. There was a faint hint of tobacco too—you recalled him admitting to you one night in the church house that while he wasn’t all that much of a smoker, at least not like he used to be when living in the zones, he would occasionally partake in the habit if he happened to come across a pack of cigarettes while out on patrol, pairing the nicotine with a drink. He tasted delicious. He tasted delicious because he tasted like yours.

You sank back into the worn, supple brown leather of his couch, tugging him forward so he sank in with you. Over you. Releasing your near death grip on his collar, you managed to wedge your hands in between your bodies and began to claw furiously at the buttons of his shirt, your fingers shaking out of pure desperation to feel him. It wasn’t until you were halfway down that he finally noticed what you were doing and leaned back, catching both of your wrists.

“Baby, wait,” he panted, shaking his head. “Don’t think now’s a good time for that—”

“Joel, please,” you pleaded, the intense ache between your thighs almost too much for you to bear. “Please. I want it. I want you.”

“S’been a rough night for you.” Joel’s voice was hoarse—strained, like he was aching just as much, if not more. “You’re real emotional right now. Vulnerable. Last thing I want is to take advantage of you at a time like this.”

You frowned. Had Seth’s words gotten into his head?

“You’re not taking advantage of me.”

“Darlin’ I just don’t think we should—”

“Joel, please,” you begged him again. “I was so good for you, was I not? Wasn’t I patient, just like you asked me to be?”

His lips thinned into a tight line. He wouldn’t be able to resist much longer. You, his beautiful little temptress of Eden.

“I waited for so long,” you reminded him. “I’ve been so, so good for you. Please, just make me yours already. I don’t want to think about anything else right now. I just want to be with you. Please, Joel. I need you so badly it hurts.”

Christ.

No man could stand it. No man could possibly have the strength to deny you.

With a look of utter defeat, he folded. Before he could say another word or make another move, your greedy mouth was on his, and you kissed him with fervor, with urgency, as you finished the task of unbuttoning his shirt. Pushing it off of his shoulders, the corduroy fabric fell into a crumpled heap behind him, nearly knocking the glass of water off the coffee table. You broke away from him and shamelessly marveled at his mouth watering form—you admired the way miles of smooth, tanned skin stretched over his wide shoulders, broad chest and soft, soft belly. Arousal pooled between your legs and you reached out and raked your fingers down his chest, and over his stomach, going lower and lower, following the trail of coarse, dark hair that led you to his brown leather belt. You clumsily started fumbling with the brass buckle until he caught your hands once more.

“Slow down, my little dove,” he murmured. “No need to rush this. We’ve got all night.” He stood up and held his hand out to you. Time blurred a bit—maybe it was your nervousness mingled with the eager anticipation of what was to come, but there seemed to be a small gap in your memory, a blank space that spanned from the moment you rose off the couch until the moment you found yourself standing in his bedroom where you were about to answer to the call of the flesh.

Dropping your hand, Joel switched on the lamp on his bedside table and kicked off his boots before taking you into his arms. “C’mere, honey.” He nuzzled your cheek with the tip of his nose as he spoke, the scruff of his beard tickling your cheek. “Couple’a rules, sweet girl. I do somethin’ that you don’t like, you tell me. You want me to stop, you tell me to sto—”

Without waiting for him to finish his sentence, you slowly lowered yourself down onto the floor and knelt at his feet with purpose, as if kneeling before an altar, a sacred, holy space. Though you felt anxious, you were eager to worship. “I haven’t forgotten about what I said earlier tonight,” you cooed, noticing the mild look of surprise on his face. “I said I’d make it up to you and I intend on keeping my word.”

All the blood in his body rushed south to his cock and it strained painfully against the crotch of his jeans. “Baby, I—” Again, he was cut off, only this time by the sound of his own groan when your hand brushed up the front of his thigh and over his growing bulge. He glanced down, his heart thrumming painfully hard against his sternum as he watched you reach for his belt buckle.

With all your might, you willed your hands so as not to tremble. It was self-explanatory, what you were about to do, but your total lack of experience sowed seeds of doubt into your mind—you wanted to make him feel good, just like he had made you feel good outside of the church house during services. Just how you knew he would make you feel tonight.

Hand still over his buckle, you pressed the tenderest of kisses to his bulge through his jeans. Then, turning your head, you rested your cheek on one of his thick, blue denim clad thighs and peered up at him through your eyelashes with a small, nervous smile as you confessed what he already knew. “I’ve never done this before.”

Oh, how sweet and endearing you were. Joel reached down and smoothed your hair back and away from your face, tucking it behind your ear. “S’alright, honey,” he crooned, grazing the silkiness of your cheek with his index finger. “I’ll walk you through it. Teach you how to be a real good girl and suck my cock just the way I like it. That what you want, my little dove?”

His filth made your cunt clench hard around nothing.

Slowly lifting your head off of his thigh, you pulled your bottom lip between your teeth and managed a clear, consenting nod as your hands fumbled with his buckle, the clinking sound of metal ringing loudly in your ears. You undid the button on his jeans and pulled down his zipper, your throat drying when you saw the outline of him, his size intimidating even behind the cotton fabric of his faded, black boxer briefs.

With a harsh swallow, you glanced up at him, silently asking him for his permission to continue.

Such a polite little thing, Joel thought to himself. “Go on, sweetheart,” he encouraged.

You tugged his jeans down to the middle of his thighs and hooked your index fingers underneath the elastic waistband of his boxer briefs, pulling them down and freeing his cock. There was a deep, swooping sensation in your belly as you watched it slap up against the lower part of his abdomen. After many nights of sitting in his lap, feeling him through his clothes, grinding your cunt down onto him, you thought you’d at the very least had an idea of what you would be in for, but oh, how wrong you had been. He was so much bigger than you could have imagined, and your stomach swooped again when you realized he was not going to fit. Anywhere.

Licking away the dryness of your lips, you take him in one of your hands, feeling the heaviness of his length in your palm. He was so long and so, so thick.

“Oh fuck,” Joel hissed the curse through gritted teeth, his hips jerking forward involuntarily as your touch sent a charged jolt of electricity shooting up the length of his spine. He looked down at you, his pupils blown wide with arousal. Christ. You hadn’t even done anything to him yet, but seeing you sitting so prettily at his feet was almost enough to make him come on the spot.

Delicately wrapping your hand around him, you found yourself almost in awe at the way your fingertips barely, just barely, touched. The sheer size of his cock dwarfed your hand, and made it seem so much smaller than it really was.

“You’re so big,” you murmured, echoing your thoughts. You licked at your lips again, suddenly feeling ravenous, an appetite that had seemingly come out of nowhere making you salivate. The tip of him was flushed red, slit already glistening—how badly you wanted, needed a taste. Never, ever, did you think you would be down on your knees for anything but prayer, but there you were, starved and desperate to bite into the forbidden fruit.

“What’re you waitin’ for, darlin’ girl?” he croaked.

“Permission,” you replied, sweetly.

“Go right ahead, baby. S’all yours—I’m all yours.”

Yours.

Yours, yours, yours.

Finding your first push of courage, you leaned forward and so carefully swept your tongue along the tip of his length, collecting the slight saltiness leaking from the slit and getting your first delectable taste. With your hand still wrapped firmly around his base, you looked up, your eyes locked on Joel’s face as you flicked your tongue up against the rigid underside of his cock.

“Fuckin’ Christ,” Joel groaned, all of the muscles in his stomach already pulling taut when he felt you dragging your tongue in a slow, purposeful lick along the length of him. “Babygirl.”

“Is that good?” you asked him, sounding hopeful. “Am I doing good?”

“Doin’ so, so fuckin’ good for me, sweetheart. Look so fuckin’ pretty down on your knees for me.”

Pleased, you wrapped your mouth around the head of his length, pressing forward and taking him in as far as you possibly could—which, in all fairness, wasn’t very far. At least not as far as you would have liked. Another groan tore itself from the depths of his chest as your plush, plump lips sealed around him, your tongue warm and wet on the underside of his cock. Moving both of your hands to rest on the sides of his thighs, you began to move your head back and forth, following what felt most natural to you. The nerves you initially felt slowly but surely dissipated, vanishing one by one with every curse, every tremble, every sharp breath.

Joel resisted the urge to buck his hips forward, fought the desire to feel himself at the back of your throat. He needed to be gentle, so careful with such an innocent, pliant thing who had much, much to learn. “Sweet little fuckin’ mouth feels so good around my cock, baby, just like I fuckin’ knew it would. Y’think it can take more of me, little dove? Hm?”

You hummed, the vibration intensifying his pleasure.

“Yeah? Y’trust me?”

Your reply came in the form of a muffled, “Mhm.”

Joel reached down and cradled the back of your head in the palm of his hand. He carefully guided you further onto his throbbing length, slowly feeding you one inch at a time. Your fingers dug into the denim of his jeans. He was much more than a mouthful for you, and you could only take about half of him before he hit the back of your throat, prompting you to gag around him. Drool dribbled out from the corners of your mouth and down the sides your chin, dripping onto your lap.

“Oh fuck, sweetheart. Yeah, that’s it. Little more now, honey,” Joel encouraged. He bucked his hips forward, his head slipping further down your throat. Just when you felt like you were about to choke, he pulled out and you tried your hardest not to cough and sputter as you took in a much needed, precious breath of air. He gave you a few seconds or so to finish catching your breath as he shoved his jeans and boxer briefs further down his legs. He stepped out of the articles of clothing and kicked them somewhere off to the aside, standing before you completely bare. “Open up.”

Your absolute devotion to him bred sweet submission, so as worried as you were that you wouldn’t be able to handle it, you nodded obediently and very willingly did as you were told. 

He guided himself right back into your waiting mouth, pressing deeply. You tried to relax your jaw, reminding yourself to breathe in and out through your nose. Tears streamed down the sides of your face as you did your best to forestall another gag. “Little bit more,” he said, thrusting his hips in a slow, steady controlled rhythm. He advanced even further into your mouth—trusting he wouldn’t suffocate you, nor push you too far past your limits, you opened up wider. He moaned, “Yeah, baby. That’s my good girl. That’s my good fuckin’ girl.”

With a bit of newfound confidence, you hollowed your cheeks and sucked him. You swiped your tongue along the thick, prominent vein on the underside of his cock, earning yourself more of his sweet, sweet praise.

“Fuck, yeah, suck me off, sweetheart. This pretty little mouth was fuckin’ made for sin,” he breathed, guiding your head back and forth with a firm, but gentle hand.

You moaned, the noise muffled around his length. Slick soaked through your panties and coated the insides of your thighs. With another moan, you tightly squeezed your legs together, inwardly reminding yourself that patience was a virtue.

Noticing the way you had shifted, Joel moved his hand from the back of your head, lightly curling his fingers around your jaw. He pulled you off of his cock, a loud, lewd popping sound bouncing off the sage green walls of his bedroom. “C’mere, baby.” He grabbed your arms, effortlessly hoisting you up to your feet.

“What’s wrong?” you questioned him worriedly. “Did I do something wrong?”

Chuckling softly, he brushed a finger along the strap of your dress. You could do no wrong, his perfect, perfect girl. “Of course not, sweet girl. You did so fuckin’ good for me,” Joel reassured you, lightly tracing along your collarbone with his finger and making your flesh erupt in goosebumps. He leaned forward and feathered a kiss onto your lips, murmuring against them, “Are you wet, little dove?”

Before you could even process the query and generate some kind of coherent response, he dove his opposite hand between your thighs, cupping your warm heat in his palm. At this, your weak knees buckled, prompting you to reach out and grab onto his arms to hold steady and keep yourself from falling into a helpless heap on the floor.

“Oh, honey. You’re soaked. That what sucking my cock does to you?” he cooed. He peppered another kiss, this one onto the corner of your mouth. His voice lowered another octave. “Poor little thing. She needs me, don’t she? Needs me to take care of her?”

You whimpered. “Yes.”

“Manners, babygirl,” he reminded you, skimming your cheek with his nose. “Yes, what?”

“Yes, please.”

Humming in approval, Joel withdrew his hand from in between your legs and guided you backwards towards his bed. “Sit,” he commanded gently, bidding you to let go of him. “Arms up.”

Reaching for the hem of your dress, he took great care in pulling it over your head, then discarded the vibrant yellow material over his shoulder, leaving you in nothing but your cowboy boots and thin, cotton white panties. Without a word, he knelt before you and pulled off one boot, and then the other, setting them both aside. He hooked two fingers underneath the elastic waistband of your underwear, coaxing you to lift your bottom off of the bed, just long enough for him to pull them down and slide them down your legs. He was so tender in the manner in which he undressed you.

“Fuckin’ beautiful, beautiful girl,” Joel praised. His dark gaze dragged down the length of your body as you sat before him wearing nothing but the delicate, gold chain around your neck. The holy cross nestled between your supple breasts gleamed in the light of the lamp on the nightstand. He would leave it on until your decision was made, set in stone. “My pretty little dove.”

“Joel.” You whimpered his name, hands curling around fistfuls of his dark blue sheets. You were drenched now, in dire need of some relief. If he didn’t touch you where you needed him most, you would surely lose your mind.

Desperate, you leaned back slightly onto his bed and parted your knees, your folds glistening as you showed him just how badly you needed him.

Joel groaned, almost visibly salivating at the sight. The blazing heat in his eyes sent ripples of desire coursing through your body, straight to your throbbing core.

You opened wider. “Please.”

“Christ, babygirl. Already soakin’ the sheets.” Sliding a finger up along the seam of your pussy, he grazed your clit, the touch light, but somehow still enough to make your hips arch off the mattress as white-hot pinpricks of pleasure danced their way up your spine. He lowered his head and leaned in, your sweet scent drawing him in like a moth to a flame. Just when you were about to start pleading him for more, he dipped his face into the apex of your thighs, his mouth finally, finally, meeting your wet heat.

“Oh!” you gasped, your head falling back. “Fuck!”

Against you, his lips curled upwards into a wicked grin. He’d never heard you curse before, not until now.

Joel took his time devouring you, savoring the essence of your cunt with each broad stroke of his tongue. Sealing his lips around your clit, he flicked the swollen, sensitive bundle of nerves over and over again, eliciting from you some of the sweetest noises that he had ever heard in his entire life. In preparation for what you both knew was to come, he pushed one finger inside of you, the invasion causing you to fist his sheets even harder. He then slipped in a second finger, groaning in sheer, carnal bliss at how your walls squeezed them, at the mere thought of them squeezing his cock in the same manner. How was it that you felt so much tighter this time around?

“Oh God.”

You shouldn’t be saying His name. Not like this.

Not when something this sinful was being done to you.

Hungrily, Joel lapped at you, curling both of his fingers in an upwards motion to hit the perfect spot. He knew you were close, felt it in the way that you squirmed and writhed. Draping his arm across your hips, he pinned them down onto the bed, holding you still as he chased your high as if it were his own.

“Joel,” you chanted his name over and over again in a fevered prayer. Releasing the sheets, your hands found his hair, tangling themselves in his curls. Your head fell back, and you cursed at the ceiling of his bedroom. “Fuck, fuck, fuck Joel—”

Pushing onto his mouth, you came, moaning his name so loudly you were certain the whole neighborhood was getting an earful.

Joel pulled back, his beard and mustache slicked with your spend. “S’right, honey,” he crooned, his digits still buried to the knuckle as he helped you to ride out your wave of ecstasy. Eventually, when he pulled them out, you tried closing your shaking legs. He tsked and shook his head, wrenching them open further. “No, no, baby. Keep those pretty thighs open for me. Wanna see her.” He admired his work, his cock twitching at the sight of your pussy, swollen and shining, and ready to take him.

Like earlier, there was another brief skip in time.

Mind still in a haze, you hadn’t even realized that he’d risen to his feet and guided you further up onto his bed, not until you were lying on your back with your head on his pillow and he was hovering over you, his hard length brushing against one of your messy, inner thighs when he settled himself between your legs. 

Your heart began to pound in a mingle of both fear and excitement.

Joel’s eyes met yours. His pupils were blown so wide, there was not one, single trace of brown anywhere to be seen. “Y’absolutely sure about this, little dove?”

Your response came without hesitation. “Yes. I’m sure.”

He pressed a kiss to the underside of your jaw. Your submission was a gift, and he would cherish every last second of your surrender to him, savor it for as long as he possibly could. His lips, soft and warm, skimmed along the column of your throat, leaving a trail of fresh goosebumps in their wake.

If, by some chance, you decided that you wanted to go back to your father and to your faith, Joel didn’t know how he would find it in himself to let you go, not after this. Of course, he would have to let go, though.

The last thing he wanted was to help free you from one cage just to stick you right back into another. While he was no stranger to loss, he had to admit to himself that to lose you would be a knife to whatever was left of his heart.

Shoving the thought out of his mind, he reached down and gripped the base of his cock, pumping it in his fist before running the leaking head along your puffy lips, coating himself in your wetness with the hope it would ease some of the pain you were bound to feel. “Ready, babygirl?” he asked you, lightly teasing your entrance. “Might hurt a bit. M’gonna go slow. Just need you to relax for me, alright?”

“Okay.”

“I’ve got you,” he promised.

You nodded, saying softly, “I know.”

Though he knew he had all of your trust, Joel could still sense your anxiousness. He reached out for your hand, lacing your fingers together with his own as he gingerly pressed forward and eased himself into you, taking the very innocence you had been taught your entire life to preserve, one slow, careful inch at a time.

“Oh—Joel!” You cried loudly at the initial stretch, your pretty face scrunching in discomfort. Tightly slamming your eyes shut, sparks flew behind your eyelids when he finally bottomed out. The burning sting in between your thighs was too overwhelming, almost impossible to cope with. He felt so enormous within you, you could have sworn he was in your belly. Another broken cry fell from your lips and he swallowed it with a comforting kiss.

“Jesus Christ,” he hissed against your lips, a thin sheen of sweat coating his brow, neck, and chest. He wasn’t sure where he found the strength, but he suppressed his urge to thrust. Instead, he dropped his face into the hollow of your neck and waited, giving you the chance to adjust to him. He mumbled against your skin. “Doin’ so good for me, sweet girl. Y’know that? You’re doin’ so fuckin’ good for me.”

Even in discomfort, you preened at his praise.

He squeezed your hand, and after a minute, he gave an experimental thrust of his hips—and then another and another before he ceased his movement once again. He was so big and you were so deliciously full of him.

Eventually, the pain subsided, and you found yourself asking, no, begging for more. “Move.” Your other hand found itself cupping the side of his face, coaxing him to lift his head and allowing your gazes to meet. Your soft, plush thighs parted further to help accommodate the breadth of his hips. “Please, Joel. I need you to move—I need you to fuck me.”

Surely, you would be the death of him.

He drew his hips back with cautious, tender care, then advanced in the same manner to fill your precious cunt all over again. He did it over and over, your pleasured moans encouraging him to begin picking up the pace. He drove his cock in and out of your weeping pussy, the slapping of flesh against flesh, the lewd, wet squelch of you around him inspiring him to fuck you harder, faster. And the noises you were making?

There was something oh so beautiful about your cries, sweet raptures of submission as you laid there beneath him, all too graciously taking everything he had to give you like the good, good, good girl you were for him.

“Fuckin’ hell, sweetheart,” Joel rasped. “Look at you—look at the way you take my fuckin’ cock, honey.”

And you did.

Glancing down, your gaze fell between your bodies and you watched in awe, openly marveled at the way Joel slid in and out of your cunt, how he knocked hard so deeply inside of you, driving himself as far as he could possibly go.

“Fuck Joel, I’m gonna—” You tried warning him as the pressure in your belly neared its peak, but you tumbled over the edge before you even had the chance to finish your sentence. Arching up off off the bed, you pressed your chest against his, your fingers squeezing his own so hard you feared you might break them.

“That’s it babygirl, let go,” he grunted, speeding up his thrusts. “Squeeze my fuckin’ cock—just like that. Good girl. My perfect, perfect girl.”

You didn’t quite get the chance to let the praise sink in.

Joel pulled himself out of you, and with ease, he flipped you over onto your belly. His hands gripped your hips and pulled them up off the mattress, his fingers moving to firmly knead the fleshiest part of your ass. He leaned over you, the head of his cock nudging at your hole. “Y’think you can handle a little bit more, sweetheart?” he whispered the question into a tumble of messy hair, the delicate scent of the lavender shampoo you used to wash it filling his senses. “Answer me, little dove.”

“Yes,” you replied breathlessly with a nod. “I can.”

With a satisfied hum, Joel sank into you, this second stretch not quite as overwhelming at the first, but still intense. “Relax,” he murmured, hunching further over your quivering back. He pressed a kiss onto the top of your head and then leaned down to brace his hands on either side of you. “Need you to be sweet for me just a bit longer, okay, baby?”

“God,” you whimpered when the heaviness of his balls came to rest on your sensitive clit.

It was the second time you’d uttered His name.

Joel almost grinned at the irony. He found his rhythm, groaning in gut-deep satisfaction with each snap of his hips—each smooth stroke in and each smooth stroke out.

“Oh fuck, sweet girl.” Heaven was indeed a real place, and Joel Miller was buried in it to the hilt, right at this very moment.

He was getting closer and closer.

Maybe it was your eagerness to help him reach his own release mingled with the pride you knew you would feel once you did that gave you a second wind, a fresh, new burst of energy. You planted your hands firmly on his pillow. Rolling your bottom lip between your teeth, you curved your spine and pushed back onto Joel with purpose, meeting his thrusts halfway as you rode his aching length to the satiation that waited for him at the end.

“There’s my girl,” he rasped. “Oh fuckin’ Christ—”

No way he could live his life without you now.

He needed you.

He needed you so much more than you needed him.

Joel slipped an arm around your shoulders, across your chest.

“Oh!” you gasped as he then yanked you back, pulling you flush against him. The rough crash of your back against his chest, combined with the angle in which he was fucking you knocked the wind out of your lungs.

His lips were at the shell of your ear. “Stay,” he panted, his breath hot against your cheekbone. He wrapped his other hand lightly around your throat. Relentless, were his hips now—his movements had become frantic. Desperate. “Stay with me, baby.”

Even as you fought to catch your breath in the position he had you in, you picked up on the fact that he wasn’t asking you of it, nor was he demanding you of it.

He was begging you.

Him, the most feared man in this town. Begging you?

“Joel,” you choked.

“Please, my little dove,” he pleaded, turning your head towards him. His mouth was then on the corner of your own, his beard roughly scratching the soft and delicate flesh of your cheek. “I need you, babygirl. Stay with me. Please, just fuckin’ stay with me.”

Your hands curled around his wrists. “Yes, I’ll stay,” you moaned. “I’m yours, Joel. I’m all yours. I—I’m not going anywhere. I promise. I’ll stay with you.”

A low, guttural sound rumbled through his chest. Joel firmly took hold of your cross, and without so much as a warning, he ripped the chain from around your neck and tossed it somewhere over his shoulder. He heard it land on the hardwood floor with the tiniest, faint clink the moment he spilled into you, ropes of warm release coating your fluttering walls. Curses and groans spilled from his lips and into your neck. Your cunt clutched at his pulsing cock, greedy for every last drop of his spend she could get.  

Once you were filled, you both collapsed beside each other on the bed, heaving to catch a steady breath.

“Y’okay, sweetheart?” Joel managed to ask, his chest still rising and falling rapidly.

Exhausted, all you could do was nod and utter, “Mhm.”

He exhaled an amused huff through his nose. “C’mere.” He reached for you and pulled you against his side. He draped an arm around your shoulders, holding you as close to him as was possible. “Y’did so good, honey.”

Your mouth curled into a small, contented smile.

Several minutes had passed by, and despite telling him that you were too tired to even think about moving, Joel made you get up and use the bathroom, and while you did so, he ran a clean washcloth under warm water. “Here, darlin’. Let me clean you up,” he’d said, his lips meeting your forehead in a loving token of affection before he sank down onto one knee and ran the damp cloth along the insides of your thighs. He took extreme care when he wiped at your swollen folds, knowing you were still sensitive to the touch. “There we go. All done, now.”

Not long after, you were both back in his bed, wrapped up in his sheets.

Yawning, you nuzzled into bare his chest, your eyelids feeling heavier and heavier with each and every second that ticked by. You’d started drifting off when you heard his voice.

“Baby?”

“Hmm?” you answered sleepily, eyes still closed.

“Did you mean what you said?”

“Mean what, Joel?”

There was a brief pause. “Y’know, when you said you’d stay with me.”

Snuggling closer to him, you mumbled, “Mhm. Of course I did.”

“S’not gonna be easy,” Joel murmured into your hair.

“I know.” You yawned. “But I have you.”

“You do. You’ve got me—and I’ve got you, babygirl.”

“Mm. I know that too, Joel.”

You felt him kiss the top of your head and then fell fast asleep in his arms.

The sun bloomed over the Grand Tetons.

Your father would wake soon, that’s to say if he wasn’t up already.

The nerves began to set in.

Joel must have sensed it. “Breathe, baby. S’gonna be okay,” he soothed, squeezing your hand.

With one of his warmer, heavier jackets that normally didn’t see the light of day until winter season draped around your shoulders, the two of you made your way down the road and towards your house. Or better said, towards your father’s house. Because after what you were about to do, that yellow and white cottage would no longer be a place you could call home.

He led you up to the porch. “Y’sure you don’t want me to go in there with you?” he asked, quietly.

You could have laughed. You almost did.

“Do you believe that to be a wise choice?”

“No, I reckon it ain’t the best idea,” Joel admitted with a sigh, raking his free hand through his unkempt, salt and pepper hair. He looked up at the house, then back at you. “Look, little dove. No matter what happens in there, just know that everythin’ will be alright. M’gonna take care of you. For the rest of my life, I’ll take care of you. I’ll try my hardest to be everythin’ you need.”

“You already are, Joel,” you said, your gaze earnest.

His chest swelled with warmth.

Truth be told, Joel didn’t know how he had managed to defy the odds—how he, of all people, had managed to make his way into that sweet, innocent, beautiful little heart of yours, but somehow he did, and he would not take this responsibility lightly.

He brushed your lips with his and promised, “Gonna be waitin’ right here, okay?”

“Okay.” Inhaling deeply, you willed yourself to let go of his hand and took a step back. You then started up the porch steps on wobbling legs. When you made it to the top, you glanced over your shoulder at Joel, who gave you a subtle nod of encouragement. Exhaling slowly, you reached for the knob with trembling fingers and turned it, opening the door. You stepped inside, your heart dropping into your stomach when you saw your father sitting there at the foot of the staircase, as if he’d been waiting for you. He had been waiting for you. Fully dressed, he sat on the second to last step with both hands folded on his bible in his lap, a rosary clutched between them. “Papa?”

He said nothing. Instead, he silently observed you—his eyes glazed over the men’s jacket and the short dress you wore underneath it, the disheveled, loose hair and kiss swollen lips. Your holy cross nowhere to be seen.

“Papa.” You swallowed harshly and shifted your weight anxiously from the heel of one boot to the other. “We, um—we really need to have a talk.”

He peered around you, catching a brief glimpse of the man standing outside, waiting for you at the foot of the porch.

He cleared his throat, lightly. “Yes, child. I suppose that we do.”

Nodding tightly, you turned around and slowly closed the door. Joel’s words rang in your mind over and over, giving you the push of strength you knew you would need.

I’ve got you.

divider credit goes to @saradika 🤍

[octoberautumnbox]

I Got All I Need

Le Sserafim Kim Chaewon (ft. Soloist Jo Yuri & Male Reader)

Categories/warnings: smut, phone sex, masturbation, voyeurism i think, anal, abuse, rough sex, like really really rough sex (kinda)

Word count: 1.6k

a/n: wrote on a whim lol no proofread no beta im sorry anways--

Chaewon lay bored in her bed, having exhausted her SNS feeds and Watch Later playlist. Her members sent all manner of pictures with their families and other friends in the groupchat, and honestly, genuinely, Chaewon was happy for them! And just a teeny bit envious, that's all, cross her heart and hope to die.

Her phone read 6:06 pm, and on her first long weekend off in the year, she had nothing to do. She was getting desperate for some fun. She opened her contacts app and punched in a random number.

"Ah, sorry, Chaewon-ssi," the voice on the other end of the line admitted, "Yena won't be back in Korea until next Friday. I'll let her know you called."

"Hi, this is Eunbi! I can't come to the phone right now. Please leave me a message and I'll get back to you in a jiffy!" Of course she uses an answering machine, Chaewon thought.

"Hi, Unnie!" Chaewon was overjoyed! "Hey Minmin, I was just curious if you were down to eat--" The sound of a bell rang loud in the other side of the phone call. "Oops, I'm really really sorry Unnie. Gotta get back now. Long night ahead of us, they're even killing my character again today! See you soon!"

Looking to her closet, Chaewon's mind was half-set to just put on a warm coat and go out alone. That's a thing people do nowadays, right? Go out and eat by themselves?

Sighing, she went for one last-ditch effort. She knows she won't pick up. She knows that even if she does, she wouldn't want to come out. She knows that if she wants to come out, it'll be shabu-shabu and sitting around by the Han River. "Oh well," Chaewon resigned, "At least I won't be alone."

She scrolled down her contacts and found her name. Tap, tap, tap, and the ringing started. One ring, two, three, and four. Chaewon expected this, so much so that she's not even disappointed.

"H-hello?" Chaewon fought back a gasp! "Hey, hi Yuri! I was going to go out for a bite--"

"Ah, fuck..." Silence filled the phone line for a good few seconds before Yuri's end broke it again. "Shit, th-that's really good."

"Yuri?" "Ffffuck yes, just like that..." Disbelief filled Chaewon's mind. "Sorry," Yuri struggled to whisper, "wh-who is this?"

"It's... It's Chaewo-" "Fuck! Shit, shit, shit, please..."

Chaewon had half a mind to just drop the call then and there, and she should, right? This is one of her best friends in the world. Busy, as they say, with something important.

"Unnie, I'm so sorry, I just have the thickest cock ripping my asshole apart right now, ahhh, oh fuck, OH FUCK!"

Although, as much as Chaewon wants to deny it, dropping the call was out of the question now. She had to know just what exactly was going on.

"Are you okay, Yuri? Do... you need me to call someone?"

"Haahhhhh... Ahh, AHHHH!" Yuri's scream ripped through the phone line, and Chaewon couldn't keep her own free hand from straying anymore.

"Unnie, I... I need y-you... to keep a... a secret," It was hard for Chaewon to decipher what her friend was saying, between every moan and grunt littered across her speech. She couldn't resist, though, that she was paying more attention to them than whatever words could be spilling out of Yuri's mouth.

"I'm... with my... with my boyfriend. He's p-pounding my ass right now..." Chaewon was groping her own ass at that moment, and she could feel herself getting moist.

She heard whispering at the other end. Yuri's voice rang clearer, even if a bit shakier. "He says... if I end the call... he'll tie me up and, and leave me," Yuri's breaths are heavy and laced with exhaustion, "un-until morning. So I'm sorry, but I can't... Mmmmff..."

Chaewon couldn't believe she was getting hot to the sound of her friend getting fucked hard. There was no way pure, sweet, innocent Yuri was like this, right? Absolutely impossible.

And yet, she found her own hand slipping under her panties. She felt her smooth pussy lips, how they were slick against her fingers, and how her insides were starting to burn up.

"Unnie... he's making me tell you..." Chaewon was all ears now, desperate for more.

"I have six inches of cock up my ass... and three ffffingers... in my soaking cunt." Three wouldn't fit, Chaewon thought, so she settled for two inside herself. Her pussy lips parted for them, and Chaewon let out a tiny "mmmh."

"He... he's rubbing my clit, and... AHHH--" Chaewon was palming her own clit as her fingers shoved themselves slowly in and out of her pussy, letting more of her juices out and onto her panties.

"... and he's s-slapping and pinching it, Unnie..." Frustrated and in heat, Chaewon frantically stripped and kicked away both her shorts and panties; they were ruined anyway. She lay comfortably back onto her bed and spread her legs, in prime position for her own missionary fucking, with regrettably nothing more than her left hand.

"And Unnie..." Her former member's deep and heavy breaths occupied the phone line. "P-please... don't let this... change how you see me... God, please, no..."

Chaewon pumped her fingers in and out of her pussy hard now. Her juices were falling all over her bedsheets, and the scent of her sex reaching her nose only spurred her on.

"Yuri... Tell me."

"He... he creampied me, Unnie..." Suddenly, Chaewon's hips lifted off the bed momentarily as she heard this. Her fingers found a good spot as she returned to the bed, and from then on strove to hit it again and again and again.

"More, Yuri-yah... please..." She couldn't hide it anymore, Chaewon was moaning just as loudly now as her beloved friend.

"Th-three times, Unnie... in my ass..." Chaewon's eyes shut tight as her brain locked onto what was being said. "And... six... I think, in my... my pussy... oh- OH GOD!"

Chaewon started grinding against her palm, forcing more pleasure through her crotch. She humped against the air, lifting and dropping her hips in a needy bid for her sweet release.

"FUCK! Unnie, I can't remember-- Shhhhhit, shitshitshitshit... How- how many times he came in my cunt- AHHHH!"

She could hear it so much better now, how her friend's ass slapped against her boyfriend's waist. Yuri's moans rang louder still, pushing her phone's speaker to its limit.

"Unnie, holy fuck, Unnie... Please... don't..." Yuri collected herself for a moment before starting again. "He... he has my-my nipples in clamps, too... It hurts so good, Chaewon-unnie, shit... everything is so good..."

Chaewon struggled against her top, and managed to get all of it up past her chest and under her neck. Her breasts bounced out from under her bra and relaxed. She pinched and squeezed her left nipple as hard as she could, feeling the nub stiffen against her fingertips.

"And I came, Unnie..." Her fingers returned to pleasuring her now-leaking pussy. Chaewon rubbed around her lips to collect more of her slick, before shoving now three of her fingers inside her.

"I came so... so many times. F-fifteen... before I- ahhh- lost c-count." Chaewon found her pace and rhythm again. She pistoned her fingers into and out of her sex as her moans reached the other end of the line too.

"Fuck, Yuri-yah, that sounds so fucking good... I'm close... I'm so close!"

"He's forcing me t-to tell you, Unnie, ahhhhh..."

Chaewon shut her eyes again, wishing, imagining it was her getting the railing of her life. Only now did she realize how big the wet spot on her bed between her legs was.

"I'm... Unnie, I'm... his slut. I'm his ffffuuuckdoll..."

Chaewon was straining herself now, her arm muscles burning with overexertion. She felt her cunt leak so much of her sex all over her hand. She wildly fingered her g-spot, praying that her climax comes soon.

"I'm his pleasure girl, Unnie," Chaewon heard her friend's voice break with sobs between words and moans. "I'm his slutty, hhhorny, p-personal o-onahole..."

At this point, Chaewon was sobbing too. Why couldn't she have a boyfriend like that? Why can't she be the one getting sexually taken advantage of? She even bet she could make Yuri's boyfriend feel worlds better than Yuri ever could.

"I'm his... I'm his slutty fucking cumdump, Unnie! He fucks me raw and creampies my cunt- AHHHHH- and I love when he fills my womb up so much it leaks out of my abused pussy!"

A scream dragged itself across Chaewon's throat, and she made sure both Yuri and her boyfriend heard. Chaewon's arm burned hotter with overfatigue as she was nearly breaking her own pussy with how hard she was pumping. "Fuck, Yuri! Please! I need to cum!"

"Fuck, Unnie, me too! Shit, Unnie, I have to tell you..."

Tears streamed down Chaewon's cheeks now, her crotch and thighs soaked with her slick. She's already lost control of herself and fully gave in to her body's desires, wailing cries and moans that she couldn't even recognize as her own anymore.

"I'm not safe, Unnie! I'm so fucking f-fertile! He's going to make me pregnant! H-he's put- FUCKING SHIT, PLEASE DADDY- He's putting a fucking baby in my womb!!! AAAHHHHHHH!"

"FFFFUCK, YURI! HOLY FUCK I'M CUMMING SO MUCH!!!"

Chaewon's cum sprayed out of her sore cunt in intense streams. Chaewon forcefully pulled her fingers out as her hips convulsed violently, wringing out every last drop of her climax. She kept squirting for what felt like ages, and with every spurt of her girlcum she grew less and less alert.

Her eyes were heavy, and her ears were failing her. Her hands dropped to the sides, as did her waist onto the mattress as her climax overwhelmingly resolved. She grew less and less aware of her heart beating out of her chest, and, finally, passed out naked on her cum-soaked bed.

a/n: lmao jesus christ anyways this wasn't the incest smut i was talking abt that's still in the works

[nvirskies]

it's getting hot in here - c. la rue

warnings: reader is like half-naked? just no shirt on is all but reader is wearing a sports bra, nothing sexual just like a tad suggestive?, clarisse is a gay mess, kinda ooc clarisse, i know next to nothing about blacksmithing please hang in there with me, fem reader, no use of y/n, self-conscious reader, not beta read

summary: clarisse goes to pick up a custom order dagger from the forge when she's met with an unexpected sight.

hephaestus!daughter!reader x clarisse la rue

word count: 1.3k

taglist: @lvrue @azrielsdiary @b0ok-lover @star-girl69 @petitegavotte

from this post !

a/n: tbh might make this a multi part thing, at least a second part. also, so sorry this took so long to finish- i got sidetracked with a couple other things irl. hope you enjoy! men, nsfw, non-sapphics, 16- / 19+ dni

It was no secret the kids of Cabin 9 ran a side business to make some extra cash. It was pretty lucrative, given that there would always be a line of demigods waiting to have their weapon(s) of choice customized. Custom engravings, patterns cast into handles, ergonomic handpiece add-ons, and so much more. Name it, and it would be done for the right price, forged with impeccable quality.

And that was how Clarisse La Rue found herself heading to the forge just east of the strawberry fields with a thin paper in one hand and a small bag of golden drachmas in the other. The edges of the slip were just barely singed, and the writing on it looked nearly incomprehensible to many eyes, scribbled notes of her order confirmation and gods only knew what else. It didn’t matter to her, she just needed it to get her dagger and go.

Crowds parted for her like the Red Sea, once-lively conversations coming to a grinding halt as she walked straight through crowds and groups with nothing more than a glare and a sharp look in any general direction. 

In no time at all, the familiar sounds of machinery clanking, fire hissing and crackling, and hammers striking metal filled the air. It was the forge, the singular place where one could guarantee there would be at least one child of Hephaestus in there at all hours of the day. 

She pushed open the heavy metal door, swinging it wide open soundlessly despite its obvious weight. And what a sight she was greeted with. You were there alone, hunched over a piece of blisteringly hot metal, pounding away at it with a hammer in one hand and a pair of tongs in the other.

Something about you entranced her. 

She didn’t know if it was the way your hair was pulled into a low ponytail, some loose strands clinging to the sides of your face, the way you subconsciously bit your lip as you focused completely on the red-hot metal in front of you. Or perhaps, it was the way your muscles rippled in the dim firelight as you struck the metal again and again, a thin sheen of sweat covering the exposed portions of your skin from both the heat and the exertion. 

Maybe it was a combination or something else entirely. 

As she gazed at you, a light blush dusted her cheeks as she came to the realization that you weren’t wearing much while working. The heat of the forge had led you to forgo wearing a shirt entirely, said shirt reduced to a tiny, crumpled gray bundle of fabric in the corner of the room. You were left wearing a sports bra, dusted with ash and soot and a pair of baggy sweatpants resting just above your hips.

It wasn’t as if Clarisse had never seen people dressed in less before. Hell, she’d seen her own fair amount of skin for various reasons. But this time, it seemed different. The slip of paper and bag of coins in her hands were forgotten momentarily as she simply stared at you from the doorway.

The way the dim light of the roaring furnace illuminated you from behind gave you an almost ethereal glow, the edges of the flames flickering around your moving silhouette. 

She could see the muscles in your arm and shoulder tensing and relaxing with every ever-so-precise swing of the hammer, and she found herself silently watching you work from the doorway. 

Ultimately, it was the soft clinking coming from the bag of drachmas Clarisse held in her hand that drew your attention away from the project in front of you. Your head snapped up, tense and a tad startled from the sudden sound, having been so zoned into your work that you hadn’t noticed her presence. 

The hammer in your hand dropped to the metal workbench with a loud clang, the sound reverberating throughout the forge, ripping Clarisse from the glossed-over, hazy look in her eyes as she watched you move just moments ago, having been completely and utterly under your spell.

“Shit-!” you exclaimed, jumping slightly and wincing at the harsh sound, eyes widening further as you’re greeted with the sight of a Clarisse who seemed far too casual compared to how she normally treated campers, especially given her outward distaste towards children of Hephaestus. 

And all of a sudden, you’re all too aware of your lack of a shirt and your cheeks flare with an embarrassed bright red flush.

Flushed the same color as the heated metal in front of you, Clarisse noted absentmindedly. It wasn’t a look she didn’t like. But of course, she would never admit that. The big, bad Clarisse La Rue flustered over something as insignificant as muscles on a girl? Impossible.

Her attention is drawn back to you, observing as you scurry to the other side of the room to grab your stashed-away shirt, slipping the loose grey fabric over your body, any and all views of the muscles she had seen just moments prior completely disappearing in a matter of seconds.

After having taken a few calming breaths, you steeled yourself for a barrage of snarky remarks that you were sure would come spewing out of the Ares cabin counselor’s mouth like acid out of the myrmeke’s mouths, but they never came.

Instead, you’re greeted with the sight of a Clarisse who seemed to be a bit flustered? Her eyes didn’t meet yours for a moment before she straightened herself out. Before your very eyes, you watched her cool and collected facade slip over her like a mask, and that trademark smirk of hers tugged at the corners of her lips.

“I’m here to pick up an order, under my name,” she remarks, holding up the bag of drachmas and thin slip of paper in an outstretched hand. Her gaze seemed like it was scrutinizing everything about your appearance from the baggy grey shirt that hung loosely over your frame to the soot just barely smudged on your forehead. Whether it was a good or bad look you had no idea, subconsciously shrinking into the shadows of the dimly lit forge.

“Right, right, La Rue…” you trail off nervously, scanning the room for the rack that held completed orders and leafing through the tags attached to each object. “La Rue, La Rue, La Rue, where is it-?” you muse to yourself, repeating her last name in a hushed tone until the sight of it comes into view. The dagger she had ordered was at the edge of the table, with the request for a heavyweight handle and an etching of her initials into the butt of it.

Normally, Clarisse would have found your behavior annoying if it were coming from anyone else, but oddly enough, she quite liked the way her last name rolled off your tongue. It felt almost natural, too natural. Quickly, she brushed away the lingering thoughts about how you had looked almost god-like with the flame from the roaring furnace glowing behind you, the thoughts of what your skin would feel like under her hands. 

After a beat of silence, you grabbed said dagger, placed a little ball of clay over its razor-sharp tip, and slipped it into a small drawstring bag, pulling it closed. 

“That’ll be five golden drachmas, La Rue, or fifteen silver ones. Whatever works for you” you say as you hand her the bag, other hand outstretched for the paper she held and to take the coins. She dropped the five golden coins in your palm and grabbed the bag to turn on her heel and walk out without another word.

Or so you thought.

“Thanks for the weapon. I’ll see you around, pretty girl.”

[sinswithpleasure]

The After School “Student Bonding Experience”

------------------------- Pairing: NingNing x Winter Part 1 || Part 2 || <?> Also available on AO3! ------------------------- A/N: A big thank you to @majorblinks, @iznsfw, @msafterhours, @i-am-lifeform24, and @capslocked for the help in this draft, from beta-reading to being just generally an advice column. This was massively fun to write. -------------------------

Yizhuo doesn’t know when it started, but it’s been nothing but natural for both her and Minjeong to climb onto Yizhuo’s bed with Yizhuo’s laptop already logged in to Pornhub every time they have their weekly sleepover. Both girls make quick work of their clothing—Minjeong drops her shorts at the foot of the bed, and she has her thin singlet in her right hand now, throwing it on top of her shorts. Yizhuo does the same with her clothing—her pajamas are discarded at the foot of the bed as both Minjeong and her get comfortable with the many pillows on the bed. Minjeong already has a hand lazily circling her clit, soft breaths escaping her lips as she looks at the erotic thumbnails on the screen. 

“What do you wanna watch?” Yizhuo asks, unsure where to look, between her laptop, and Minjeong’s body. “I’m fine with anything.”

“Oh, that looks really hot.” Yizhuo looks at where Minjeong’s pointing, and at the end of her finger, a preview of a schoolgirl in uniform grinding against a table playing on the screen. She clicks on it, and both girls start to get comfortable, leaning back on the pillows behind them. On the screen, the camera follows a schoolgirl, dressed in a typical Japanese-style high school uniform, entering an empty classroom. Eventually, exposition starts—both girls are entranced by the story unfolding in front of them: it’s quiet hours after school, and the girl wants to try something new.

It doesn’t take long for the action to begin. When the girl on the screen begins to unbutton her blouse, exposing her small chest encased in a white bra, Yizhuo hears Minjeong sigh next to her, and she turns her gaze over to her best friend, whose gaze is fixed on the screen, watching in rapt attention. Both of her hands are busy now, with her right still circling her clit, but her left now beginning to palm a petite breast. The throb of need deep in Yizhuo’s core surprises her—she admires how hot Minjeong looks next to her, and she looks away, heart pounding. It’s not even anything much—she’s just softly fondling herself—and yet Yizhuo’s already so wet just watching. She can’t believe herself. What is this—

“Hey, what’re you dreaming about?” Yizhuo jumps when Minjeong elbows her. “She’s about to masturbate! Quit that and watch it with me!” 

Guilt festers in Yizhuo’s heart when she realizes she’s thinking lustfully about Minjeong again. She pushes it aside almost instantly to focus on the video, and she’s greeted with a hot sight—the girl on the screen has lost her blouse and bra, and the skirt she has on has the hem shoved into the waistband on the front, with her panties on full display to the lens, a wet spot already visible on the front. Yizhuo watches as the girl softly plants her clothed mound onto the surface of the table, right at the corner, and she begins to grind against the surface, moaning in pleasure. 

A rush of slick flows from Yizhuo’s core as she admires the girl on screen. It’s there that she realizes something that makes her bite her lip in surprise and arousal—the actress on the screen vaguely resembles Minjeong, especially the body. She glances over to double check, and she softly moans when she confirms her suspicion, her core throbbing again. The girl next to her and the girl on the screen might as well be the same person, at least neck down, and Yizhuo feels a rush of wetness coat her fingers when she rubs against her sex, teasing the entrance with two fingers. In her head, it’s Minjeong on screen now, grinding her clothed pussy on the table in her uniform skirt. Once again, Yizhuo’s eyes roam next to her, and she can’t stop looking at Minjeong now, with her fingers plunging into her hole, soft moans of pleasure escaping her open mouth as she teases her nipples with her other hand. The girl on the screen is doing that as well, and Yizhuo just feels dizzy hearing the sounds of sex around her—two sets of moans from Minjeong and from the speakers of her laptop, as well as the slick sounds of Minjeong’s fingers plunging into herself.

The burning need that sears through her body prompts her to mirror Minjeong’s actions—she pushes her fingers into her hole, and she begins to match her best friend’s pace. The moan she lets out is obscene, and she can’t stop her vocalizations of pleasure when she pulls her fingers out, the friction of her digits rubbing against her walls just so delicious. On the screen, pseudo-Minjeong is furiously grinding down on the table now, unabashedly moaning as she pushes herself closer and closer to orgasm, and the real Minjeong next to Yizhuo is in a similar state. With every thrust of her fingers into herself, she’s moaning, writhing, hips bucking to fuck her own hand as she watches the porn video, and her shoulder lightly brushes Yizhuo’s every time she moves. She swears she’s going crazy—as if Minjeong’s touches weren’t enough already, she can smell Minjeong’s natural scent, and it just arouses her so much.

“Fuck, it’s not comfortable—”

Minjeong shifts herself for comfort, pressing herself right against Yizhuo’s shoulder now, instead of just the occasional contact. The direct touch only sends her into a frenzy internally—Minjeong feels so warm to the touch, and she just smells so nice, and it all goes straight down to her leaking core, her juices flowing freely from her hole. Yizhuo swears she’s staining her bed, but she doesn’t care—she’s so turned on, and she can’t stop staring at Minjeong now, the video akin to a forgotten relic at this point. The mix of emotions and sensations is overwhelming—anticipation, guilt, arousal, joy, and fear all wash over Yizhuo in waves, but she can’t stop herself, won’t stop herself from getting off to Minjeong. 

“Oh, f—ngh, Ningie, shit!”

Minjeong’s moan of Yizhuo’s name sends a spike of shock and arousal straight to the Chinese girl’s heart and core. She turns her head slightly, and she meets the half-lidded eyes of her best friend, face flushed in red. 

“I’m getting close, Ningie, I’m so close to cumming…” Minjeong’s hot breath mingles with Yizhuo’s soft moan, their lips just inches from the other’s. It drives Yizhuo wild—she’s so wet knowing that she could just kiss Minjeong right now, just—

“Me too.” Yizhuo’s shaky voice betrays all of her emotions—she does not sound as calm as she wants herself to sound. However, Minjeong’s too far gone to even notice.

“Ningie, let’s cum together, I wanna cum with you, I wanna cum together with you, I wanna cum together with you Ning, cum with me, cum with me!”

Yizhuo doesn’t even have time to announce her orgasm—it hits her like a truck. Flashes of white take her sight from her, her ears ringing with Minjeong’s words, begging her to ‘cum with me’. In her haze, she thinks she knocks her head against Minjeong’s—she’s not sure at all. What she’s sure of, however, is the sensations of her pleasure exploding outward—it’s hot, it’s wet, and it leaves Yizhuo feeling sticky afterward. In between the flashes of white, glimpses of Minjeong wracked with pleasure next to her as she moans unabashedly, her hips jerking as she grinds her palm down on her clit, prolonging the fleeting pleasure of her orgasm. It’s overwhelming in the best way possible: both girls are so close together, with Minjeong leaning against Yizhuo, the latter so acutely aware of how their heads and shoulders touch, of how good Minjeong smells, of how they’re moaning almost into each other’s mouths, of just how damn close they are. 

She wants to melt into Minjeong. 

However, that’s impossible, and the best Yizhuo can settle for is watching Minjeong pull her slick fingers out from between her legs, bringing them to her mouth. She watches with unbridled lust as her best friend parts her lips, and she takes her cum-drenched fingers between them, tongue darting out to lick her juices off of her digits, softly moaning at her own taste. Minjeong’s just as messy as she is, strings of slick clinging between the gaps of her fingers as she takes each one into her mouth. Almost unconsciously, Yizhuo’s doing the same now, mirroring Minjeong, tasting her own tangy cum coating her fingers. The fire in her lights up again, and she wishes she was the one licking Minjeong’s cum off of her fi—

“Hey, Ningie…”

Minjeong’s voice is raspy, sultry. Her hot breath brushes against Yizhuo’s ear and cheek, and the way she sounds all goes straight to Yizhuo’s core. Right after what might be the Chinese girl’s most world-shattering orgasm yet, she’s ready to go again just with Minjeong’s sexy voice whispering right into her ear.

“We should do this together.”

“Wha—What?” Yizhuo’s eyes must be bugged out in shock right now. The world almost seems to stop around her, and she thinks she’s broken—there’s no way Minjeong just said what she said. 

“I… I wanna masturbate like that in school.” Minjeong whispers, motioning at the screen. “But I…” She falters, biting her lip in nervousness and uncertainty, before she gathers the courage to finish her sentence. “I want to do it only with you.”

Yizhuo combusts. Heat explodes across her body, lust burning deep in her core and washing over her skin, all because of the beautiful girl right in front of her. She doesn’t know how to put what she wants to do in any clean terms—

Ning Yizhuo wants to fuck Kim Minjeong. But she can’t.

“W-What are you saying? We… What?”

“First day of school—well, after school—me and you stay back. Let everyone leave. It’s the first day—no one stays. Then…” Minjeong trails off, biting her lips, softly sighing. Yizhuo stares at her best friend, dizzy, dazed, unsure where to look, eyes darting everywhere, until she notices Minjeong’s hand between her thighs again, fingers curling into her hole once more. Almost instinctively, Yizhuo’s masturbating as well, something that doesn’t escape Minjeong’s notice. 

“T-Then what, Minjeongie?”

“Then… Then…” Minjeong gasps, biting her lips, closing her eyes tightly in pleasure. “Then we strip down to our panties, and grind on your desk. I… We can watch each other, just like… just like this, just like now.”

The filthy words drive Yizhuo insane once again. With a loud moan, she penetrates herself with her fingers, grinding on her own clit with the heel of her palm. She sees, hears Minjeong doing the same, and they shift closer to each other on the bed, fascinated by each other now, laptop long forgotten.

“I-Is that a yes?” Minjeong’s voice is small, unsure, but still so sexy. 

Yizhuo’s insane.

“Yes. Let’s… let’s do it.”  The Chinese girl breathes, a whine caught in her throat when she presses against her G-spot. “Let’s do it together.”

“Mmh. Together.”

With both girls still sensitive from earlier, it doesn’t take much for them to get close to a second orgasm already. Minjeong’s grinding down on her own hand again, softly moaning every time she thrusts her fingers into herself, and Yizhuo’s hungry eyes devour the erotic sight in front of her. The very same hunger burns behind Minjeong’s eyes as well—they rake over Yizhuo’s sensual curves, over the swell of her breasts and the dark brown nubs atop the flesh, taut with arousal, across her tight tummy that she loves to show off in cute crop tops, along her long legs, her meaty thighs, and right at her core now, where Yizhuo has two fingers plunging into herself, slick dripping all over her thighs and leaking onto the bed sheet, tingles spreading across her skin when Minjeong’s eyes meet hers. Their foreheads touch now, hot breaths all over each other’s lips, moaning into each other’s mouths. 

“You’re so hot, Ningie…”

Minjeong’s deep, sexy voice has Yizhuo leaking more slick between the gaps of her fingers. She’s already so close, so dangerously close to her second peak, and Minjeong is driving her crazier and crazier with every word. 

“I… I love watching you masturbate. It makes me so fucking wet…” 

The broken moan Yizhuo releases is sinful. Before she can even finish processing the ramifications of Minjeong’s sentences, she’s already speaking again. 

“A-Am I hot, Ningie? Do you… Do you love watching me touch myself too?”

“Yes, yes I do, you’re so hot, so fucking hot, Minjeongie, I—” The words tumble out of the Chinese girl’s mouth uncontrollably. The pure honesty is just what Minjeong wants to hear, and the beaming grin on her face depicts her joy amidst her arousal.

“Good, then… then keep looking at me, keep watching me.” The Korean girl takes a short pause, biting her lip as she deliberates over her next sentence, and then she spits it out anyway, her voice shaking with uncertainty. “Keep watching me until… until we… we cum together.”

“Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck, oh, Minjeongie, f—!” 

Minjeong’s words go straight down between Yizhuo’s legs, and she tries to tear away her fingers from herself. However, she’s too far gone now, with Minjeong having pushed her over the edge with that final sentence. Yizhuo never finishes her exclamation—it ends with a broken cry instead. She freezes as stars explode across her vision, and a loud scream rips through her throat as her hips buck, the tension all over her body finally snapping. With every jerk of her body, streams of Yizhuo’s juices gush out from her pussy, streaks of wetness staining her sheets as she rubs circles on her clit in an attempt to prolong the pleasure of her orgasm. Spray after spray of her cum soaks the cloth beneath her, the cathartic release she so craves finally upon her as she goes through her climax. The world around her melts away in pleasure—but in that haze, Yizhuo realizes the one thing she can’t tear herself from: Minjeong. Minjeong’s body, Minjeong’s voice, Minjeong’s words, Minjeong’s features—all of them blend together as one, the only thing Yizhuo can focus on now. The moan of Minjeong’s name that leaves Yizhuo’s lips is involuntary, uncontrolled. Yizhuo repeats it like a mantra—it’s how she tethers herself to the real world as she rides through her high.

Minjeong doesn’t last a second longer after Yizhuo. The sight of her best friend orgasming is what pushes her over the edge—Minjeong watches as Yizhuo’s hips buck, the first spray of her cum gushing from between her fingers to drench the sheets, and she sees her best friend fall to the pleasure. Immediately, she’s following suit—her scream dies in her throat, body writhing as she rolls onto her back, hips jerking with every burst of orgasmic pleasure that pulses across her body from her core. Dimly, Minjeong feels her cum drench her fingers, stream after stream of it leaking down her index and pinky fingers as she thrusts her middle and ring fingers over and over into herself to prolong her pleasure. Every brush of her clit with the heel of her palm draws more and more squirt out of her, her cum pooling between her thighs and staining the sheets beneath her as well. Both girls enjoy their orgasms next to each other, lost in the pleasure yet still so aware of the person right next to them. 

Eventually, both girls do come down from their highs. Yizhuo and Minjeong lie next to each other, panting in exhaustion, minds on overdrive thinking about the other. Yizhuo swears she’s hypersensitive right now—she feels the heat rolling off Minjeong in waves, she senses every dip in the bed as Minjeong shifts, and when Minjeong’s hand brushes against her skin, hot flashes of arousal and want rush all over her again. 

“Thank you, Ningie.”

Yizhuo feels the soft press of Minjeong’s lips on her cheek—

Minjeong just kissed me.

An explosion occurs in Yizhuo’s chest. Minjeong has never kissed her before. Ever. Yet now, she just does it after a mutual self-love session, as if it were nothing. What the f—?!

“Oi, Ningie, are you listening?” Somehow, Minjeong is already up and about, tugging at Yizhuo’s sheets.

“Huh—?”

“I said we gotta change the sheets! We… um, I… we made messes just now… Sorry.”

Somehow, Yizhuo finds it in her to shelve her thoughts for later. Both girls change the sheets and go for a shower, which remains chaste, as much as Yizhuo doesn’t want it to be, her ruined mind replaying instance after instance of her session with Minjeong, her body still wracked with arousal long after, even when she gets into bed. 

“Goodnight, Ningie.”

“Goodnight, Minjeongie.”

Yizhuo doesn’t get any sleep that night.

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

Moon Boys Sleeping Headcanons

Rating: PG •  Masterlist | ao3 | want to be tagged? • ko-fi •

Warnings: some fluffy fluff, mentions of reader, not beta read

Word count: 861

Steven:

I firmly believe that this man constantly moves in his sleep.

He’s rolling around all over the place.

One of those people that hold their arms/legs up in their sleep in the most uncomfortably looking positions. 

There has been more than one occasion where you wake up and see Steven sitting up in bed, fully asleep, and you have to coax him back into lying down.

He is taking up all of the space, then hardly any. 

He’s got all the covers and then none. 

Side and back sleeper, for sure. Loves to be the big or little spoon when going to bed and will twist himself into the most uncomfortable positions for himself if it means you're comfy. 

There is normally at least some part of him touching you, even if he is out of it. 

You have woken up to him holding your hand or your arm in his sleep. Or curled up into a ball and snuggled into your side. 

His feet are always warm, no matter how cold it is.

Delights in eating in bed, watching TV cuddling with you. (Will tell Marc he never eats in bed with a completely straight face.) 

Once he knows about Marc and doesn’t worry so much about sleepwalking he has the ability to fall asleep anywhere and anytime. Literally his eyes are closed and a second later it’s lights out. 

Mumbles in his sleep. It’s never actual words, just little sounds. You video him sometimes to show him in the morning. 

He laughs about it for ages. 

Remembers his dreams in vivid detail. 

Always wakes up with messy hair, no matter how hard he tries or what material his pillow is. 

Prefers to sleep in pyjamas even when it’s burning hot, because it doesn’t feel right otherwise.

Marc:

Back sleeper. Literally lays down like he’s going into his coffin, so stiff it should be uncomfortable. 

However if you’re in bed with him he will snuggle up and lay all over your chest and tummy, and please play with his hair while he goes to sleep. He needs it. 

Doesn’t talk in his sleep, but flinches and twitches. The movements are usually small, like a mini electric current runs through his nerves. 

Pulls a face at eating in bed, will get the handheld vacuum cleaner out and hoover the sheets. “Steven, why are there crumbs here?” 

“I don’t know mate, don’t ask me.” 

“They're those stupid seaweed chip things you eat, you’re the only one of us that eats them.”

“First, they're crisps Marc, say it with me crisps.”

“Steven-”

“Secondly, Jake eats them too.” 

“I know it was you Steven, you always eat in the bed-”

“I’m the only one who changes the bloody covers, aren’t I? I think I’ve earned it.”

“That’s not-”

“I changed the covers last week.” Jake chimes in. 

“You’re right, you did mate, sorry about that.” 

“No problem.” Jake gives him a mental thumbs up.

Marc is just like !!! Where is my apology for eating in the bed? !!!

However, if Marc wakes up before you he will bring you breakfast in bed and purposefully ignore Steven when he playfully calls him a hypocrite.

Sleeps in pyjamas if it’s cooler, but will also sleep naked if it’s hot. 

Falls asleep quickly and doesn’t remember his dreams at all. (He prefers it that way.)

Deep, but light sleeper. Goes into a deep sleep very quickly, but is awake and alert if something sounds ‘wrong’. You once stubbed your toe on the bathroom door and let out a little yelp and he was up and by your side before you’d even realised.

Likes to put lavender and eucalyptus sprays and oils on his pillow. 

Jake: 

Very good at sleeping sitting up and power naps, but prefers you to be laying on top of him if you're in bed. 

It makes him feel grounded to have your weight on him. If you’re happy to lay completely on him he is so content, it doesn’t matter what weight you are, he just loves wrapping his arms around you like you’re his own weighted blanket. 

You buy him a weighted blanket for a gift and he wraps himself up in it constantly. 

Often complains about the cold when sleeping, even when it’s hot his feet are still freezing. He has taken to always wearing socks in bed.

Which leads to a rather amusing sight in August when it is boiling hot, so he’s sleeping naked, but his feet are still covered in fluffy socks. 

He calls them his ‘sexy socks’, and has pairs in a variety of colours. He prefers ones that have loud patterns and colours. 

(I headcanon Jake as a kniter, so I think he would definitely make some for himself as well.) 

Doesn’t usually eat in bed, but does on occasion to affectionately annoy Marc. 

Remembers his dreams, and remembers Steven’s and Marc’s as well. 

Likes to dramatically push you into bed, and throw himself in after. 

Doesn’t move around a lot in the night, but occasionally talks. 

Never wakes up first if he can help it, usually stays asleep while Marc and Steven are up. 

Thank you for reading!

@pleasurebuttonwrites @raven-rk @campingwiththecharmings @alexxavicry @whatthefishh

@romanarose @strangerhands @saturn-rings-writes @lonelyisamyw-0love @queerponcho

@steven-grants-world  @eyelessfaces @angel-of-the-moons @minigirl87 @lunar-ghoulie

@silvernight-m @autismsupermusicalassassin @apesarecuul @reallyrallyauthor @basicalyrandom

@alwaysmicado @mangoslushcrush @marc-spectorr @soft-girl-musings  @spxctorsslxt

@novarosewood @pygmi-cygni

If you'd like to be taken off the tag list please let me know here

[motherofagony]

FIRE WALK - one shot

joel miller x f!reader

pairing: au, no outbreak!joel x f!reader rating: explicit, 18+, minors dni word count: 6.5k summary: a chance encounter at a motel has you crossing paths with a stranger in a blue t-shirt. content warnings + tags: age gap (we'll say 15-20 years), very brief references to past non-con encounters (not with joel, no details just shitty men in general), soft!joel, alcohol, mentions of family trauma and ab*se, unprotected piv, fingering, oral (f + m receiving), A Scene With a Belt™, slight mentions of reader's clothing but no physical descriptions otherwise, love as consumption and women as fruit a/n: this was a brain-worm of a one shot, so i had to press pause on AHFE and get it out. consider it a dirty love letter to strangers with stories in shitty motels. and i have to give the biggest thank-you to @iamskyereads for stepping in and offering to be my beta reader in the final hour. she was so unbelievably thorough and thoughtful and kind. i owe you big.

New-age boogeymen hang two-way mirrors and jiggle motel door handles with broken hangers.

That’s what the news says.

August licks an unforgiving line of heat up your back, and cutoff denim and halter tops do nothing but give the sun more skin to burn. 

It’s sweltering, brutal as an Arizona summer is, and The Palms Motel promises a pool and a mini bar on their dirty marquee. You’ll take what you can get, can’t really afford to be picky with fifty dollars in your pocket, but at least maybe you’ll live like royalty tonight.

Some guy you met — Tom, Tim, Jim, whoever — pulls his convertible up to the front office. Your knees knock together over the speed bump, cartilage kissing bone.

It’s the closest you’ve ever come close to a chauffeur, but the chauffeur you see in movies doesn’t usually take liberties with trying to work his grease-speckled mechanic hand up the passenger’s shirt.

You met him at a gas station in Tucson, thumbing your way from northern Texas to put as much distance between you and your whiskey-breathed dad as you could. He’d torn your clothes apart at the seams with his eyes when he spotted you in the parking lot, swimming in blood-infested waters with sharp, sharp teeth.

There was no plan, no directions penned and cities circled on a folded map, just glass in your hair and a final straw.

He asked if you could buy him some booze — revoked license, baby, y’know how that goes — and you shouldn’t have, but when he flashed a leather wallet thick with cash, you knew you’d be stupid not to.

You hid behind a shelf inside the gas station while he idled in the parking lot and plucked a fifty from the wad, stuffing it deep in your bag. You grabbed some shitty malt-something from a fridge along with a 6-pack, flashing the slack-jawed cashier a wink. 

He didn’t try to hide the eye contact with your tits, but neither do most men. Sometimes you milk it in your favor, sometimes it just makes your lunch rise to the back of your throat.

And when you’re by yourself, it’s hot iron, ready to strike. A doe in their headlights, a buck with a nice rack. Skipping through the center of their bullseye.

You bought a little palm-sized bottle for yourself and tucked it safely next to the stolen cash in the abyss of your purse. These tiny cons got you by, made power surge deep in your belly. It made loneliness feel worth it, knowing you had an upper hand to lean on if you were ever in a bind.

He bitched about inflation when you came out with less than was reasonable for the amount you spent, and you just shrugged. Not your cash, not your problem. 

You bartered for a ride to the nearest motel, and now Tom-Tim-Jim is asking you over the purr of the engine if you need company for the night.

If you were feeling a little more you, you might’ve taken him up on it. Maybe he would’ve even paid for the room, maybe he wouldn’t get angry like your dad does. Maybe he’d be able to fuck you without hitting you.

You’re good at diffusing the temper in most men, can touch them in ways that make them grit their teeth, can be a good girl and go fetch.

But you’re not in the mood to bend, to give someone’s son — someone’s husband with a tan line around their ring finger — a place to wipe their shoes on. You don’t feel like wiping their dirt, your mascara from your eyes and saying thank you while they zip up their pants.

And you sure as fuck don’t fancy being on a milk carton.

“I’m alright, sugar. Thanks for the ride,” you say, dipping your chin to peer over your sunglasses. “I know where to find you, don’t worry.”

Yeah fuckin’ right.

He doesn’t try to conceal his disappointment, just sucks his teeth and squeezes at the exposed skin of your thigh. His way of saying goodbye to something he could’ve dripped sweat on, came in too early. You think your flesh might rot off in chunks. 

You open the door and swing your legs out in a way that’s a little too eager.

Tom-Tim-Jim waves solemnly with two fingers up and two bent, and then he’s gone in an aggressive rev.

The motel might’ve been a kitschy dream in its heyday. It’s not a total dump; more of a vintage skeleton of washed-out pink and umbrellas that’ve been ripped by weather and overuse. There are a million faded emblems of cartoonish palm trees. It’s almost endearing how tragic it is.

You can tell that it was popular and swarming with tourists at one time — there are dusty, water-stained pamphlets lining the wall next to the front desk that brag Named one of Arizona’s top destinations in 1996!

A mounted fan whirs and oscillates, but it might as well be someone blowing hot breath down your neck. 

There’s a tired woman holding down the fort at the desk with a name tag that claims Brenda, and she looks surprised to see you. You figure most customers are stopping in for a night’s rest on the way to somewhere more important, their final destination. But you don’t look like you have anywhere better to be.

“Hey, honey,” Brenda trickles, laced with an accent that’s more New Orleans than Arizona. “Need a room?”

“Yeah, just for the night,” you say, fishing out your wallet with confidence that doesn’t meet your eyes. “How much?”

“Forty-five a night, ‘less you wanna upgrade to the honeymoon suite.” She looks somewhere over your shoulder.

That’s nearly everything you have, but it sounds a lot like tomorrow’s problem. At least you’ll be safe tonight from the prowling stares of nighttime predators, and the leftover change will give you a decent vending machine dinner.

“Just a normal room’s fine,” you smile, sliding over the crumpled, stolen fifty.

Brenda types busily on the keyboard, asking for your name but nothing else. And when she hands you a plastic keycard, you finally relax your shoulders. Untangle the nerves in your lower back that are choking one another.

Room 17, it reads. Your oasis awaits!

You thank her, spin on your heel, and immediately bump chest to chest with something hard.

You’re eye level with a worn, cornflower blue t-shirt, ringed with a light stain of sweat at the collar. They’re grasping both of your arms to steady you, and you’re snagging the gaze of a tousled man with a bag slung over his shoulder.

“Watch where you’re goin’,” he murmurs, but it isn’t reprimanding or mean like you’re used to, just sickly sweet and Texan. Syrupy in a way that drips right down between your legs.

You don’t remember seeing anyone else in the lot when you’d pulled up. And the stealth of him entering soundlessly behind you sends a jolt of electricity up your spine, the clench of something that would be fear if it were any other stranger.

But he doesn’t look at you with intent to devour or to claim. Just eyes you like you’re anyone else. An equal. The bare minimum, but rare and shiny nonetheless.

“Sorry,” you breathe, and he’s releasing you a little too quickly for your liking. Leaving brands on the creases of where your forearms meet upper and elbow.

“Don’t worry ‘bout it.”

So you don’t.

You brush past him on the way out, a polite nod. And that’s that. 

The heat is the kind that feels hotter, unbearable when paired with the shrill sing of cicadas. An endless buzzing that you think might be the sun sizzling on the concrete. If you stood in one place for too long, your flip flops might very well melt you in place.

Your room key clicks to unlock Room 17, and you push the door open to a heavy, humid space that smells vaguely of mold. You’re so grateful for the privacy that you can’t even bring yourself to wrinkle your nose.

Flip flops discarded, your toes sink into shag carpet — a dirty luxury that makes you moan. It’s only been two days since you left home, fled home, but it beats sleeping with one eye open on a bus stop bench.

You up-end your leather bag, dumping all of its contents onto the bed. Cigarettes, some loose film canisters, your toothbrush, a lighter. There wasn’t much time to pack, nothing worth bringing, and the less, the better. Nothing to weigh you down if you had to dip at a moment’s notice.

It takes you only a couple minutes and a light sheen of sweat to realize that the A/C is busted. Smothered, you try to crack open a window in the bathroom, but it’s no cooler than the hell you’re standing in.

When you let Brenda know, she just shrugs with an apologetic kind of half-smile.

“Most of ‘em are out these days, honey,” she says, and you decide then that it’s a small price to pay. “We got someone comin’ to look at it next week.”

You shoot her a smile, figure that she’s had enough rotten backtalk in her day. You scoop a set of flamingo-themed matches from the bowl on the counter and turn around, only to see a familiar blue shirt waiting his turn.

His eyes try not to roam, but he’s giving you a nod and stepping up without hesitation, asking Brenda for extra towels.

The way that she titters and blushes, you’d think he’d asked if he could spit in her mouth.

It irritates you, and you can’t say why.

The door chimes behind you as it closes, and you linger, striking a match and lighting a cigarette. When he emerges, a stack of towels so high it’s hitting his chin, you step in stride on the walk back. Tracing his footsteps, catching up with his shadow.

“You followin’ me?” you quip, a cigarette dangling from your mouth. The cherry ignites on every breath, smoke erupting in tendrils that hug each word.

He answers with a laugh, turns and squints back at you with one eye. Almost as if he was expecting you to ask.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you, sweetheart? Could say the same to you.”

You stop in front of 17, hand over your brow to shield from the sun that’s winding its way down, getting ready to tuck itself in for the night. There’s nothing that touches your tongue that doesn’t sound exactly like a fuck yes. So you don’t say anything.

“Enjoy your sauna,” he chuckles over his shoulder, passing you with his towels on the way to Room 20.

—

Led Zeppelin filters out through the radio, half-static, half-electric. Your legs are crossed in the air behind you, and you’re posted up face down on the bed, kicking along to the beat while you flip through whatever Cosmopolitan someone left behind in a drawer.

Someone raps a few times on the door, and if it’s a repairman, they’re getting their fucking dick sucked.

You army-roll off the flowery duvet, abandoning a how-to on finding your g-spot, and you peer through the peephole.

Your breath hitches on a soft swear.

When you open the door, you see Blue T-Shirt standing there, skin creasing around his eyes slyly. An unopened beer hangs and swings from his restless fingers. He offers it up wordlessly, the butt of it pointed at you.

It’s ice-cold and slippery to the touch, erupting goosebumps on your forearm. Saliva coats your tongue, and you don’t think it’s the thirst for alcohol, but maybe the tall drink of water. 

“Um… thanks?”

“Figured you’d either be dead by now or parched,” he says smugly, and it’s velvet to your ears.

“Oh. Yeah, thanks. I got the fan to work at least,” you mutter, jerking your thumb vaguely behind you.

“Listen, uh —”

He’s rubbing the nape of his neck, and you catch the way the network of muscles flex from his elbow to the seam of his armpit. He looks like he’s in pain, struggling with the fit of a puzzle piece into something rough and jagged.

Something he shouldn’t be trying but has to see it through, exhaust it until it’s definite one way or the other.

You just squint, sucking in the corner of your lip between your teeth. You nearly grin, but it’s much more fun to watch than to connect the dots for him.

“A/C works in my room, so ‘f you wanted to… y’know,” he trails off, not even sure in his own offer. “No pressure. It’s hot as hell outside, don’t want you t’get heat stroke ‘f I can help it.”

This kind of approval you like. This kind that sizzles girl-honey between your legs, winning it from a man that’s playing to earn, not to cheat.

“I try not to make a habit out of going into motel rooms of guys I don’t know the names of,” you harp sweetly. But it might as well be a done-deal.

“D��you make a habit outta accepting beers from ‘em?”

You smile. Typically, yes.

“Joel.”

His hand shoots out, strong and suggestive. Fingers like alligator teeth that’ll grip you, hold you under until you thrash. 

And you pluck your cigarettes and gifted liquor bottle from the bed, arms full when you carry them down to Joel’s room.

—

You’re sprawled on the full-size bed next to his, head propped up on hand propped up on elbow.

You’ve been trading your little fist of bourbon back and forth, swapping stories in the same way. Somehow, you fall into it easy like old friends, and it’s nice to follow someone’s lead instead of keeping one step, three, seven steps ahead. Arm outstretched to the door knob, feet ready to break into a run at the change in tone, blackening of pupils.

Without meaning to, you’ve wordlessly agreed that the person in possession of the bottle has the proverbial mic, and they swig to help with details and theatrics. It’s counter-productive in flow, but it makes you laugh when Joel exaggerates the story he’s telling on purpose, reaching out to pass it back and suddenly yanking it back, remembering a shade of gray or a funny expression.

Your knuckles keep zapping each other, brushing a little longer than the time before. There’s no numbness to consensual touch.

Joel’s mid-40s. From Texas, like you. He came to visit his daughter Sarah at college, says she’s growin’ up too fast, doesn’t need her old man anymore. It’s a thrill to see someone talk about their own flesh with love, admiration for who she is and who she’s becoming. You find yourself leaning in, enraptured that there are no IOUs or fine-print that you know to come with a parent’s love.

Mentions of his stubborn brother Tommy who he works with and who just can’t stop getting into trouble. The unspoken guilt that maybe he could be the one to keep him out of jail if he tried harder. It doesn’t work that way, and you tell him so.

You tell him about your dad when he asks about your life, your story, and you don’t know why you do but maybe you know exactly why. No one ever gets close enough to ask, so it comes leaking out of the corners of your mouth.  

You’ve never told anyone, not even your diary, not even the guidance counselor who slipped a note to your fifth grade teacher and pulled you out of class. Shaky fingers, shaky limbs when they asked if they could roll up your sleeves just to see and you said no. 

Crying because you knew your dad wouldn’t let you go back. Not to school, not to your friends.

You omit the nitty-gritty details, but Joel gets the gist. Swigs his share of the liquor a little too angrily with tight lips. Not like your dad does, but you don’t miss the irony of it all.

He holds anger for you, on behalf of you. It simmers as he listens to you in patient silence, coming to a boil at the bad parts when he gets up and starts walking lines in the shitty carpet. Pretending to look outside in interest at his truck parked at the end of the lot, but gripping the curtains until you can see every expanse of bone in his hand.

You don’t need this from him. It’s a hurt you’ve wedged between the pages of a book and doused in flames of acceptance long ago. But it spreads from your toes to your ears, the burn of someone feeling like this. For someone like you.

He finally settles down in an armchair by the window, a funny corduroy thing that would probably light up under a blacklight on one of those crime shows. Legs parted, a warm stare on the way you take up space on the bed. Facing him comfortably, your vision buzzing around the edges. A loose smile shared as if this room was meant for the two of you all along.

“So, what’s your plan?” Joel’s humming, his words getting lost in an echo of the bottle neck.

You don’t have one. Can’t have one when you have nowhere to go but gone.

It stretches on and on between you — a mouth opened and closed too many times on possibilities. If you admit to it, you end up with pity or an upper hand dealt to a stranger. You can’t afford to owe anyone a favor, nor can you front the cost of needing one.

But you’re so tired.

“Dunno. I’ll figure it out.”

“You got enough time for that?”

And you know what he means. Enough time in the motel, enough time before you’re a thief at wit’s end, doing anything for survival. He doesn’t need to ask to know you don’t have a destination, some relative waiting for you in a California dream.

You’ve excused yourself to the bathroom, soft radio bleeding in under the door, arms braced on the sink, all glossy eyes.

You want him, bad. But he won’t make the first move, won’t take advantage of what isn’t his and what others before him took without asking. You’re a pawn, entitled to the first move. The rejection would kill you, but not knowing would be worse.

He could hold you soft, give you something to think about when tomorrow rips you both in opposite directions.

When you pull open the door, Joel’s frozen in mid-stride towards you, like he’s just made up his mind about something.

He straightens but he’s still. Afraid of moving too fast, saying too much, scaring you into flight. Out of the unlocked cage of his room — something he did on purpose, because he doesn’t expect anything from you and wants you to know he doesn’t.

You meet him in his dusty shag quicksand. You take his wrist in your hand, kiss the thrum of life in the dip where veins meet palm. An offering.

Joel looks like he’s in pain, like what you’re doing is excruciating and thorny. The front of his jeans strains. He’s searching you for any hesitation, any obligation because he did something kind. He knows what currency you feel the need to pay in, and this isn’t that.

“Please,” you whisper simply. And he nods, accepting, succumbing.

There’s a careful meeting of lips, wanting to do it the right way, in the right order. When you push your tongue in, used to the pace of animals, he just holds your face and slows you down. It’s languid, his mouth showing you what sweet and gentle can taste like. Your tongues take their time, and your hands slip beneath the hem of his shirt, all ribbed muscle with a sprinkling of hair.

He shudders against the lightness of your feather-fingers.

Joel’s hands are peeling your shirt off, his thumbs resting to press against pillowy hips. He’s not letting your lips go, something like impatience stirring in you. 

Doesn’t he want to fuck you hard? Fuck you fast and selfish?

Isn’t there a catch?

He’s taking his shirt off now, up and over. Carved by Michaelangelo, thrown up on a ceiling in a library book you read once. You’re touching him in reverence, but not letting yourself learn too much of him.

His eyes are molten. Joel walks you back to the edge of the bed, scratchy quilt tickling your thighs when you fall back on it. You start to pose yourself, angles that make you look more desirable, pliable. But he’s not paying attention to that, just unbuttoning your shorts, kissing the jut of every curve and permeating down to the bone, punching out a soft groan when he slides the denim off and sees the shining ambrosia that’s waiting.

He’s kneeling, tugging you down to meet his waiting mouth. And you’re just breathless, flinching when he pulls you apart, guiding your legs over his shoulders and wasting no time devouring you. Your legs, his bib.

Joel’s tongue flicks through the shell of you, teasing you in alternates of quick and slow, starving and full. It feels like a slice of heaven. 

You pitch out a tangled gasp, hands instinctively moving to knot in his hair. Anything to hold onto, a different kind of grounding.

“So wet f’me,” he vibrates lowly into you, all husk. “Taste so fuckin’ sweet.”

He sinks a middle finger into you, and you’re keening, hips canting and unable to stay glued to the mattress. You feel him smile against your cunt, just pressing his forearm across your lower half to keep you still.

Joel’s twisting and working into you, onto you, and you’re so fucking close from just this — a tiptoeing to the edge that grows longer, more erratic in stride. He sucks your clit — pulsing sensitive, so swollen — into his mouth and grazes it with the tip of his tongue just so. Baring his incisors and closing around you in a delicious scrape like a Venus flytrap taking its meal.

You think you see God behind the flutter of your eyes.

You’re close enough to warn him, to rasp it out in the symphony of moans. His free hand reaches up to roll your peaked nipple between his forefinger and thumb, and he stretches you with an added ring finger. You’re writhing. Possessed.

He’s watching you through thick lashes. Letting your heels dig into his shoulders as the drenched sounds of you fill the room.

“Joel, please — I’m gonna —”

“C’mon, pretty girl,” he just murmurs.

You feel that little pull at your navel.

And you’re tipping in a freefall, seeing stars. You clench down around his fingers, fingers that are still pumping against that spongy spot deep inside you. Your arousal gushes, wet and sticky against the scrape of his beard. He laps you up, the sight making heat creep up your chest and wrap around your neck.

When he lifts his head, he’s high on it. Pupils dilated like tiny, round moons. Your orgasm glistens on him, smeared over lips and chin. The fur of a peach peeled back far enough to sink teeth into.

It’s fucking filthy.

Joel places open-mouthed kisses from your hip up to the center of your breasts, a trail of your orgasm shiny on your skin in perfect, sloppy Os. His breath meets your throat where he nips at you, and you don’t have time to drag in a breath before you’re tasting the saltiness of yourself on his tongue.

Your fingers fumble on his belt, practiced with years of releasing the tension on the metal prongs, the slithering sound whooshing from the loops of pants. You’re good at it, like you used to be good at gymnastics until your mom stopped getting out of bed to drive you. 

There was always a little gold for contorting your body.

He detaches from you unwillingly, putting all of his weight on his knees and shins as he straddles the space of your thighs.

You’re pulling yourself up in a sitting position, pushing denim and boxers down past his hips. Letting his cock spring free, the head a dark pink and beaded with precum. You swipe the flat of your tongue against it, peeking up at him while you soak up the taste of it. 

When you push the length of him into your mouth, ridged hard with veins, Joel tips his head back, chin to the ceiling. He groans something brutish yet helpless, cradling the back of your head. You’re seated in the driver’s seat, all control. 

It’s new, different.

But then he’s moving his hips back, pulling himself from your mouth, wiping the saliva from your chin with a steady thumb.

“Don’t need t’do that,” Joel whispers hoarsely. “Not ‘f you don’t want to.”

Confused, you knit your brows. He laughs darkly, shaking his head.

“Didn’t mean it like that, it’s — it feels fuckin’ good,” he says, awestruck. “Would just rather make you feel good instead.”

Oh.

He doesn’t wait for an answer or a negotiation. The rest of his clothes pool on the floor in a pile, and he’s climbing back over you, an anchor or a buoy in a storm.

He lines himself up at the seam of you, puffy and so wet from before, nudging the tip of his cock at your warm center. A thumb coaxing the bud at the apex of you in lazy circles.

Joel’s sliding in slowly by each inch, filling you full until there’s nothing left and his patch of hair prickles the pearl of your clit. All you can do is whine and tense around him.

He’s resting tentative hands on either side of your face, indenting the weak mattress with handprints. He groans, but he doesn’t move. Doesn’t give in when you try to rock against him.

“This alright?”

You’ve forgotten how to do anything, hoping that digging your fingertips into his forearms is communication enough.

“I’m gonna need a yes, baby.”

You feel around in the dark for the tether back to your body, and it jerks you like a marionette, giving him a nod.

“Yes. Fuck.”

That’s enough. He’s rewarding you with a roll of his hips, and you feel like you’re on fire. It’s a stuttering, painfully slow pace at first, his mouth so close to your ear that every grunt is amplified. But it evolves into something eager, unsatiated, snapping up into you with a relentless sort of fucking.

He’s hitting that place so deep within you, letting you unravel and grow hoarse from the moans tearing their way up your throat. That pressure is roiling, the kind that you get only when you touch yourself but intensified by a million.

It just feels so right, because there’s nothing to prove. 

You’re ships passing in the night, strangers making a pit-stop on the way to nowhere. There’s no backstory, no history to make mention of. No shame in the morning when he inevitably rolls over and pretends to be asleep, and you scrub off the smell of him with your provided travel-size shampoo.

It’s not love, but it might be the closest you ever get.

The glow of him above you, a deity with his face screwed in agony. Chasing after you when he feels the tightening of your cunt, the easy glide of every thrust that tells him you’re close.

Then, you’re snapping like a rubber band. Gushing in a dripping mess that trickles to where your ass meets thigh. Crying without tears, overstimulated but blissful. Joel is quick to follow, like he’s been waiting his turn.

He’s trembling, emptying inside you in a warm flood. Groaning low and beautiful, gripping your hips to keep you flush to him.

When pulls out, tearing himself away, he’s slinging an arm over his eyes on the pillow beside yours. One hand on your leg to make sure you don’t go anywhere.

“So fuckin’ perfect,” you hear him mutter.

At some point you drift off, his arm draped over you. You open a bleary eye to a neon 2:49AM that casts a halo over the nightstand. Joel’s tucked you in, the thin duvet snug up to your shoulder. He’s not snoring but not not snoring, just breath getting caught in his throat in a satisfied, well-spent way.

It’s all too much, too pure to be real.

Before you let yourself change your mind, you slink out from under the warmth of your generous stranger. You step in your shorts one foot at a time, tugging them up gelatin legs too springy from coiling and uncoiling.

You promise yourself that you’ll take just one mental picture as a keepsake, and it’s this. A sleepy Joel who will be well on his way to a second cup of coffee on the way out of Arizona, maybe even nursing a little headache behind his right eye. And he’ll remember an apparition of some girl he fucked in a motel. The touristy thing to do, a sight to see. 

He might even tell Tommy, say you were a crazy little thing with too much baggage, but it was fun to stay up past his bedtime.

You don’t mean to do it, really you don’t, but you flip through his wallet that lays innocently on top of the TV.

If you take a little something, that’ll turn this into another one of your stories that you tell your kids born from a loveless marriage somewhere in the crevices of a future from now. It won’t pull on the tendons of your heart.

And it won’t mean anything. You won’t let it.

—

The next morning, there’s a soft knock at the door, and it’s probably housekeeping kicking you out for overstaying your welcome. Time to turn down the bed for the next lost soul. You imagine Joel’s long gone, hopped in his truck and back to a reality you’ll never meet him in.

Your fingers are slow to gather up your purse, and you’re shoving your toothbrush in from its place on the sink.

“I’ll be out in a second!” you yell in a voice that reeks of years of diner-flavored customer service.

More persistent knocking that borders on pounding. It shakes the chain in the deadbolt.

You’re yanking open the door, and there’s Joel, white shirt and jeans. And it isn’t that cushion of admiration from last night, no greeting with a chaste kiss on the cheek.

Just a wolf coming to claim his continental breakfast.

Fuck.

You try to shut the door, suddenly too ashamed of what you’ve done, and to someone undeserving. Someone that showed you kindness, empathy.

But his boot catches the door before it can close, and he’s inside, slicing through the space between you. It’s not quite anger, but it’s shadowy. Sardonic.

Your shoulder blades kiss the cheap wallpaper.

“You’re real funny, y’know that?” he starts, and he’s smiling but not really.

Shrinking small, so small that maybe you’ll disappear.

There’s a tick of silence. His thumb skates to your collarbone and then to the hollow at the base of your throat. He wants to squeeze but he doesn’t, his fingers wrapping loosely around the column to fix you there. Heat creeps up the back of your neck into your hairline.

The instinct to flinch bubbles up against your joints, but you can’t bring yourself to.

“Y’think you can fuck me,” he muses, disgustingly deadpan, “‘n steal from me.”

Dread weighs heavy like lead in your stomach. You can’t stop yourself from shaking your head, still playing dumb.

He bristles at that, thunderous. You both know it’s a lie; you’re a hundred dollars richer than you were last night. His fingers briefly flex around you in a way that you’ve seen before, and horror hits a fever pitch in you.

Tears prick your eyes, and you’re putting your palms on his chest and shoving, but he doesn’t give. Unstoppable force meets immovable object, and all that.

It’s not so much the blaring punctuation in a sentence, the ticking of dynamite ready to blow. He’s confronting you with proximity, with your own dishonesty. Wanting to shake you and tell you that it doesn’t have to be this way.

Joel just leans in closer, almost grazing noses. You try to breathe around the lump of panic.

“The hell’s the matter with you?”

It’s disbelief, it’s hurt. In the same way, it’s understanding, incredulous. It’s him stepping back and loosening the hold around your neck like no one’s ever done; it’s softening and imploring.

He’s shoving his hands in his pockets, guilty and recoiling. Sorry he could even make himself look like one of them — a forced penance in the flesh.

There’s no answer that can justify what you did. Nothing simple about nothing personal. But truly… that’s all it was. A pie wafting steam on an open windowsill. Something to make you feel better about the void he’d leave.

“‘F you needed money, you coulda just asked.” 

He’s disappointed, desperate. In a tone that really says, I would’ve done anything you wanted.

A dam inside you gives, crumbling deep at the foundation and knocking the walls down around you. Words don’t come, but you shove your hand in blind into your bag, pulling out the loose bill and extending it.

Joel sees the regretful offering and your heart with x-ray vision. That you think of yourself as a doll, less valuable without her box. Used without tags. Free to a good home.

He shakes his head, the softness of a keep it barely peeking out of his mouth.

You’re skinning yourself raw, wanting another way out but having none. With half a mind to say that the next night could come with fangs.

You feel the stab of relief, and shame. So much shame.

Like a soothsayer, he foresees the coldness of a bench, the shrinking of you into the safety of an alley.

You drop to your knees in exaltation, thinking you know what’ll fix this. You can’t see through the watercolor blur of your tears, but you touch his belt with fingers that are cold to the tips.

But Joel knows what you’re doing, shaking his head no no no.

He won’t let you do it like this. He drags you up gently by the elbows. Pulls you into his chest, says stop stop stop. Kisses your hair, then your lips. You cry until he can taste the tears, until the front of his shirt is damp.

“I’m sorry,” you rasp out roughly. “I’m so sorry.”

He tells you to never say sorry to him again.

—

Joel pays for a room for two more nights, but only one — his with the working A/C.

You move your toothbrush and your bag over to Room 20.

You go to the pool, swimming laps around him in a tank top and your cherry-embroidered underwear, squealing and splashing in a flail when he swims underneath your legs and stands up to hold you on his tan shoulders.

Sunscreen streaks greasy on your stomach when you lay out together on the loungers after. Joel likes a cat-nap with his face under a towel, grumpy and tired from the sun. But he never snaps at you, never gets impatient when you ask too many questions while he’s dozing off.

You learn the pinched expression he makes just before he comes. That his right palm has hundreds of lines you can see best by lamplight. He misses the noise of Sarah in his house, of sharing the coffee pot with someone. He doesn’t like the small piling of toast crumbs left only by him on the kitchen table.

He learns that you apologize for wet, clean hair on his pillowcase, for laughing too loud. Things that don’t need a sorry. A collection of oversaturated manners that might take time to unlearn, but he promises to teach you.

He learns that you approach an orgasm with tentative toes in cold water, almost unbelieving that sex can give, give, give instead of take, take, take. He learns that you like the meeting of eyes when he’s buried between your legs, pushing your thighs apart to keep from suffocating. That when he does let you get on your knees for him, you know just the spot to caress with your tongue on the underside of his cock.

Joel’s belt is snaked under your stomach, across your hips, fists intertwined in the leather as he pulls you back, slams himself forward. It bites and creates indents in your flesh, and you don’t care. He gives you marks to love, to admire in your reflection, never ones that are ugly. Never ones out of hate over spilled milk.

There’s a dirty slap of skin, growing louder, competing with your moans. Your nails are tearing into the cheap sheets, and Joel’s so close but won’t come until he coaxes another out of you. A grand total of at least four by now, but you’ve lost count.

At long last, you splinter around him. Pitching off the cliff in a cry. Joel’s leaning — his chest, your back — and spilling deep, holding onto you for dear life. You hear him whimper in a strangle. Big, tough game that’s been taken down with an arrow in his chest.

Hot tears are flowing out of you, stuttering sobs close to follow, and Joel pulls out slowly. Seems to know why. And he rolls you over, into him, hand careful in slow strokes against your hair.  

You’ve never been good at goodbyes. Maybe that’s what this is.

Men like to say that women like you are insane, too analytical, too tear-streaked, too conscious of the way they look when they sleep. Because waking up with your mouth open, a drying corner of drool threatening your cheek is too human, not pretty.

Sometimes women like you are dead, rotting pomegranate flesh. Long forgotten in decay on the ground when the weight became too heavy to hold yourself up. And those men pick up your seeds and shove them squelching back into places where they don’t fit. 

The winters come bitter and harsh, but you’re always reborn in the spring. And without fail, you grow back fiercely into a tree reminiscent of Eden, low-hanging apples plucked and bruised and bitten into once and spit out in tart disgust. 

Women like you choke men like this with your pits, strangle them with vines, poison them with berries. They can consume, but so can you.

But then, in the ripe, cool shade of summer, you’ll have a visitor like Joel that will come with a basket and a blanket and they’ll stay and read books beneath you. They’ll enjoy your fruit, you’ll drip from their mouth and dry tacky like flypaper, and they won’t be able to imagine a day before you. 

They’ll collect all the pieces of you on a Tuesday morning and give you change to get a Coke after checkout. They’ll tuck you into the front seat of their truck, let you put your feet up on the dash, hand protective and calm on your thigh while the other steers you both back to Texas. A new home without shouting and bottles thrown.

And they’ll stay through every season.

[avocado-writing]

home

pairing: 14th doctor x reader & 10th doctor x reader

rating: E

notes: no gender or age given for reader, just that you last saw the doctor fifteen years ago. thank you to @mcganns for being my beta!!

This too shall pass.

It was a sentiment that you had to cling onto when he left, because fuck knows it was the most painful thing you’d ever felt. And you’d run away from actual explosions before. Big ones, in space! Supernovas which could eat entire planets while you hung onto the side of a little blue box. 

And yet none of it even begins to compare to when he fucking left you. 

He said it wouldn’t be forever. Well, he shouted it at you as you fell out of the TARDIS. There was a time explosion, and you got rocketed back to your little flat in the middle of Hackney, on Earth only a few days from when he’d picked you up — but in your reality months of adventure had passed. 

You’d not really settled back in, certain that he was going to come and rescue you. But then days turned into weeks into months and you finally accepted that the Doctor had abandoned you. 

So you went back to it all. Your mundane little existence before a mad, brilliant man had whisked you away. Your boss was a bit miffed that you’d gone AWOL but you were their best employee so they couldn’t afford to let you go, all you got was a slap on the wrist and a command not to let it happen again. The people you loved didn’t really seem to notice your absence that much, which stung; you couldn’t blame them though. You’d probably not miss you much either. 

The Doctor. He made you feel special in a way nobody had before. Like you were the centre of a whole, giant, fantastic universe, and he adored you for it. 

Still. 

No point mulling that over again, is there?

Fifteen years. Things did get better. You moved on eventually. But you still find your thoughts drifting back to him every once in a while, and that fragment of time you spent totally utterly in love with each other. When you think about the way he kissed you, without realising it you end up touching your lips.

No. No. Stop. 

The singing of the kettle snaps you back into reality, and you pour yourself a hot cuppa. Ah, tea. The antidote to everything. You go to turn the radio on for some company as you shift into your morning routine when you hear a knock at the door. 

Probably the postie. He’s a bit early today, you think, but make no more of it as you undo the latch and open the door. 

Your heart stops. 

Because there he is, of course. 

Older. Weathered. Not the young man you once knew but a grownup version of him, as exhausted by life as you are. 

You drop your mug. Quick as a flash the Doctor grabs it out of midair. The tea sloshes onto the floor but at least nothing gets shattered. 

He goes to look up at you, but his attention is drawn back to his hand. 

“I bought you this mug years ago,” he says, utterly amazed. 

You shut the door in his face. 

Well, you try to, anyway. But he sticks a foot in between the door and the frame, with one of those stupid Converse he always wears.

“I know you’re angry, I know. But please let me come in.”

It’s such an absurd statement you find yourself laughing, a high and desperate noise. 

“Absolutely not!” Actually, no. That’s not enough. “How dare you. Why are you even here?!”

“Because I wanted— I needed to see you.”

You still want to slam the door on him, but there’s a desperation to his voice that gives you pause. And when he looks at you with those sad, puppy-dog eyes? Those eyes as lined with age as you are?

Fuck. You’re so weak. 

So that’s how you find the Doctor sitting at your kitchen table with a cup of tea in front of him. You lean against the counter, defences still up, eyeing him from over the top of your mug. He drums his fingers against the tablecloth. 

“I like your house. Your calendar is nice, I enjoy the kitten motif.”

“Don’t,” you spit, slamming the mug down and sloshing tea onto the floor, “don’t you dare. You don’t get to waltz back here and start telling me ‘oh, I enjoy your furnishings, haven’t you made a nice little life for yourself since I abandoned you!’ I let you in to speak your piece, though god knows why. Say it and be done.”

The Doctor looks deflated. His shoulders sag, mouth falls. You take a moment to properly look at him. He seems… tired. Tired in a way you never knew him to be when you went on your adventures. Part of you wants to offer comfort, but the other part of you wants to withhold it maliciously. Anything to make him feel the way you felt. 

“I looked for you,” is what he settles on, heavily. You didn’t expect that, and it knocks you. 

“What?”

“I did. After the explosion, I tried searching all over the galaxy for you. I didn’t know where - when - you’d ended up. I scanned and scanned but something stopped you from appearing on the TARDIS’s sensors. I think… the amount of artron energy emitted during the blast somehow cloaked you.”

You say nothing, your silence an invitation for him to continue his explanation. 

“It took years. Literal years, for me. Every spare moment I had, I dedicated to looking for you. Head buried in the circuitry of the TARDIS, trying to fix whatever was hiding you, gave myself a couple of nasty shocks too. And, when I finally tracked you down, I’d regenerated.”

You blink. Right. Yes. He’d explained that, but you’d never seen it with your own eyes. The same person, a different face. 

“I didn’t know if you’d want to see me if I didn’t look like me. But I had to try anyway, didn’t I? So I came here. To your house. I got myself all ready for it, knocked on your door… and found that you were married.”

Your fingers grip the counter. 

“Oh.”

“He seemed nice. Loved you a lot, as you deserved. And I couldn’t tell you I was back, could I? I saw you pottering around in the kitchen, making the tea - you were always the best at making tea - and you were happy. How could I ask you to leave that all, uproot the life you’d made for yourself, just to jump back in the TARDIS with me? How could I be so cruel? I couldn’t, could I. So I left again. Tried to move on. Like you did.”

You’re crying now. You can feel hot tears slide down your face and soak into your jumper. 

“Oh, Doctor,” you manage. You want to tell him so much. It feels like it might burst out of you. But instead you settle on:

“Why now?”

He smiles thinly. 

“Because somehow I got this face back, and I wanted to see you. I wanted to be selfish for once.”

You find yourself at the table, on the wonky chair opposite him, sliding your hand over to cover his. It’s rough and warm. Just like you remember. He says your name with reverence, but like it pains him. 

“I never stopped loving you. Ever. Through it all, every adventure, I knew it wasn’t complete because you weren’t there. It just wasn’t the same without wonderful, brilliant you,” he admits. He sounds defeated. It breaks your heart — or, actually, it might just put it back together again. 

A beat passes. His confession lingers in the air, heavy, thick and choking like smoke from an untameable fire. 

“His name was Simon. He was a baker. He was lovely, actually… and we got divorced two years ago.”

The Doctor’s brow furrows. 

“You… what… why?”

“Because he knew there was someone else I never really let go of. Someone else who, despite everything, I still loved.”

He looks you in the eyes, and you see something glimmer there that you long since gave up on. 

Hope. 

And then, suddenly, you’re kissing. 

It’s like nothing has changed. His lips are still rough and searching on yours, a hint of tongue giving away into more the deeper you entangle. He sits you up on the table and steps into the space left by your spread legs, and between each kiss he says your name. It’s full of adoration but lined with desperation, too. 

Like the kisses he gave you the first night you laid together, on a bed in his spaceship floating across the galaxy. When he buried himself inside you and you felt his two hearts beat in rhythm with your own. 

“Doctor…” you manage. 

Fuck. You need him. You didn’t realise how badly you needed him. You didn’t realise a piece of your soul has been missing this whole time, fucking torn out of you and leaving a jagged hole in its wake. And him, back, telling you he loves you and always has? You’re patched together like kintsugi. 

Your Doctor is the molten gold you need. 

“Please. I need to…” he’s so desperate he can barely get the words out, but you nod; he’s undoing the belt buckle of your jeans and pulling them off like they’re silk. When his thin waist meets yours you cross your ankles behind him and lock him into place, and his hands - a little fumbling, a little nervous to be mapping out the plain of you again - begin to trace your chest. You lean into his touch to let him know yes. This is okay. I want this. Make me whole again. 

His warm, rough palms slide under the hem of your shirt and lift it easily over your head, the only break in a while you take from your kiss. You let yourself grab his tie to bring him closer. He’s fully dressed still and you’re almost naked; you remember how he used to like that, enjoy feeling a bit more put together than you. Cheeky blighter. Still though, as his suit scratches your skin, you can’t say you don’t agree. 

However. In this instance he has far too many clothes. 

You tug at his jacket and he knows what you need, letting it fall to the floor with his tie and waistcoat following it. He ruts against you as he unbuttons his shirt a bit, not the whole way, but just enough for you to feel the warmth of his chest. He’s so skinny. You’ve always been a bit worried that, on one of your rougher days, you might snap him in half. You still are now, actually. 

Cupping his face in your hands you let your thumbs caress his cheekbones. Your Doctor. Older but the same. Just like you. 

You can feel him more than half-hard against your leg. No more time wasting. You need him. You need him, you need him, you need him. 

It doesn’t take long to undo his fly and have him in your hand. You’ll always be glad he chose this human anatomy. Though you’d love him no matter how he looks, there’s something wonderful about his cock as it is here. He lets his head fall forward onto your shoulder with a moan if your name. 

“Oh… you’re…”

“Mmm hmm,” you agree, a genuine smile passing your face for the first time in god knows how long. He’s just the right length and on the thick side, and you know what a delicious stretch he is when he pushes inside of you. You can’t wait to feel it again. A couple of pumps and he’s ready, dripping precome and a ruddy red. Another time you’d bend down and taste him, remind yourself what a Time Lord’s cock is like. But now today. Well, not now. 

You lay back, readjusting yourself so he can push your underwear to the side and find your entrance. A couple of fingers - those long, delicate, clever and cunning fingers - press inside you and test you out. You’re ready for him. He makes a choked noise in the back of his throat as he realises and you laugh, properly, throwing your head back. 

“Come on, Doctor. Show me that you’ve missed me.”

He used to never shut up. And now he’s stunned into a desperate silence, lining up with you and pushing in as he does his best to make you feel what he’s been feeling too. 

A loneliness is fixed. He slides home inside you and your hips meet, the both of you letting out a long and ragged breath. You sit there for a moment, locked in the most intimate embrace, and just feel each other. You fist your hands in his shirt. He’s here. He’s real. You feel him trace his palm up your back as if you assure himself of the same thing. 

Slowly he begins to move. It is a long and lovely drag, his cock hitting all the points you missed being touched, and when he feels you gasp he goes harder. The Doctor nuzzles into the skin of your neck, nestling to the warmth of you there, and you hear him repeat a mantra both of your name and “I love you”.

Over and over. As if the two phrases are inextricably linked. 

You’re so full. You’re so light. Everything feels perfect in this moment. And when he reaches between your bodies to touch your sex, push you to the edge, you know you’ll climax for him embarrassingly fast. 

When you come you see stars light up behind your eyes. The sky, the unfiltered and untamed sky takes you over. The Doctor says your name one final fine and releases inside you, his hips riding it out as if to savour every second in the sweet grip of you. 

He can’t look at your face when he asks you. He says it from the safety of your shoulder where his face is buried, because if you say no you know his heart will shatter. 

“Come with me, in the TARDIS again. I know I shouldn’t ask you to leave your home but… you complete me, you know. Always have.”

“Leave my home?! Doctor, don’t be daft. This is just a house in bloody Hackney. You’re my home.”

You pull back to meet his gaze. He’s tired, but bright. His eyes twinkle. And there’s the Doctor you know. 

“And of course,” you continue. And, as the smile engulfs his face and he lights up, “it’s not like I’m doing anything else, am I?”

This time, when you go AWOL from your job, you never come back. 

[lexirosewrites]

The only thing worse than having to get braces put on as an adult is presenting as an omega on the exact same day— both far later than is typical.

It results in utter chaos.

At least, that’s how Steve felt about the whole ordeal.

Robin had been kind enough to stick around for his long appointment so she could make sure he had everything he needed afterwards.

Ice pack, pain killers, mouthwash. All the essentials.

They were prepared.

Just… not for a sudden presentation heat to start on the way home.

“Oh god. Oh god, Steve, okay listen— don’t panic. I know you’re in pain, but you need to hold tight so I can go get stuff to help you. Shit!”

Steve’s entire face feels worse than after Hargrove got through with it. Like ground beef.

His gums throb and his jaw aches terribly.

And now Robin’s leaving. Why is she leaving?

“Robsh?” Steve slurs out in a yell. The action makes the bands pull tighter.

“Be right back!”

She’s out the door and he’s left on the couch by himself. In pain. Awful, agonizing, burning pain.

Steve squirms around, trying to get comfortable.

Everything is hot. Too hot. It’s more than just his face— it’s his whole body. His muscles are twitchy, like they need to be stretched.

He’s laying in something wet. Blood? Could be. Maybe his mouth is bleeding. Seems reasonable at the moment.

“Owwww,” he whines to himself. “Fuck.”

The orthodontist said it would be mildly agitating pain and discomfort afterwards, not whole body sweats or cramps.

His head spins.

Where did Robin go again? She left so quickly, it’s hard to recall her reasons for leaving in such a rush.

Is he gonna die from braces? Can that even happen? Would he be the first?

“Hey, Stevie. As promised, I’ve got a strawberry banana smoothie with your name on it. Did Robin go home? Her car isn’t in the drivew—”

Huh?

“—and what in the hell is happening here?”

Steve rolls over to confirm that it’s not a burglar in his living room, but it’s just Eddie.

Oh. No? Hold on a moment.

Eddie has never smelled like that before.

He’s always had a faint smoke and leather sorta scent that even Steve’s unrefined beta nose could pick up on, but it’s much stronger than that now.

It’s deeper, more powerful and overwhelming.

It’s mouthwatering. Thigh clenching, even.

He whines in want.

“Alpha?” slips out before Steve can overthink it.

Eddie freezes and his eyes widen for a second. Then they narrow in a calculating way, like they’re trying to figure him out.

He sets the smoothie down and kneels next to the couch, one hand reaching out to cup Steve’s cheek lightly.

Steve winces at the touch, but his fingers are cold and they actually feel good on his sore face, so he relaxes into it.

“Hi there, pretty boy. Pink bands, huh? Cute. But it seems braces aren’t the only new thing today. You doing okay?” Eddie asks gently, soothingly.

He sounds more alpha than Steve’s ever heard him speak. The tone is comforting and reassuring.

Steve still isn’t entirely sure what they’re talking about though. He knows he had braces put on and then Robin left him alone. There’s some gaps in there somewhere and he feels like death.

His head is spinning too fast.

“I don’t know where Robin went,” he confesses in a whisper.

Eddie nods slowly, his expression understanding and kind. It makes Steve feel safe, unjudged for losing his best friend.

“I’m guessing she went to get some supplies for you, sweetheart. I’ve heard that the first one isn’t usually too bad, but Robin worries about you, ya know?”

He smells so good. How is Steve supposed to pay attention when Eddie smells that good?

Confused, he asks, “She was worried about my braces?” Too many words. It pulls at the bands in his mouth and he winces.

Eddie’s thumb brushes along his cheek sympathetically.

“No, baby… not quite. You’re in heat, Stevie.”

Heat?

No, that’s for omegas. Steve would know if he was an omega. He’d have heats. His body would be too hot and he’d produce slick and be attracted to alphas.

Ah.

“I’m an omega?” It’s as much a question to the universe as a shocked statement.

Eddie purses his lips. Conflict.

“You’re presenting a little later than usual, but evidently so. I’m guessing your lack of a pack before didn’t help anything, but you have us now. We’re gonna take care of you, honey… I’ll keep you safe, omega,” he promises solemnly.

The wetness between Steve’s legs becomes far more apparent.

It’s not that Steve never looked at Eddie before and thought he was attractive or that he’d make the perfect alpha to some lucky omega.

Steve just didn’t think he was that omega.

Or an omega at all, for that matter.

Eddie deserved more than some fucked up beta. He’s brave and kind, a good man.

He can visibly see when the scent of his fresh slick hits the alpha’s nose. The way Eddie’s nostrils flare and his breathing catches in his throat, like he’s trying not to inhale too deeply.

“Eddie?”

His eyes instantly dart to Steve’s mouth. He looks hungry. Starving, even.

For once in his life, Steve’s confident he won’t be rejected.

It’s in Eddie’s warm scent, in the way he’s always glanced at him a little too long, and never breaks his promises to him. Steve can see it clearly now.

This has been a long time coming.

“Anything.”

“Kiss me, alpha?”

Eddie doesn’t question whether he’s sure. He doesn’t tell Steve that this is a conversation for later or even hesitate.

He just holds Steve’s face like something fragile and precious when he kisses his lips far too carefully. Soft. Gentle.

They’re chapped from his appointment. Neither seem to care.

It’s a slow, lingering kiss. It ends much the same way.

The rush of pleasure and pure joy floods his entire body, making the pain in his jaw negligible when he lets out his first omegan chirp of happiness.

He still aches and yearns, but the ache is focused now. His inner omega just wants Eddie— his alpha.

“Please, Ed,” Steve whimpers, tucking his face into Eddie’s neck and getting his scent right from the source.

The alpha scratches down his back slowly, trying to calm him.

It’s an act full of love and kindness, Eddie’s attempt to not take advantage of him in his current state.

In any other situation, it would be noble. Steve would be flattered by the self control it cost an alpha to not ravage in omega in heat who’s begging for attention.

But he needs this. He’s also technically only in late pre-heat. That’s as far as presentation heats usually get.

Fever and need are there, but not the complete lack of awareness that accompanies full heats. He can make decisions.

“How can I help you, sweetheart?”

Steve can tell the effects of heat are taking ahold of his inhibitions though.

There’s no other reasonable explanation for the way he blurts out, “Cum all over my braces?”

[jeysbvck]

even if it's a false god (we'd still worship this love)

a/n; ive been working on this for over a year, & after four rewrites, its finally here! thank you to @pedroassmanpascal for your help when i was conceiving this & working on it last year! this is my first time working in this genre, & it hasn't been beta read all the way thru, so please let me know what you think!

warnings; pov change, a butt load of angst, age gap (reader is in her thirties), violence, death/murder, near death experience, voyeurism, female masturbation, male masturbation, male!recieving, female!recieving, penetrative sex (if ive missed any feel free to let me know!!)

taglist; @likedovesinthewnd @harmshake @nightmare-viper

word count; 7.3k

summary; Joel's been pretending you don't exist for weeks now, and you have no idea why. But when you get caught up in a life or death situation, confessions are made, lines are crossed, and your relationship is changed.

Every single part of Joel's body hurt, and he was exhausted. Joel was always exhausted, but this day had been particularly hard. Everything that he - and you had gone through had been for nothing. The supplies and weapons you had been looking for had been looted already. Only a few old, rusty tins of food covered in at least a years worth of dust had been left behind. Not to mention the constant hoards of infected you had to fight through. Now, it was a fight to get back to the QZ to make another plan that could end the exact same way. Yeah, he'd had plenty of bad days, but this one would sting for a while. The hope that had been reignited had gone out again. Now he was just tired.

No matter how hard he tried though, he couldn't sleep. He was just lying on the hard floor -the fabric floor of the tent and his blanket doing nothing to help with the lumps under his back- with his eyes closed and ears alert. He knew how dangerous it could be, the horrors lurking in the woods, even when it was calm and quiet, and he hoped you had heeded his advice and were asleep with your gun.

But then he heard a whimper, and his eyes shot open as he stayed silent, his hand on his pistol. A barely heard whine, and he sighed with relief as he realised it was you. These past few weeks had been taxing - although the past twenty years hadn't exactly been a cake walk - and it dawned on him that you were probably crying. Joel had been so drained and tired during dinner that he selfishly hadn't noticed you were unusually quiet. He also didn't think about it when you retired to bed early. Joel tried to ignore the sounds, but he couldn't, he was just picturing you curled up in your tent, crying yourself to sleep, and the guilt of not noticing anything was wrong was gnawing at him. He groaned and slipped out of his tent, making his way to yours while putting the gun in the back of his jeans.

He quietly navigated the campsite and stopped outside your tent, unsure how to proceed. Did he knock on the fabric door, or did he call out your name? He wasn't good at this stuff, and he hadn't been for a long time, but he also knew that you needed someone; or, more specifically, you needed a friend. You were just that kind of person, even if the world had forced you to pretend you weren't. For a few seconds, he couldn't hear anything, but just as he was about to give up, he heard another noise, but this one sounded more like a moan. Then another one, louder now, and there was no mistaking it that time. Joel's body stiffened, and he started to get hot as his cock twitched at the thought of you getting yourself off, mere feet away from him. He heard your sleeping bag rustle slightly, and he bolted back to his tent, breathing heavily as he zipped the tent door.

He stared up at the roof of the tent, trying - but ultimately failing - not to think about what he'd just almost interrupted. His jeans were uncomfortably tight, and he had to unbutton them just for some relief. He tried to divert his thoughts, to think about anything else, but his mind took some winding paths just to get him back to thinking of you. Joel groaned. He needed a release, and it had been a long time since he'd done, well, anything. It wasn't going to hurt anyone, and you were doing it just mere feet away from him, so what was stopping him? They were all flimsy arguments. He knew that, but it was the easiest solution to the problem at hand.

Joel slipped a hand into his boxers, his cold touch sending goosebumps down his spine, the sensation making him harder. He began to stroke himself, and when he closed his eyes, he could see you writhing around in your tent, your fingers deep inside yourself. He could hear you from your tent still, your quiet whimpering and moaning sounding out through the stillness of the forest, and Joel caught his own moan in his throat as his movements got quicker. He couldn't bring himself to care about the possible dangers lurking, the grip he had his cock on tightening slightly as pictures of you clouded him. He imagined you being in here with him, imagined that you were both watching each other. It didn't take long for Joel to make himself orgasm, and he cleaned himself up, hoping sleep came to him before the guilt did.

-

Joel spent the next few days convinced he was going crazy. Every time you looked at him, he was sure you could see the guilt he was struggling to hide, like his memories would be projected for you to see. Every time you said his name, he was waiting for you to tell him you knew what he'd done, that you'd seen him outside your tent, and heard him in his. He felt so dirty, creepy, ashamed, and at some point, he shut down completely. He knew you were confused, you weren't as good at hiding your emotions as you thought, and you were confused by what you could've possibly done to warrant the cold shoulder from Joel, who could barely look at you, and it made him feel worse. He just didn't know what else to do, so he went back to what he knew best.

After traipsing through the woods for what felt like forever, Joel just wanted to set up camp and get through the night. He was tired, sore, hungry, and needed a moment away from you, without your sad eyes staring at him, without your attempts to get him to open up. So when you announced that you'd had enough and insisting that you stop for the night, Joel didn't argue. While Joel set up the tents, you gathered some wood from the perimeter of the "campsite", and Joel took a moment to watch on fondly, smiling to himself at the smug look of accomplishment on your face, taking the "win" against Joel.

Dinner was silent that night, as the past few had been, and while Joel refused to look up from his food, you were refusing to take your eyes off Joel. Your gaze was burning a hole in his head. He felt scrutinised as he ate, and it took everything in him not to engage. He didn't know if you were trying to annoy him into talking to you or if you were lost in your own thoughts, but he didn't ask.

Once again, straight after dinner, you headed into your tent, sending a soft "goodnight" Joel's way. He looked up but not before the sound of the zip echoed out, and he sighed, rubbing his temples.

The fire had died long ago, but Joel still hadn't found the energy to crawl into his tent. He stared up at the starry night, and just as his mind started to wander into dangerous territory -somewhere he never went if he could help it- he heard the noise that had been playing on a loop in his head for the past two days. His cock stirred and he covered his face with his hands. Not again.

He knew he had to get back to his tent and fast, but he had to do it quietly. He began to slowly move the canisters and empty tins, careful not to make any noise. He didn't want you to think he was a pervert. Although that's exactly how he felt right about now. He was about to stand up when he heard a single word from your mouth that made him stop in his tracks.

Joel.

Fuck. Oh fuck. Did you know he was there? Did you hear him? Could you see his silhouette projected on your tent, like it was a cinema screen? He ran through a hundred excuses in his head as he slowly turned to look over his shoulder, and he let out a sigh of relief when he saw no signs that you'd heard him. He scoffed at himself and shook his head. He really was going crazy.

Mmm, Joel, don't stop!

He definitely wasn't going crazy, there was no mistaking it. Not only were you masturbating, mere feet from Joel, but you were moaning his name, and he had never been so hard in his life. He couldn't stop himself, and once again, he unzipped his jeans and pulled out his cock, and while you moaned and gasped from inside the tent, Joel pleasured himself.

His precum was seeping out and over his fingers, and he bit down harshly on his lip to stop his own sounds from escaping. His motion got quicker, matching the sweet sounds coming from your tent, and when you brought yourself to orgasm and Joel's name slipped from your lips, he came undone. He emptied himself onto the dirt, too entranced by your gasps to notice the streams spilling over his fists. He dropped his head against the log behind him and groaned.

"Shit."

-

It happened three more times, and Joel had never been more conflicted. He was constantly stressed and on edge; the guilt from what he was doing was eating away at him. He'd always been someone that could control himself - he had to be - but when it came to this, to you, it was like something triggered inside him. He'd known you for years and had never had these thoughts or these feelings. Then again, he'd never spent this much time with you, and he'd never heard his name fall from your lips like that.

Joel couldn't deny he thought you were beautiful, and that maybe it inflated his ego a little, that you were thinking about him while you fucked yourself with your fingers, or dreaming about him, but he was under no illusions that it meant anything. You didn't have feelings for him. He was just the only person you'd seen in weeks that wasn't trying to kill you, and feelings get warped. Especially with the way the world was now. Besides, he'd seen the guys that hung around you like moths drawn to a flame. They were much younger and fitter than Joel was. Yet, he found himself as one of those moths, and he couldn't help but imagine how it would feel to be caught in your flame.

Joel was no longer waiting to hear you to get himself off. His mind would conjure up images that made it so he couldn't help himself. Images of your mouth around his cock, your hair tangled in his fingers as he fucked your face. His head buried deep in between your legs as he ravished you, his hand clamped over your mouth to muffle your moans of ecstasy. Of his cock slamming into you, his fingernails leaving little indents in your ass as he gripped firmly. The fact that he would never get the real thing didn't bother him. He was content with his fantasies. But he still felt guilty, and the tension between you and Joel was getting worse.

But things were beginning to simmer inside Joel, and his secret masturbating habits were no longer the sole reason for his behaviour. Joel would look over at you, by the fire feading the book you'd memorised front to back, and he'd let himself imagine running his hands through your hair as you sat lazily against him. When he slept, his dreams were of a life he'd never thought he'd want - or have again, and you were always by his side. He'd dream of dancing with you in the living room, waking up beside you, the sunlight making you glow like an ethereal figure. He'd dream of being happy. He'd put it down to the ridiculous situation he found himself in and told himself that once you were both back in the QZ, things would go back to normal. You would go back to people your own age, and Joel would just be a memory of a small fantasy you had while on a difficult run.

But then, as if the universe was trying to intervere, everything changed. The abandoned building you'd been hiding out in turned out not to be not so abandoned, and the two of you had gotten yourselves into a sticky situation. Hunters had cornered you, and in all the chaos and commotion, the last man standing had grabbed you, now using you as a human shield with his arm almost choking you, a knife pressed just above your collarbone while Joel had his gun aimed right at him.

"I'll take yer girls head off!" The guy yelled. Joel could see you were terrified, and it took everything in him not to let his rage consume him. He knew that one wrong move could get you killed. He needed to be smart about this.

"Look, man, we don't have much, but you can take it all. Just let her go." Joel said, trying to keep his voice even. He was terrified that he wasn't going to be able to save you, and he couldn’t live with that. It wasn't just about someone else that he cared about dying or about him failing. You understood him, and somewhere along the way, you had unknowingly brought him out of the darkness. You were his beacon of light, and if he lost that, if he lost you, he wasn't sure he'd ever find his way out of the darkness again.

"Yeah? What if I want 'er?" The hunter sneered, caressing your cheek with his knife, pressing the tip into your skin ever so slightly.

"Not an option." Joel growled.

"Seems like it is to me. I could drag 'er outta here right now. There ain't nothing you could do about it."

-

You felt sick. You couldn't believe you'd let yourself be distracted by Joel being tackled to the ground, and now this disgusting pig had you in a fucking headlock. You'd seen Joel take down hunters and the infected, sometimes effortlessly, so why the hell did you freeze when Joel had been pinned to the floor momentarily? Your feelings for Joel were getting more and more confusing, and you didn't like it one bit, they were going to get you or Joel killed if you carried on like this. 

It's not like you wanted to be attracted to Joel, not when there wasn't a single thing you could do about it. Why would Joel ever go for you? He was twenty years your senior, old enough to be your father. There was just no chance in hell. Yet, you couldn't stop yourself from fantasising about him. It wasn't hurting anyone, and it was keeping you somewhat sane, and he'd never know.

"You won't make it out of this room." You heard Joel say in his deep, gruff voice, and it sent shivers down your spine. Your eyes squeezed shut when you felt the man breathing on your neck, the hot air making your stomach twist, bile rising up your throat as he inhaled your scent, his own vile one violating your senses. You clenched your fist and felt the cold blade of your dagger against your arm, the one you'd forgot you had up your sleeve, literally. How big of an idiot was this guy? How didn't he see you had a knife? As Joel and the hunter traded words, you quickly formulated a plan. If you could somehow manage to stab - or at least slash the guy - maybe he'd let go of you, and then Joel could get a shot in.

"Let go of me!" You shouted, struggling slightly, while slipping the knife further down your sleeve. It worked, and you smirked proudly. You raised your eyebrows at Joel before glancing down at your hand, subtly flashing the knife. You looked back at him, then darted your eyes to your captor. Joel took a second, and you knew he was weighing up his options before he nodded slightly. His eyes darted down to the guys leg, and you winked to let him know you understood the plan. The man still had a fucking knife to your throat, and you didn't want to give him any warnings or ideas.

"Don't worry." The hunter said, 'I'll look after 'er good."

Joel nodded to you, and you clenched the knife, stabbing right into the hunter's thigh. His yells of pain echoed around the room, and he released you from his grip, the knife in his hand clattering to the floor. You stumbled forward, kicking the weapon across the room, but you thankfully managed to stay on your feet. You grinned at Joel, feeling victorious, but it was a fleeting feeling.

"Fuckin' bitch!" The hunter shouted and you turned around, but not quick enough. The knife was sticking out of his thigh, but it didn't seem like he felt it, he was too overcome with rage, and the back of your head slammed against the wall as the hunter pinned you by the throat. You gasped for air, the guys hands squeezing the life out of you, spit flying as he screamed in your face.

"I'll fuckin' kill you, you goddamned bitch!"

You tried to pry the man's hands from around your neck, but it was no use. He was too strong, and your vision was fading rapidly. You were barely able to gasp Joel's name, and you were quickly losing consciousness. All you could do was stand there and let the darkness consume you as you thought about Joel. The way he'd try to hide his smile when you did something wrong, or when you said something silly. The way he laughed, how it was the rich sound you rarely got to hear. How he protected you, even though he clearly didn't want to be around you. How you were going to die, not knowing what you did to make him ignore you the past couple of weeks. Not knowing why he had this sudden disdain for you.

But then, the pressure around your neck suddenly disappeared, and you fell to the floor, gasping for air as you clutched your throat, your eyes wide and darting around wildly, searching for Joel.

He appeared on his knees in front of you and grabbed your face, his panicked, brown eyes staring deep down into your soul.. "Hey! Hey! Are you alright? Come on baby, just breathe for me."

His large hands were warm on your cheeks, the hunter's blood that stained them smearing across your skin as he caressed your cheek, but still, you leaned into his touch. He had never been this gentle before; in fact, he'd never really touched you unless being dragged by your wrist as you ran from infected counts. "I'm okay," you managed to say, and Joel sighed with relief.

"We need to move. Can you stand?" Joel asked, and you nodded, eyes closed as you took a few extra slow, deep breaths. "Okay. Take my hand."

You opened your eyes to Joel's outstretched hand and you took it, letting him haul you gently to your feet. He hooked his arm under yours to help you walk, and as you concentrated on walking with shaky legs, Joel guided you to the door. "Wait here." He said, disappearing out the front door to check for any danger.

As he did so, you turned to inspect the chaos you were leaving behind. Your stomach lurched as you saw the blood pooling around the dead man with a clean, almost surgical, maroon slice straight across his neck, and you wondered just how many times Joel had had to do it, to get such a clean cut. Your eyes snapped back to the door, where Joel was staring at you, his eyes wide and sad, like a puppy, before they hardened. "Let's go." Joel said. "We'll find a house to hide out in."

*

The universe had decided you could both use a break, and less than two hours after the attack, deep inside the seemingly never-ending woods, the two of you came across an unlocked cabin, the keys just sat on the side table. Joel put his finger up to his lips, and you nodded, following his lead as he crept through the front door. He pointed at you, then at the spot you were standing, and you nodded, doing as you were told while Joel checked it out. Neither of you wanted to take any more chances after today.

"Hey, you might wanna come check this out!" Joel's voice echoed through the cabin, and you closed the front door before heading towards the sound of his voice.

The cabin was rustic and run down, and looked to have been abandoned for a decade at least. It had been a hunter's cabin, judging by the animal heads mounted up on the walls, staring down at you with their black, beady eyes that seemed to follow you everywhere. The fireplace was brick, an axe resting against it with piles of wood stacked in front. You turned around and found Joel in the kitchen, staring down at the sink. As you got closer, you heard the familiar sound of a running tap, and you smiled. You'd take any kind of water right now, anything to get rid of this day.

But then you saw it, dancing through the air, rising from the tap. You were convinced you'd imagined it until you saw Joel's fingers rolling together under the water, a look of shock on his face.

"Is that what I think it is?" You asked as you got closer, and Joel nodded. You gingerly held your fingers out, anticipating cold water, not wanting to get your hopes up. But when your fingers hit the warm water, you let out a bewildered laugh, cupping both hands under the water, letting it spill over as it slowly but surely got hotter. "I can't believe it!"

"Yeah, well, we deserved a win eventually." Joel replied. You made eye contact, and the corner of his mouth curled upwards slightly, his eyes darting down to your neck before he took a sharp breath and turned away. "You should go have a shower."

"What about you?" You asked, and he sighed.

"Just go. I'll wash up here."

-

After stripping off your clothes, you looked at your reflection. Only then did you notice the bruising around your neck, and the blood smeared across your cheeks. You could still feel the way the hunter's hands squeezed so tight that you could feel the life draining from your body. You could still feel the panic and terror you felt and the relief when Joel forced the hunter to let go. The look in Joel's eyes when he held your face, the gentle touch as he caressed your cheeks and brushed your hair out of your face. You thought you'd made your peace with dying long ago, but that was until you almost met death, and it made you realise you didn't want to leave Joel. If Joel was in your life, maybe living was worth it.

You were so lost in thought, staring at your scarred body in the mirror, you didn't hear Joel knock on the door. It was only when the door burst open with Joel shouting your name that you turned around, surprised.

Joel kept his eyes on yours, refusing to let himself cave and look down; although it's all he wanted to do. You knew you should grab the towel, or the shower curtain, anything to cover yourself, but you were frozen, like Joel's gaze was keeping you locked on the spot.

Joel cleared his throat and shoved a bundle of clothes into your arms. “Sorry, I-uh, I thought maybe you were- it doesn't matter. I found those, thought you'd want some clean clothes.”

He left, slamming the door behind him, and you exhaled. You ignored the thoughts creeping in and the heat rising up your body and climbed into the bathtub under the running shower; watching the dirt and blood trickle off your body and down the plughole. Once the water ran clean, you stepped out, patting yourself down with the small towel. You then filled up the bathtub with hot water and then threw your underwear and clothes into it. It wouldn't fully clean them, but it'd be enough for now. You picked up the oversized flannel and pulled it over your shoulders, forgoing the jeans that were way too big for you, even with the help of a belt. You sighed and headed back out to Joel.

The fire was burning, the crackling wood echoing through the cabin. Joel was sitting at the wooden table in front of the window, sipping on a glass of wine. There were two plates of pasta on the table, a glass of wine next to one of them. You padded across the room and dropped into the seat opposite Joel, studying his face as he stared out the window. The sky was pink and orange as it set through the trees, the view almost as beautiful as the one sitting next to you; the light of the sunset cascading over Joel. He turned his head to you, and you glanced down at the food. Joel cleared his throat.

"I found some pasta and wine in the cupboards. It only went out of date a few weeks ago." He explained. "It should be okay for us to eat."

"I'm sure it's fine." You replied, "anything's better than beans again, right?" You leaned forward and took the glass of wine, taking a long sip, basking in the way it burned your throat slightly. It had been so long since you'd had even a sip of alcohol, you could swear your head was already fuzzy.

Like most dinners lately, this one was silent. But this was slightly different, considering you were probably the safest you'd been in a long time, and you were eating actual food off actual plates. If you and Joel were in a better place, it would be almost considered domestic. You might even consider staying here, leaving the QZ far behind. But you weren't, Joel could barely bring himself to talk to you — he couldn't even look at you. You really thought you were turning a corner with him until his behaviour changed one morning without warning.

"We should stay here for a couple of days, then head back to the QZ." Joel said. You sighed and finished your glass of wine, but it wasn't enough.

"Great." You replied, looking around for the bottle of wine. "Then you can go back to pretending I don't exist." You weren't sure where the outburst had come from, but you were pretty sure it had something to do with the alcohol running through your blood.

"Pretending you don't- what? I don't do that!" Joel insisted.

You scoffed. "Oh please, you're not as mysterious as you like to think." You said, although there was little truth to it. "You didn't even know my name in the QZ, yet we were around each other for months! I thought we were getting somewhere, but lately, you've been acting like we're strangers!" You told him.

"What?! Okay, maybe I was a little isolated in the QZ, but it's not like that now!" Joel replied, his fork clattering on the plate when it dropped from his hand. "All I do is worry about your survival!"

"Riiiiight, because you care so much." You said, rolling your eyes.

"It's my job to pro-"

"Your job?" You repeated, offended by his words, although you couldn't place why. "Well, allow me to relieve you of your duty." The chair screeched across the floor as you stood up and grabbed your unfinished plate and glass.

Joel inhaled through his nose and groaned. "That's not what I meant, and you know it."

"Well, I mean it. Leave. I didn't need a babysitter before, and I don't need one now!" You said loudly, heading to the kitchen for a reprieve.

Joel growled and slammed his palms on the table as he stood up, refusing your reprieve, following you to the kitchen. "I'm not leaving you to die out here. Which, you would've already if it wasn't for me. You've proven that multiple times!"

"Maybe," you replied, dropping the plate in the sink, staring at Joel, whose eyes darted away. "But I'd rather die alone than with someone who can't even stand to look at me!"

"I can't look at you because you drive me fucking crazy!" Joel exclaimed, his patience finally having worn thin. "Ever since I heard you moaning in that fucking-" He stopped, his eyes wide and on you as he realised what he said; watching his words dawn on you as your face cracked.

Nausea, or quite possibly embarrassment — rose from your stomach up through your oesophagus, and you drank from the glass of wine that was in front of you — which wasn't quite the best course of action as it didn't sit well on your spinning stomach. Joel had heard you masturbating. That's what he was saying, right? There wasn't anything else he could possibly be referencing. But why would it drive him crazy? Joel could be uptight sometimes, but it didn't seem to be in a "women shouldn't pleasure themselves" way.

You blinked a few times, and Joel's face came into focus. He had closed the gap between you both, now only a few feet away. He looked awkward as he shifted on his feet, rubbing the back of his neck, looking uncomfortable.

"You heard me mast -" You stopped, unable to say the word out loud, and you sighed, feeling ridiculous. "You haven't been talking to me for weeks because you heard me -"

Something clicked in your head, like a light had just been switched on. You hadn't just gotten yourself off once. And at some point, you began to fantasise it was Joel's fingers, or mouth, even his cock instead of your own hand. You were aware a couple of times his name had slipped from your lips, and you'd clasped your hand around your mouth afterwards, praying he hadn't heard you.

It was beginning to seem very likely he had heard you, and something in you shifted from embarrassment to…something else, and you arched your eyebrow, finishing off the glass of wine for some extra courage.

"You heard me say your name.” You said, arching your eyebrow. Joel stared before he nodded slowly.

“I heard.” He confirmed, refusing to break eye contact. The air in the kitchen had shifted; it was thick with tension, and Joel wondered where this was going.

You hummed and tilted your head. “What did you do?” You asked, smirking when it was clear it caught Joel off guard.

"What?”

“What did you do, Joel?” You asked, leaning back against the counter. Joel's eyes darted to your bare legs before slowly dragging them up your body, stopping at the three open buttons that exposed your cleavage.

“I thought I heard you crying, so I came to check on you.” He explained. “When I got to your tent, I realised you weren't, and I went back to my tent.” His eyes darted to your face before he closed the gap between you until he was practically on top of you. “I tried to ignore you, but I couldn't help myself.” He lifted your chin with his index and middle fingers, so you were staring at him through your lashes. Your lips parted slightly as your chest rose and fell, your heart pounding against your rib cage. “I kept hearing your moans and thinking about you in that tent, and it got me so - I had to -”

His eyes were dark, full of lust, and you instinctively licked your lips slightly. "You- couldn't help yourself, huh?" You asked. Joel arched his eyebrow and tentatively reached his hand up to your cheek. He traced his finger over your cheek gently, and you closed your eyes as you inhaled. "Hearing you moan my name," He said, running a path down your jaw to your neck, "it sounded too good."

You reached up, closing the gap between your lips. Without hesitation, Joel reciprocated the kiss, his hand still around your neck as the other slipped around your hips, resting on the bottom of your back, pulling you closer to him. His bulge pressed into your crotch and you could feel it getting harder as the kiss deepened. You tugged his brown, leather jacket from his shoulders while Joel started an assault on your neck. If this lasted forever, it still wouldn't be long enough.

"Is this a good idea?" You asked through the gasps as he nipped and sucked at your neck.

"Mhmm, giving me some mixed signals here." he mumbled against your skin before pulling away, his mouth inches from yours. "I think it's a fucking great idea. Don't you?"

“I'm not sure.” You confessed. Joel cupped your cheek with his hand and stroked your cheek with his thumb, his eyes soft, even if still full of lust. Was this a good idea? He'd spent weeks ignoring you, and it felt like Hell — but the way he kissed you, the way he touched you; it felt like Heaven.

"I don't care if it's a good idea or not." You replied, and Joel grinned.

"Good," he replied, "Because you have no idea how much I need you right now."

"Then show me." You said, and Joel growled before he pressed his lips against yours and instigated another passionate kiss, illicting a moan from you. He picked you up and dropped you onto the counter, spreading your legs so he could step in between them.

The kiss was messy, teeth and tongues clashing together as both sets of hands roamed each other's bodies. Joel's hands cupped and massaged your breasts as yours unbuttoned his jeans, using your heels to push them down his legs. One hand trailed a path from your breast to your stomach, dancing around the place you needed him the most.

"No panties, huh?" He said into your mouth, his finger tracing a path up your slit so gently, it was like he was using a feather. "I never would've known you were such a slut." His finger grazed your clit, and he grinned as you bucked your hips.

"Maybe if you'd acknowledged my existence, you might have found out earlier." You replied, grabbing his bulge through the fabric and squeezed, tight. Joel gasped into your mouth as he thrusted into your hand, and it was your turn to smirk against his mouth. If he could tease you, you could do the same, you thought as you slipped your hand into his boxers, relishing the feeling of his cock in your grasp.

Joel growled, his hips bucking before he shoved two fingers inside you without warning. A yelp mixed with a moan slipped from your mouth as you threw your head back, and Joel groaned. He kept his pace up, pushing his fingers in and out of you, feeling your walls clench around them as he watched your face contort with pleasure, your moans echoing throughout the kitchen. Not even his fantasies could have prepared him for how incredible this felt. If using just his fingers made him — made you feel this good, he couldn't wait to use his cock.

But he would wait. For weeks, you had — albeit unknowingly, driven him to the brink of insanity. Clouded his mind so he couldn't focus on anything; which is why he didn't notice the threat today, which almost cost you your life. So now, he had to drive you insane in the only way he could.

He dropped to his knees and pulled you by your legs so you were hanging off the counter. He then hoisted your legs over his shoulders, and you watched Joel as he studied your cunt — the look in his eyes resembled one of a wild animal, one that was finally allowed out of its cage, to roam free as its right. Yet, he was biting his lip; almost like he was holding onto that last tiny bit of control he had left. But you wanted — no, you needed the wild animal, and so you tangled your fingers into his hair. He looked up at you, locking eyes as he let you guide his head to where you needed him to be.

Shivers ran down your spine as his beard tickled you as he dragged his tongue over the skin on the inside of your thighs. Once again, he touched every piece of you, but not where you needed.

“Joel,” you whined, the grip on his hair getting tighter as you bucked your hips, "Please." You begged.

“Oh baby, you're already so wet.” he tutted, his finger running through your folds and teasing your entrance before he lifted it to your mouth and pushed it between your lips. “Your pretty pussy is glistening for me.”

You tasted a hint of your juices as you wrapped your tongue around his finger, keeping your gaze on him as you did. He groaned, imagining how good your mouth would feel wrapped around his cock. He pulled his finger out, and you gasped when he pushed it inside you. When he flicked your clit with the tip of his tongue, you gasped and arched your back. “Oh shit, fuck, Joel.”

Every sense was heightened as Joel flattened his tongue and lapped at you. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head when he swirled his tongue around your clit. You pushed yourself against him, practically hanging off the counter, making Joel grab your ass with both hands as he buried his face into you. With his beard grazing against you and his tongue pushing you further to release, your thighs gripped his head. Every single part of you was on fire as his assault on your cunt continued, and you could feel your orgasm brewing.

So could Joel, which was apparent as his pace got quicker, bringing in his fingers to help finish the job. With his thumb circling your clit and his tongue deep inside you, you reached your climax, Joel's name spilling from your mouth. As you threw your head back, grinding yourself against his face; you saw stars, all while Joel kept up the relenting pace.

He finally pulled away and stood up, grinning as he leaned towards you. His beard was glistening, and when he kissed you, you could taste yourself on him, mixing with the wine you had with dinner. Joel hooked his arms under your legs and scooped you off the counter; carrying you fireman style out the kitchen, through the sitting room and into the bedroom, where he dropped you on the bed. He crawled on top of you and dipped his head to kiss you. It was a soft, sweet kiss, one that you didn't want to end, so when it did, you whimpered, and Joel smiled softly.

“You still wanna do this?” He whispered. “We can stop if you want to.”

You leaned up on your elbows and gave him your answer with a kiss. He pressed his palm on your cheek and deepened the kiss, pushing you back down as he did. The two of you made out like two teenagers, and you could feel Joel's cock hardening against you. You slipped your hand in between your bodies and gripped his cock, rubbing the head against your entrance. Joel groaned, his head falling into your shoulder. He bit down as you pushed his cock inside yourself, your moans harmonising, the sensation almost too much.

Joel took over, grabbed your hands, and pinned them above your head. The animalistic look was in his eyes again, grunting with every thrust, his grip against your wrists tightening. You closed your eyes, and Joel growled.

“You thought about this while fucking yourself.” He said, his voice low. “Open your eyes and look at me while I fuck you.”

You opened your eyes and were met by Joel's big, brown ones that were now practically black. He fucked you harder, thrusting in and out as his thumb once again circled your clit. There was a ninety-eight percent chance that someone on the other side of the forest could hear everything, but at this moment neither of you cared. After weeks of awkwardness, of fantasising about each other while you touched yourselves, this felt right, like something had finally clicked into place — and you'd be damned if this was the first and only time it happened. Now you'd had a taste, you couldn't ever go back.

Joel picked up the pace, and you could once again feel your orgasm rising. You pulled Joel closer, your foreheads touching, your vision falling out of focus as you stared into Joel's eyes, but you refused to look away.

“Fuck, Joel, I'm so close” You whimpered, bucking your hips to meet his thrust, his cock hitting deeper each time you moved.

“If you keep doing that, I'm gonna -” Joel grunted, your synced thrusts getting faster. “Fuck, baby.” Joel moaned. “I'm gonna, shit -”

“Let go for me, Joel.” You whispered in his ear. “Come for me, and next time, I'll show you what I can do with my mouth.”

It only took a couple more thrusts before you and Joel finished together, and he slumped on top of you, breathing heavily. You lifted his head up, brushed his hair out his face, and smiled up at him, hearts practically in your eyes.

“So…” you said, and he reciprocated the smile. “Sooo…” He repeated.

“Are you going to be all weird with me again?” You teased, and Joel arched his eyebrow, a smirk dancing on his lips.

“I don't think so,” Joel replied, dipping his head for another kiss. “Especially if I want this to happen again.”

“Oh yeah? What makes you think we're doing this again?” You asked, and Joel grinned.

“Oh we're definitely doing that again.” Joel answered, and you giggled as he rolled off you and reached a blanket that was on a chair next to the bed. He flung it over the two of you before pulling you into his chest and pressing his lips against your temple. “I wanna know what you can do with that mouth.” He mumbled.

You giggled again, your heart fluttering as he linked his fingers around yours and kissed your knuckles. “Keep this up, and you'll find out.” You replied before a yawn slipped out.

“Alright you little tease, I think I can hold out until tomorrow.” Joel chuckled. “Right now, I think you need to sleep.”

You snuggled into Joel's chest, his fingers running through your hair. You never thought you'd be in this position, in bed with Joel Miller. You knew there was a lot more to talk about, but right now, you didn't care. You just focused on Joel's heartbeat under your head, on his fingers in your hair. Focused on how — even though there were still many dangers to staying in this cabin, it was still the safest you'd been in a long time.

The last thing you heard as you drifted into a peaceful sleep was a quiet confession from Joel; one you weren't sure you were actually meant to hear. “I'll always keep you safe. Even if it means giving my life.”

[hellisharchive]

Heyoooo! You probably know me from messaging you but I wanted to ask if you could write a Vox x Fem!reader where reader just takes care of a really wasted but infatuated Vox?

☆ my queen

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

▏C/TW! ▬ 18+, drunk Vox, jealous reader, fluff fluff fluff, bathing

▏C/TW! ▬ Literally wrote this at 2 am and got done at 3 am, so not beta read <3 TYSM for the request! I hope you enjoy it!. AGAIN HOW THE FUCK DID I ACCIDENTLY POST THIS THIS WAS A DRAFT. I dont like how this turned out tbh

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

You and Vox were close, but you wouldn't dare say that you two were dating. You did have a small crush on him and was scared that confessing would ruin your fiendship. Little did you know he also had a crush on you as well, it was just unfortunate he was letting his business and brand take importance over his personal life. You were an honorary Vee and his best friend. Sure, Velvette and Valentino were his friends too, but you always got jealous as you watched Val and Vox act in such a romantic way with each other all the time. You always suspected that they were a thing, and even if they didn't have a label, you respected it. So, you always kept your feelings hidden deep down

. But you did need a break, it got so tiring having to watch and hear them act all cute and making sexual advances from the time to time. You've been ignoring Vox for at least two weeks, probably not the best choice but your emotions got the better of you. But tonight, you decided to get out of the tower and have some fun. You went to a pretty well known nightclub- not owned by Vox, a rare occurrence- to let off some steam. Your goal was to get laid by the end of the night with a convenientially attractive stranger, but life doesn't always work out as you want.

Yet, when Vel called you as you were about to get on the dancefloor with a hot bull, you dropped everything to take care of the television that was drowning his sorrows in alcohol. According to her, he kept talking about how he wished he could tell you something and how beautiful you were. You mulled over it as you walked back through the tower in your fancy nightclub dress just an hour earlier. While on your way there, you came across Velvette who looked very pissed off and scrolling through phone in the main living area of the personal living quarters. When she saw you, she flipped you off and rolled your eyes.

"Fucking finally! Vox has been throwing a hissy fit waiting for his queen to come and shut him up. Fuck you for taking so long, he's called me twenty fucking times asking where you were bevause he forgot he changed your contact info!" That was all she said before growling and walking away, signalling that you were going to handle this yourself like normal. You never let what Vel says get to you, that's just how she normally is. But he changed your contact info? What to? You've calmed down a drunken Vox many times before, but this time seemed bad.

"Vox?" You knock and call out before opening his door to find a very wasted man laying on his couch, hiccuping and looking incredibly sad. He was slumped over with a wine bottle in his hand, no wine glass, and the red liquid was spilled all over himself. Wine? Really? He got drunk on wine out of his entire collection? He's usually a fun drunk, cracking jokes and overall being the most funny in the room from the out of pocket shit he says. So seeing him so down makes you feel guilty for ignoring him. But as soon as he looked at you, his face lit up and a smile immediately popped up. He dropped the glass and stood up, trying to rush up to you. However, because he was so inebriated, he started to stumble, which caused you to rush up and catch him from his shoulders.

"My Queen! Where did you go? I missed you my sweet!" The comment about Vel calling you his "queen" you just passed off as Vel being Vel, but now he was calling that you too? Maybe playing into this fantasy would be best, drunk people are never rational and don't know what they're even saying.

"Well my king, I had a very important meeting with another kingdom to attend to. But you requested my presence immediately!" You spoke matter-of-fact as you navigated him to the bathroom, it was hard already with him being unable to properly walk, but he also kept staring at you, so he stepped over his own feet countless times.

"Hehehe...I like when you call me that. YOUR king. I'm your king! How lucky am I?" He giggled and that made your heart beat faster. How lucky was he? What was he talking about? Maybe this was just his drunk self talking, you knew he didn't feel that way, he absolutely had a thing for Val, not you. Gulping, you finally manage to drag him to the bathroom where you sat him on the toilet. He would be so sticky with all that wine that soaked through his clothes, so you were going to bathe him. Sure, getting him in and out his going to be a challenge, but you still cared for this man a lot and wanted the best for him.

"I'm getting you your pjs, do not move ok?" You started to leave the bathroom when he whined loudly, making a swipe for your wrist but missed as he looked at you with puppy eyes. Due to his television screen head, his facial expressions can get extremely animated, unlike normal sinners. His eyes basically took up his entire screen, only leaving a little bit of space for a pout. The sight made your heart ache.

"Don't leave again my lovely queen! I need to tell you something!" Sighing, you gave him a soft smile and walked back up to him. Picking up his hand, you put your other hand on top of his and gave him the most softest smile you muster..

"It is bedtime, my king, you must be bathed before heading to our bed. You can tell me once we retire" Our bed. Saying it made your heart do flips.

"Oookkk my beautiful queen! Hehehe you're so pretty..." He had a dopey smile as you walked away, heart hammering so loud it should have been echoing in the room. He thought you were pretty? Fuck- why does he made you feel this way? You knew that look too, it was a look of complete love. He certainly couldn't love you though, that has to be impossible. He was with Val, he had to be. Going on autopilot, you gather up his favorite pyjamas and mentally prepare yourself for going back into the flames. When you get back, he was still sitting on the toilet, giggling and staring ahead as he was talking to himself about how in love with him he was.

What?

He was drunk, he was drunk, he was drunk- why couldn't you even entertain the idea of him returning your feelings? Why was it so hard to accept that fact? Taking a deep breath, you walk into the room and he lights up again.

"My queen! Are thou ready to bathe me? You got my favorite pjs! And you have an amazing ass! There's a reason why I married you!" Freezing once again, you ignoring his comment about your ass in luei of the last thing he said. Married...you? Did Vox think you two married each other? The thought made you shiver and face warm with how amazing that sounded. Being officially tied to him forever, waking up with him together, and getting to love him forever. Standing up after finishing setting the dials to the right temperature, you looked at him and now needed to know more.

"And why else did you marry me my dear?" Battting your eyelashes with the most innocent face you could gather, you started to stip him of his clothes. You've seen him naked a handful of times which always made you incredibly flustered, but undressing him? It made you nervous, especially with how he's acting towards you.

"You're the beeeeest, like, THE best! You're so pretty and gorgeous and have SUCH a hot bod! But you're so so sweet and amazing and help me with everything!" Did he...did he actually love you? Was whatever he was doing with Val was nothing? Shakily manging to get him completely undressed, you stood him up to maneuver him into the large tub. Not trusting yourself to say anything more, you gently lay him down in the perfectly warm water and start lathering him up. You also never bathed him before, so your nerves were going to overdrive. He took your silence and silenced himself too, maybe he somehow knew you were really anxious right now. Taking great care in not getting water on his head, you see as his face turned from a happy one, to a somber one.

The rest of the process of getting him out, drying him off, changing into his pjs, and moving him to his bed was deadly quiet. You felt like you would be breaking some unsaid rule. Tucking him into bed, you left a glass of water and painkillers on his nightstand, turning off the big light and turning on the lamp. Sitting down next to his curled up body, you rubbed his back and felt conflicted. He's drunk as balls. He probably won't remember any of this. Getting up and saying goodnight, he yells for you one last time.

"I'm sorry, I don't know what I did wrong but I'm sorry. Is it Val? We aren't anything serious. I was too scared to tell you because you're so beautiful and I didn't want you to leave me. I love you" Vox looked down at his lap with a sullen expression. Heart hurting for the countless time today, you gave him a kiss on his screen and turned away with a smile

"Tell me when you're sober"

[soaps-mohawk]

Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 27: Drown In It

Summary: Your heat lingers closer and closer, which leaves you with some conflicting feelings. Of course, you're not going to worry about them for much longer...

Paring: Poly 141 x reader

Word Count: 6,179 words

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, p in v sex, unprotected sex, bodily fluids, heat cycles, knotting, licking, biting, grinding, spanking (it's like once), kissing, Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Alternate Universe, a/b/o typical classism and sexism, a sprinkle of angst, language, emotions, and of course some fluff

A/N: And we're in it again, folks. It's happening (again). Though this time, there may be a bit of a surprise....

MASTERLIST | <- Previous | Next ->

(Yes I am using a Barry Sloane gif, trust me you will understand once you read the chapter)

You freeze, dread and panic beginning to fill you as you stand in the doorway to the rec room. The pounding of your heart is loud in your ears, which are quickly growing hot. The urge to turn tail and run is strong, yet you can’t move, frozen in place by the sight in front of you. 

Simon is sitting, far too relaxed, in the chair where he normally sits. There’s a book in his hands, the crinkle of the page being turned is like a gunshot. You almost flinch in response, but hold still, wondering if you could back away before he notices your presence. You know it would be futile. He would have heard the crinkling of the bag of chips in your hand, the quiet rustle of it against your leg as soon as you turned the corner. 

“Interesting book, this.” He says, not bothering to look up as he sits reclined in the chair, about halfway through the book in his hands. 

Your mouth goes dry as you stare at him. You might never have given him, or the book, a second glance had you not been so clearly able to see the cover. It was almost like he was doing it on purpose, hoping you’d see what he’d found, what he’d discovered in your underwear drawer. It’s almost like he was hoping you’d walk in and see it. Or maybe he heard you coming and positioned himself so you’d see it. 

“‘The Powerful Omega.’” He says, closing the book to stare at the title. 

You shift on your feet nervously, ready to run if you need to, the bag of chips crinkling as you tighten your grip on it.. “I-I can explain-” 

“No need.” He says, cutting you off as he flips the book back open. “Is this how you got into our heads so easily?” 

Despite the accusing question, his tone isn’t malicious or even disparaging. You fiddle with your fingers, starting to feel like you’re being tested. If you say yes, what will he do? Get angry, accuse you of manipulation? But if you say no, he might think you’re lying, or perhaps he already knows the answer. 

“I-It helped a bit.” You say, shuffling forward a step. “At first. I almost forgot it was in there.” 

“‘Learn to Speak Their Language.’” He reads off the chapter title, your cheeks warming a bit. Of course he’d be there when you caught him. He stares at you over the top of the book, your gaze turned to the black TV screen. You can’t stare at him. Not right now. “Is this why you asked me to train you?” 

There’s no lying to him. You already know that. You sink your teeth into your bottom lip, nodding. “It was part of it. It gave me the idea, but then I realized if I’m gonna go around making stupid decisions like punching alphas, maybe I should know how to defend myself a little. I-I also thought it might help me get closer to you, at least get you to tolerate me a bit.” 

He huffs out a laugh. “Well, I can say it worked. Was more you than anything, but I was a bit touched you asked me.” 

Your nervousness begins to calm as you realize he’s not angry you have the book. He’s also not angry you used it to get closer to them, to begin to integrate yourself into their pack. You set your chips down on the coffee table, sitting on the edge of the couch. 

“How did you get it?” He asks. 

“I called Kate.” You give him a small smile. “When she sent me the first uh...care package. That was part of it.” 

He huffs, shaking his head. “Sneaky thing.” 

“I mean, one of you was bound to find it eventually.” You shrug. “Thought it might be Johnny with how often he sneaks into my underwear drawer. Though, I suppose he steals them from the laundry basket more often.” 

He hums, his gaze returning to the book. 

“Are you really reading it?” You ask. 

“‘Course.” He responds, getting comfortable in the chair again. 

A smile tugs at your lips as you watch him, his focus zeroing in on the book again. You get an idea, rising from the couch to scan the shelves in the rec room. You find a manual on guns and ammunition, sitting back down with the heavy book in one hand, your chips in the other. Simon glances at you over the top of his book again as you make yourself comfortable on the other side of the couch, the title clearly visible as you turn to the first page. 

“Really?” He asks, exasperated. 

You shrug, glancing up at him. “It’s only fair.” 

“Little shit.” He rolls his eyes, letting out a sigh as he goes back to reading your book. You sink down against the arm of the couch, using your book to hide your satisfied grin. 

“It never fails to amaze me.” 

“Huh?” You turn to face Johnny, a piece of popcorn falling out of your mouth from how much you've managed to stuff inside in one bite. 

“How much ye can eat during your pre-heat.” He says, grabbing the piece of popcorn that landed on the couch between you. 

You attempt to say something in response, but it comes out as a muffled mess around the popcorn you’re chewing. Johnny eats the piece that fell, reaching for the bowl. You move it out of his reach, pressing your foot against his side to keep him from getting too close. 

“Mine.” You say, pushing against his side, trying to get him to move away from you. 

He’s undeterred, using his size against you as he reaches for the bowl. A low growl rubles in your chest as you lean backwards, trying to keep it out of his reach. He freezes at the sound, staring down at you as you glare at him. 

“Did ye just growl at me?” He blinks at you, his lips turning up in a grin. 

You bare your teeth at him, another growl rumbling in your chest. You go for his arm, his reflexes just managing to yank it out of the way before your teeth sink into his skin. 

“Alright, alright.” He says, holding up his hands as he sinks back into his spot. “I got the message.” He grins as you sit up, holding the bowl protectively against your chest. “That might be the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.” He pulls out his phone, snapping a picture as you glare at him. 

Your glare deepens as you shovel more popcorn into your mouth. He nearly giggles as he stares down at his phone, tapping on the screen a few times. You push yourself up, trying to get a look at his screen. “Who are you sending that to?” You ask between mouthfuls of popcorn. 

“The group chat.” He says, as if that’s not revealing news. 

“Group chat?” You ask around another mouthful. 

He nods. “Just the four of us fellas for blethering.” 

You blink at him, trying to translate what he means in your pre-heat addled brain. “Huh?” You say stupidly, a piece of popcorn dropping back into the bowl from the handful you had been holding up halfway to your mouth. 

“We like tae gossip among each other.” He says, giving you a grin. 

“Do you...talk about me?” You ask before shoving the handful of popcorn in your mouth. 

“All the time.” He answers, using his reflexes to steal a piece of popcorn from the bowl. 

You’re too distracted to care, though if your mouth hadn’t been full you might have been tempted to bite him in retaliation. “‘Bout what?” You ask, the words almost unintelligible thanks to the popcorn you’re still chewing. 

“Oh, lots of things.” He grins. “How cute ye look all cozy in yer bed, how nicely yer arse looks in your skids, how we got ye to moan like that, tips on how tae make yer legs shake-” He does let out a giggle as you softly kick him in his side.

“Rude.” You pout as you curl up against the arm of the couch away from him with your bowl. “Could at least include me.” 

“Aw but we need our space,” He says, leaning closer to you. “Fer all our mingin' gab.” 

You give him a look, still trying to process his words as he presses a kiss to your head. He uses your distraction to steal a piece of popcorn from the bowl, immediately jumping away from you as you react, letting out another growl. The popcorn bowl falls to the floor as you leap at him, ready to sink your teeth into his arm. 

“You're avoiding me.”

Simon glances up at you before looking back at his computer. “Not on purpose. You know the dangers if you go into heat too close.” 

He’s right. Though, you think you’d know if your heat was starting and you could get away before things got dangerous. Of course, with his sensitive instincts, he might notice before you do. Things would get ugly fast if John noticed too and tried to stop Simon. You’re not sure the betas could get to you in time to try and stop them, or at least get you away in hopes it clears their heads enough. 

You look around Simon’s office, the desk shoved further back to make room for the two cots set up in the corner closest to the door. Soon he and Johnny would be shut in here, avoiding the hallway around the corner while you and John fucked nearly non-stop for the next week. 

It feels different now that you’ve reached this new stage of your relationship with Simon. He’s not on the outside anymore, not separate from you. There’s a strong bond there now, one both of you have contributed to. He had made the boundary clear, even without having to say anything. He won’t take the risk of helping you. He’s not your alpha. 

However, wouldn’t complain if he were the one to get to you first, to lock you in his office and throw you on the cots and fuck you stupid for the next week. You shift on your feet at the thought of taking his knot, being pumped full of him and locked together. Would he remove his mask? Would you remember his face at the end of your heat-induced haze? 

He’d never forgive himself if it happened. He’d close himself off, avoid you like the plague. It would shred that fragile bond that has been set in place. 

You won’t entertain those thoughts anymore. Not when he’s so clearly drawn the line. 

You take half a step forward, pausing at the growl that rumbles in his chest. He’s setting another boundary, warning you of the dangers both of you pose towards each other in this delicate time. 

You continue forward despite the obvious warning, pushing against the instincts telling you to heed it and stay back. Yet, he doesn't stop you as you pass his desk, slinging a leg over him and planting yourself in his lap. It’s obvious, the tension in his body as you sit there, as if you might go into heat at any second. There will be signs once it is coming on, symptoms different from ones you feel outside of heats. 

You stare up into his eyes, his gaze sharp but not piercing as it once might have been. There’s a softness to it, something you might even call affection as he stares down at you. 

“Will you kiss me?” You ask softly, hesitantly. “One last time? So maybe I might remember you still like me when I wake up on the other side of this?” 

“I don’t think you could forget that.” He says, his hands dropping to grip your thighs. 

“Still...would be nice to have one.” You say, wrapping your arms around his neck. “For good luck?” 

He hums, the sound rumbling in his chest, before he lifts a hand, pulling his mask up to his nose. He leans forward, meeting you halfway as he presses his lips to yours. 

The kiss is searing, conveying a deep passion and almost a longing feeling as his lips move against yours. Does he regret his decision not to even offer to help you? You’re not sure even you would have said yes to his offer. It’s only your second heat, the second time you’ve trusted your pack to care for you in such a vulnerable position. While you don’t distrust Simon and his ability to take care of you, a deep part of you longs for your alpha and the surety and safety he’s already proven. 

Simon’s hand slides up your back, brushing over your neck before cradling the back of your head. He holds you still as he licks the seam of your lips. You moan softly against his mouth, wishing you could pull him closer, wishing you could sink into him and avoid the inevitable heat lingering over your head. 

A sigh is pulled from your lips as his tongue presses into your mouth, taking its time to explore before flicking against your own. His other arm wraps around your back, tugging you against him, chest to chest, legs spread around his hips. Had you not been trying to rest your body, or entirely disinterested in sex currently, you might have fucked him right in this chair, one last time before you’re lost to your heat and your alpha. 

He pulls away from your lips, resting his forehead against yours as you both pant softly. The silence is loud, but it speaks volumes between you, sharing things you’re too scared to say out loud, things that push the boundaries of vulnerability between the two of you. There will be time afterward, plenty of time to gently push those boundaries and continue to worm your way into his most intimate thoughts. 

You open your eyes, meeting his gaze. You can see the dots of freckles on his skin, the shades of brown in his eyes. His breath is warm against your lips as you sit there, almost like you’re trying to commit each other to memory, as if you’ll forget about him as soon as the door seals you and John inside your room. You will forget in the throes of your heat, but once the haze fades and you come back to yourself, you’ll remember him. He won’t be far, and neither will you. 

“See you on the other side?” You say, cupping his face, letting your thumb trace the line of his jaw, his stubble prickling your skin. 

He leans forward, kissing you once more, his lips brushing yours as he speaks. 

“See you on the other side.” 

You’re on fire.

Sweat has soaked your skin and right through the loose shirt you had donned earlier. It’s dripping down your face, offering no relief from the lava pulsing under your skin. You’re surprised the liquid doesn’t start sizzling as it drips down your chest and arms. You’re panting softly, legs spread as you lay on the bed. There’s a steady pulsing between your legs, the ache and need beginning to steadily grow more intense as slick seeps out of you and onto the blankets below. 

You woke earlier with a crawling sensation under your skin, your pajamas quickly ditched in favor of the baggy shirt to avoid the overstimulation of any tight fabric. You knew last night as soon as the ravenous hunger began to abate that you were close. Mid-bite of some potatoes the hunger had faded and suddenly they looked almost repulsive. Simon and Johnny had moved into his office and you quarantined in your room with Kyle and John on standby. 

Sleep had evaded you for most of the night as you waited for it to start, expecting it to be in the middle of the night like last time. Your mind had faded in and out of sleep, expecting to wake any moment with the uncomfortable feverish heat beneath your skin. 

Instead you woke early with no sign of it yet, still dry between your legs and almost cold from the always cool air in the barracks. The only sign had been the itching, crawling feeling beneath your skin. 

You’d made it just past lunch, Kyle bringing in food for you, which you had struggled through, only eating to try and get some last calories into your body. The familiar electrolyte drinks and nutrition bars that will keep both you and John alive over the next week, sit in stacks next to the door, some already set up on your nightstand. Your bed has been stripped down to a sheet, your pillow, and the blanket you slept under last night. Your stuffed animals and decorative pillows sit piled on your desk in the corner. 

It came on suddenly, the heat beneath your skin. The prickling sensation had begun in your core and flared outward to your very fingertips. It had been like a flushing feeling, the heat rippling through you. The book in your hands slid onto the floor as the deep cramping began, making you wince. You’re not quite sure what had been worse, the pain or the initial panic. 

Your phone is on the floor with your book after you’d managed to send a text to Kyle. The panic is still bubbling under the surface as your brain begins to get foggy, its only focus the pulsing between your thighs. It’s been a while since you’ve been awake for the start of your heat. The last one had started in your sleep, and the one before that you had been sedated by the CIA, closely monitored and put under before the itching even began under your skin. 

Your trembling fingers fumble with one of the electrolyte drinks on your nightstand, struggling to wrap around it and then get the cap off. It does little to soothe the dryness in your mouth, but you drink as much of it as you can. 

The door opens, Kyle slipping through before quickly closing it behind him. He approaches the bed, that sympathetic look in his eyes again. He’s not sure what to say, you can tell by his hesitance, but what is there to say in this moment? ‘Good luck, hope John doesn’t accidentally hurt you?’ 

You don’t blame him for his silence, though you know his beta is agitated, wanting to offer you comfort and support, but he can’t. He can’t do much for you this time, only your alpha can. 

Kyle bends down, picking up your phone and book from the floor before checking the charge on your phone. He sets it down on the nightstand, pulling another from his pocket and placing it down next to yours. It’s John’s personal phone. You recognize the familiar olive green case. Kyle will alternate charging them, mostly for John’s peace of mind. Not that he’ll care much about potential calls or messages while he’s knotted inside of you. 

“You’ll be okay.” Kyle says, brushing the wisps of hair stuck to your forehead back. Johnny had braided it last night, his final act of comfort before retreating with Simon to their own quarantined space. Kyle must have noted the nervous edges in your scent still lingering in the air as he tries to comfort you. 

You hold his hand against your face, nuzzling your cheek against his rough palm. It’s not quite enough, he’s not quite enough, but it’s no fault of his own. Your instincts are beginning to take over. The desire for an alpha, your alpha, to help you is overtaking any rational thought. 

Kyle strokes your cheek for a moment before he pulls away, taking the bottle from your trembling hands and tossing it in the trash. He folds your blanket and drapes it over the footboard before setting your book on your desk. 

“John knows.” He says, standing close to the door. “He’ll be in soon.” 

All you can do is nod as you rub your thighs together, trying to get any ounce of friction you can. The fabric of the shirt you’re wearing is like a million tiny knives against your skin, but your hands are useless as they tug at the fabric. You can’t get your body to work enough to pull it off. 

A pathetic whine leaves your lips as the door opens again. You’re still tugging at your shirt, writhing in your attempts to both remove the offending fabric from your skin and also get some relief for the pulsing between your thighs. 

“Alpha...” You whine, vision zeroing in on your alpha as he stands there, staring at you with dark eyes. 

“Look at you.” He rasps, taking slow steps closer and closer to you. 

Another whine falls from your lips as you reach out for him, desperate to feel him against you, like his very touch could ease the fire burning beneath your skin. Your arm is shaking by the time he reaches you, his fingers brushing against your hand. A content purr rumbles in your chest as he finally touches you, rough fingers tracing your palm before continuing down the inside of your arm. A shiver shakes your body at the feeling of his rough calluses against your sensitive skin. You wish those fingers would go elsewhere, your mouth watering at the thought of them between your thighs again. 

“Alpha,” You whine again as he grips your upper arm, yanking you up. 

In one fluid motion he sits on your bed, tugging your body onto his lap. His arms wrap around you, holding you against him, your slick dribbling onto the front of his pants. A quiet sound rumbles in his chest, his pupils dilating as his alpha begins to come out, his alpha responding to the thick scent of your pheromones in the room. 

You press against him, but it’s not enough. You need to feel him, his skin against yours, the prickling of the hair on his chest against your sensitive skin. His hands trail up your sides, the drag of the fabric of your shirt against your skin making you whine. You need to feel him, not the synthetic material separating you. He slides his hands all the way up, skirting past your breasts and sensitive nipples to grip the neck of the shirt, ripping it down the center. 

Your omega purrs happily at the display of strength, a quiet sigh leaving your lips as he pushes the shirt from your shoulders, freeing you from the overwhelming sensation. His hands flatten against your back, a content purr leaving your lips at the feeling of his skin against yours. You arch into him, pressing your hips against the prominent bulge in his pants. Your fingers tug at his own shirt, but you lack the strength to tear it off him, even as you paw at the fabric. You likely wouldn’t have been able to anyway outside the throes of your heat. 

“Needy little thing.” He purrs, nipping at your bottom lip. 

You chase his lips, kissing him harshly. His fingers dig into your back as you push your tongue into his mouth, licking at his own tongue. Your thighs clench around his hips at the thought of that tongue between your legs, more slick soaking the front of his pants as it gushes out of you. 

His hands slide down to grip your hips, dragging your slit along the front of his jeans. You moan at the delicious friction, pulling away from his mouth to kiss down his throat. His beard tickles your skin as he tilts his head, bearing his throat to you. A low growl rumbles through your chest as he allows himself to be in such a vulnerable position. You’re shaking in his arms as he guides your hips to grind against his pants, legs clenching around his hips. You’re close, the pulsing beneath your veins getting stronger and stronger. 

“Gonna cum like this?” He growls, his grip almost bruising on your hips. “Without me even touching you? Make yourself cum and I’ll give you what you need.” 

Your heat-addled brain somehow comprehends his words, picking out the parts it needs as you shift on his lap, dragging your clit against the seam of his jeans. Your face presses against his throat, devouring his scent straight from the source. It goes right to your head, the earthy scent nearly indistinguishable from the musk of his rut. 

Your body shudders as your first orgasm rocks you, slick gushing out of you like a tidal wave. You sink your teeth into his shoulder, fingers digging into his skin. 

“Son of a-” He curses, delivering a harsh slap to your bare ass. “Fuckin’ naughty little omega.” 

You grin, lapping at the teeth marks you’ve left on his skin as you press your ass into his hand. Your orgasm has provided a little relief, but it’s not enough. It’s never enough. Not until you have his knot inside you. 

You tug at his shirt again, bunching the fabric in your hands. “Off.” You whine, desperate to feel his skin against yours. 

He finally acquiesces, pushing you back far enough to tug his shirt off. Drool drips down your chin as you stare at the skin now exposed to you. You can’t help yourself as you lean forward, licking your way across his collarbones and his chest. You slide off his lap, kneeling between his legs as you lick your way down his chest, dragging your tongue across his soft stomach. 

He grips the back of your neck, pulling you away from his skin. Your tongue is still sticking out, almost like it’s trying to taste every last bit of him that might be in the air. “Fuck.” He groans, pushing you back as he moves to stand. 

You grab his hand before he can fully stand, tugging with surprising strength. He falls into you, both of you falling back onto the floor in a mess of limbs. Your omega scratches in the back of your brain, your gaze sharpening as you wrestle with him, finally managing to pin him on the floor. 

His eyes are almost black, a dangerous growl rumbling in his chest. Slick dribbles out of you, smearing on his stomach as you return his growl, baring your teeth at him. You want him to submit, you need him to submit to you. Your omega doesn't care about the obvious challenge, the stupidity of trying to control a rutting alpha. 

Yet, he goes lax beneath you, his gaze still sharp and cautious as he stares at you. 

Your growl softens into a purr as he relaxes, submitting to you for a moment. You bend down again, your tongue flattening against his skin once more. Your eyes are locked on his as you lick the beading sweat on his chest, purring at the saltiness of it on your tongue. You continue your way down his body, following the path down his chest and across his stomach. His eyes leave yours, watching the wiggle of your bare ass as you crawl backwards, continuing to lick across his stomach until you reach the puddle of shiny slick streaked across his skin. 

He lets out a rumbling purr as you lap at your own slick. It’s sweet from your pheromones, yet there’s the familiar tang of your natural taste on your tongue as you clean the mess you’ve made on your alpha’s skin. 

As soon as you deem his skin clean enough you continue downward, licking at the waistband of his jeans. Your fingers are shaking as you paw at his pants, trying to get your fingers to work to remove the last barrier between you. You need your alpha’s cock, you need to see it, to taste it. Your mouth is watering as you fumble helplessly, unable to handle such fine motor skills when all your brain is screaming to do is fuck. 

He pushes your hands out of the way, undoing his pants easily. He wiggles them down enough until his cock has sprung free, heavy and almost throbbing on his stomach. You stare at it wide eyed, drool slipping down your chin as you stare at it. You need it, you need his knot now, the burning under your skin intensifying from how close you are to finally getting what you need. You wrap your hand around his heavy length, the tip already leaking as you lean down, dragging your tongue from his balls to the tip. He lets out a groan as you close your lips around the head, flicking your tongue across his slit. 

You hold his gaze, dragging your tongue across his head once more before lifting yourself and shifting over his hips. You hold his gaze as you drag his cock through your folds, your needy brain searching for the spot you need. You let out a whine as you find it, his head catching on your entrance. You don’t hesitate, a long, desperate sounding whine falling from your lips as you sink down onto his length. 

It goes in easily, your body opening to him eagerly, your slick aiding the process as it gushes down the length of his cock. You make it halfway before pausing, breathing for a moment before you sink the rest of the way down. 

Your pussy flutters around him, a whimper leaving your lips. You could cum just like this, just from the stretch of his cock inside of you. It’s still not enough, it’s still not what you need, but it does ease the ache throbbing in your pelvis. 

He lays there, eyes hooded as he watches you, content to let yourself use him in your needy state for now. Your hands press against his stomach as he sinks almost impossibly deep inside you, your hips settling against his. He reaches up, pressing against the bulge in your pelvis, your hips jerking at the shock of pleasure that thrums through you. 

He lets out a pleased rumble as you squeeze around him, slick dribbling out around the base of his cock. “Be a good omega, take what you need.” He commands, his alpha rough around the edges of his voice. 

Your hands press firmly against his stomach, using him for leverage as you begin to move, lifting your hips and then letting them drop. Quiet whimpers leave your lips with every movement as his cock drags along your walls. The ache in your bones is finally starting to ease, the burning itch beneath your skin fading. You rock on your alpha’s cock, using his body for your pleasure as he lays there, content to watch you. 

The low rumble in his chest vibrates through you, inaudible under your desperate whines and the squelch of your pussy on his cock, but you can feel it in your hands, your subconscious picking up on it in a way you can’t understand. It only adds to the pleasure coursing through you, your clit throbbing from the friction against his jeans earlier. 

You’re tired, your legs shaking as you begin to slow down. The need pulsing through you is strong, but your heat-addled body is not. You whine desperately as you grind on his cock, seeking out any sort of pleasure you can get as your legs give out, too exhausted and weak to continue. 

“What’s the matter?” John says, lips pulling up in a smirk. “Poor little omega getting tired? Can’t fuck herself on my cock anymore?” 

“Please...” You whine, nearly crying in desperation. “Need your knot alpha.” 

“Then take it.” He says, not making any move to help you. 

“Can’t,” You whine. “Need you to do it. Need you to take care of me.” 

He lets out a growl at your confession, his hands finally moving to your hips. He pulls you off of his cock, flipping you around so you’re on your knees, upper body pressed against the floor. You push your ass up as high as you can for him, presenting for your alpha. He lets out a pleased rumble, his fingers dragging through your slick coated slit. You whine needily, pushing back against his hand. 

“Easy.” He says, pressing close behind you. “Alpha’s got you.” 

Your eyes nearly roll back as he sinks into you again, the change in position nearly making you see stars as he begins fucking in you, the snap of his hips against yours rocking your body on the carpet. Your knees burn but you can hardly feel it as he fucks you through an orgasm, your walls clenching desperately around his cock. Your brain is going hazy again as you feel the swelling at the base of his cock pushing up against your entrance, drool pooling on the carpet beneath you as you wait for it, wait for him to push his knot inside you and tie the two of you together. 

“Alpha...alpha...” You chant the title like a mantra, the sounds slurring together as you push back against him. 

“Take it,” He grunts, his fingers digging into your hips as he holds you steady in place. He pushes against you, his knot stretching your pussy as he begins pushing it into you. “Take it...good girl.” 

You whine as his knot pops into place, your body shuddering with another orgasm from the gaping stretch around him. He grinds his hips against you, his knot tugging at the entrance of your pussy as you clench tightly around him. He cums with a groan, his body falling over yours as he spurts his seed into you. You lay there, whining and panting beneath him, sweat still dripping down your back. 

Your brain is starting to float away, your mind going hazy again, but you’re not fighting it this time. You’re giving into your instincts, unable to do anything but submit to them, submit to your alpha. 

“I’ve got you.” Price says softly, gently brushing the sweaty strands of hair from your face that have fallen loose from your braid. 

You give into the haze, trusting him to take care of you. 

You’re not sure when you moved to the bed. It’s the crackle of the mattress protector that’s pulled you from your haze for a moment. One of those rare moments of clarity post-knot as you come back into your brain enough to be semi-aware of your surroundings. You won’t remember it by the time you come out of your heat, lost in the mush of hazy memories from the week. 

Your pussy is pulsing around John’s knot, his chest pressed into your back. You still feel hot, feverish as you lay there half out of it. John’s right arm is under you, wrapped around so his hand is against your chest. He’s holding the cap of an electrolyte bottle in his right hand, the plastic cool against your heated skin. 

There’s hands moving in front of you, pulling a charging cord from one phone to put it in the other. There’s voices, but you’re too far in the haze to understand what they’re saying. There’s a scent in the air, clearer and softer than the heavy musk that’s settled in the room. It goes straight to your head, nearly making you black out again. You want to taste it, your tongue darting out to lick your lips. 

Your hand shoots out, surprising even you with how fast it’s moved. Your brain feels slow as it tries to catch up with the movement, your fingers wrapped around someone’s wrist. Your hand has a mind of its own as it pulls the wrist closer, pressing it against your face. 

A soft, fresh scent fills your nose, your eyes fluttering as it pulses through you, your pussy convulsing around John’s knot. He groans behind you, his hips shifting just slightly in response. Your tongue darts out, licking at the wrist pressed against your face, trying to taste the scent. 

Salty, briney, fresh. The sea, you remember from the haze in your mind. It smells like the sea. You continue to lick it, wanting it to consume you, to sink into your brain and ease the aching need. 

“Careful, love.” A soft voice says, cutting through the scent-induced haze you’re in. 

The attached body tries to pull the wrist in your grip away, but you let out a whine, fingers tightening around it as you pull it closer. You drag your tongue against the skin again, letting out a quiet whine. You need it, your hand trembling around his wrist. 

The word feels heavy on your tongue, your heat-addled, scent drunk brain trying to form it on your lips, pushing it from your mind until it vibrates in the air audibly. The process feels like it takes minutes, when in reality it was likely only seconds. You tug on the wrist again, trying to bring the source closer. 

“Stay.” 

NEXT ->

@bobaprint @ashy-kit @anunintentionalwriter @mockerycrow @protokosmonaut

@fruitymoonbeams-blog @blue-blue0 @hindi-si-ikay @thatonepupkai @redwites

@kattiieee @141trash @lothiriel9 @dillybuggg @beebeechaos

@konigsmissedbeltloop @kaoyamamegami @idkkkkkkk8363 @wallwriterstuff @smile-child-13

@anomiatartle @dangerkittenclaws @bless-my-demons @mystic60 @evolutionarry

@red-hydra @lunaetiicsaystuff @linaangel @codsunshine @thriving-n-jiving

@slayerx147 @ferns-fics @spicyspicyliving @cityoffallencrows @ttsbaby01

@heeheehoohoohahahihi @sleepyoriana @ihatethinkingofnames10 @cassiecasluciluce @darling006

@sheep-from-rad @ohgodthebogisback @willow-sages @scythemood @daniblogs164

@mirzamsaiph @xlxnq @chickennn-soupp

[dancingtotuyo]

Part I

High Infidelity | Joel Miller X Female Reader

Rating: Mature/Explicit

Summary: Tommy gets himself into more trouble than he can get out of.

Tags: Tommy x Reader, Joel x Reader, Tommy's Wife Reader, infidelity, emotional affair, slow burn (as much as you can get for 5 chapters), Tommy goes to jail, Reader has had a child

Warnings: US justice system (it don't work, probably bad understanding of how it operates), mention of drugs & weapons, alcohol consumption, let me know if I missed anything

Notes: when I planned this out, I didn’t realize I’d scheduled the first chapter to drop on Pedro’s birthday! So happy birthday to him!

Shout out to @janaispunkfor beta reading and @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin for letting me scream about this endlessly and shaping this world. Finally, @saradika-graphics for sustaining our fic writers with an endless supply of dividers!

Words: 4396

Series Masterlist | Author Masterlist | Daily Clicks for Palestine & Other resources

You’re asleep, or at least you should be except the phone is ringing and the bed is cold next to you. That’s a bad sign. It always is. 

A small grunt echoes from your gut as bare feet hit the cool hardwood floor. You can’t find the phone before it stops, buried under clothes you haven’t folded, scribbled crayon drawings, and bleary eyes. It starts back almost immediately.

“Tommy?”

“He called me.” Joel’s voice echoes through the line. “It’s bad this time.”

“How bad?”

“He asked for a lawyer.”

You press your palm to your forehead. “Shit!”

“The sitter is on her way to yours. I’m getting Sarah up now. We’ll be there in 10.”

“Thank you, Joel.”

“Of course. See you soon.”  Joel hangs up. 

You roam through the laundry basket for a clean pair of jeans and an acceptable t-shirt. You run a toothbrush through your mouth to freshen your breath. You do your best to push back all the possibilities running through your brain. 

You crack open the door to Nathaniel’s room. Your two-year-old son sleeps tightly, his mop of black curls spread out on the pillow. You want to run your hand through his curls and kiss his cheek, but he’s the world’s lightest sleeper, just like his daddy. 

The sitter is there 5 minutes later, all too familiar with this routine for your liking. Joel ushers in a bleary-eyed minutes later. He tucks her into the spare room bed. Sarah doesn’t ask questions. She’s asleep before he can kiss her head.

You move like the well-oiled machine that you are. He grabs your purse, ensuring the checkbook is there while you say a few words to the sitter. Joel hands you the small black bag and a light jacket.

Doors open before you and close without you touching them. You and Joel are riding down the highway. The windows are cracked, the breeze playing through your hair as street lights play off the windows, growing bigger and brighter as your eyes fill with tears. You chew on your thumb as the thoughts finally begin to take over.  

You’ve felt Tommy slipping these past few months. You’ve tried to ignore it, excuse it. He’s had a hard time adjusting. This is hardly the first time he’s been in jail. It feels like a weekly occurrence at this point, but he’s never needed a lawyer. He’s never been held longer than overnight. 

“Did he say what they got him for?”

“No… he asked me to come alone.”

“Fucking hell.” You run a hand over your face. Tommy’s antics are aging you prematurely. 

“He’s going to be okay.”

“Says who?” You snap. “We’ve been doing this dance for months, Joel! I know he’s having a hard time adjusting, but maybe we’ve been giving him too much room.”

Joel sighs, letting silence fall over the truck cabin. His blinker clicks as you turn into the familiar station. You wonder if the night shift is actually going to fulfill their punch card offer this time. 

Joel has barely pushed the truck into park before you’re out of the vehicle, flying through the front doors. Joel is hot on your heels, not bothering to lock his beat-up pickup. 

Your ID is already on the desk, you don’t even have to say a name. The officer at the front desk doesn’t need your license. He barely looks at it. It’s all a raging formality. They escort you to a room, not a holding cell as you’re used to.

Tommy sits at a table talking to a tired-looking public defender. His head snaps up, eyes jumping from your face to Joel’s behind you. “I told you to come alone.”

“The fuck you did Thomas James Miller!” You say before Joel can defend himself.

Tommy stands to his feet, the chair skidding back. “You’re not supposed to be here for this!”

“I’m your wife! You call me!”

“Or maybe you should be home with your child!”

“Oh, I should be home with our son? And what about you?”

“I’m not having this fight with you right now.” Tommy throws his hands in the air moving his attention to Joel who leans against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. “You were supposed to come alone!”

“What’re you in for?” You ask, not giving Joel a chance to answer. Not that he was going to. He knows not to let Tommy deflect to him when you are around. 

Tommy sighs falling into the chair like a rag dog. Stress lines engrave themselves deep into his forehead.

“Tommy…” A pit drops in your stomach. “What did they get you with?”

“A gun-“

“Without a permit.” The Lawyer speaks for the first time. There’s a roll to Tommy’s eyes. 

“And?” 

Tommy can’t meet your eyes. He shuffles in his seat. 

“Tommy,” Joel says, voice low and gruff. It’s automatic, parental even.

“A couple grams of coke.”

“Fucking hell, Tommy.” Joel hits his head against the wall. 

“I didn’t- I never took it. I promise.”

You take a shaking breath, trying to calm your worn nerves. “So what are we looking at here?” You ask, eyes trained on the lawyer. 

You see Tommy out of your peripheral vision using his pleading puppy dog eyes on you. You square your shoulders determined not to fall for it. They’re the reason you’re in this boat in the first place. 

“Babe-“

You hold up a hand cutting him off, eyes trained on the lawyer. “What are we looking at?”

“Probably Jail time. DA’s office has been cracking down on these kinds of cases the past few months.”

“Is he getting out tonight?”

The lawyer shakes his head. “We have to wait until tomorrow for arraignment and bail.”

“Then, I’ll see you two tomorrow.” You give them a firm nod, exiting the room in a flash.

The Texas air wraps around you as you exit the stale police station. Joel’s pick-up is cool under your fingers, anchoring you to something.

This can’t be happening. You’ve felt him slipping through your fingertips for months, but you wonder if this is it if this is the moment you lose Tommy for good. 

Firm arms wrap around your waist. It’s a warmth you’ve become way too familiar with over the last couple of years. You turn around, letting your tears soak Joel’s shirt as they have so many times before. You twist his shirt in your fists as he cradles your head against his chest. There’s a slight sway in his movements, soothing your wrenching soul. 

“We’re going to get through this.”

“He had cocaine!”

Joel sighs. “I know.”

“I can’t keep doing this. It’s going to kill me.”

“Let’s get you home. Get some sleep.” Joel squeezes you and then guides you into the passenger side seat. “We have a long day tomorrow.”

“What time is-“

“Lawyer said about 11. Wants us to meet them at the courthouse at 10.”

You nod, clearing the tears. “Okay.”

The drive home is quiet. You’re used to Tommy throwing out every excuse in the book, promising he’s going to change. The silence makes you want to scream. How do you go forward? How do you explain to Nathaniel that Daddy won’t be home for a long time? Jail Time. It bounces off the walls of your brain like a gong over and over. 

You’ve done this before. Raise your son alone. Tommy was overseas when Nathaniel was born. You did the first 3 months on your own- or sort of alone. Joel and Sarah spent many nights at your and Tommy’s home those first few months helping you through the learning curve of being a new parent. If you’re completely honest, you’re still doing it alone, but now with a shell of a man to look after as well. 

Joel hands the sitter cash and she’s gone without a word. Your purse and jacket are forgotten on the chair as you collapse onto the couch, holding your head in your hands. The weight of the night threatens to finally break you. 

“Here.” The cool weight of a bottle presses against your jeans.

“Thank you.” You take it, tipping the bottle back in unison with Joel in a quiet ritual. 

“I think I’m just gonna crash on the couch tonight.”

You nod, a humorless huff leaving your chest. “Just like the good ole days, I guess.” 

Joel looks over your profile, catches the wear in your frame, the silent tears slipping from your eyes. The rattle in your chest changes from sarcastic to sorrow and then a sob slips from your lips. 

Joel sets his beer on the coffee table, arm slipping around your shoulders. He pulls your loose body into his side. For the second time that night, your face burrows into his chest. 

“Shhh, I’ve got you, Darlin’. We’ll get through this.” His voice is soft and soothing. His fingers brush softly over your head down to the back of your neck. You fall asleep like that, lulled by the steady beat of his heart. 

You wake up to the morning sun, your body stiff from sleeping on the couch against Joel. He’s up, the smell of coffee wafting toward you. You hear him talking to Sarah and Nathaniel in the kitchen. 

You stand, stretching out your sore muscles in wrinkled clothing following the promise of caffeine. Sarah and Nathaniel sit at the kitchen table with syrupy smiles. 

“Mommy!” Nathaniel yells. 

You force a sleepy smile, kissing his sticky cheek. “Morning, sweet cheeks.” You dip your finger in the syrup on his plate, licking it off your fingertip making him and Sarah laugh. “Morning, Sarah Bear.”

“Morning, Auntie,” She says. “Your clothes are wrinkled.”

Joel’s hand lands on your back and a cup of coffee lands in your hands, sending warmth through your body. The hum in your body is automatic. “Thank you.”

Joel only nods, returning his attention to the pancakes sizzling on the stovetop. You sip on the hot coffee. Joel prepared it exactly how you like it, just like he always does.

 “You hate pancakes.” 

“Yeah, but the gremlins love them.”

“That they do.” You grin, sipping on the coffee again. “Ugh, it’s infuriating the way you come into my home and make better coffee than I do.”

Joel chuckles, flipping two fluffy pancakes onto a plate. He tops them with cut-up strawberries and whipped cream handing them to you with the biggest shit-eating grin. “And pancakes.”

For a minute you forget it all, the impending arraignment, your husband in jail for unregistered weapons and drug possession, the two children sitting mere feet away. It’s just you and Joel and a stack of whipped cream-covered pancakes. Joel who held your hand through labor and helped you with midnight feedings. The man who got you through Tommy’s deployment. The one who always calls the sitter and drives you to the police station when Tommy gets himself in trouble. You and your rock. 

The shattering of glass echoes through the kitchen. “Uh-oh!”

You spin around, taking in the broken glass on the floor. Orange juice leaks over the table, dripping over the edge. You and Joel spring into action, pancakes forgotten. “Both of you stay in your seats,” You say.

Joel grabs the broom before you, sweeping up the shards, his feet already protected in his boots. You turn off the stove, keeping an eye on both children to ensure you don’t add bloodied feet to your morning agenda. 

“Sorry, Daddy,” Sarah says, keeping her feet crisscrossed beneath her. She looked up at you. “Sorry about your glass, Aunt Bonnie.”

You smile at her, handing Joel a towel to soak up the spilled juice. “It’s okay, Sarah bear. I just want you to be okay.”

She nods back, curls bouncing around her face. “I’m okay.”

You sigh, staring at the pancakes on the counter. The whipped cream has melted into a lopsided mound, half of it turned back into cream that soaks through the pancakes. You take a bite, the flavors settling nicely over your tongue even if the texture of the pancakes is slightly off. For a man who claims not to like them, Joel Miller sure knows how to make a mean pancake. 

Your mind plays back to the nickname. Not many people call you Bonnie anymore. Just a few years ago, it had been a constant. Stemming from Tommy’s group of army buddies, they declared you Bonnie for always stealing Tommy away from their group cookouts and whatnot, and Tommy was Clyde due to his propensity for getting into trouble. For whatever reason, probably just to annoy you, Tommy had introduced you to Sarah as “His Bonnie.” So that’s what she calls you. 

Joel empties the remaining shards into the trash can. Several high-pitched clinks sound off until the shards settle. Your fork stirs the whipped cream and syrup together. 

“Pancakes are usually best eaten, not played with.” Joel teases, picking his coffee up to take a sip. His fingers graze your arm as he sets it back down, returning the broom back to its rightful place.

”You don’t even like pancakes.” You furrowed your brow, taking another bite. Whipped cream marks your upper lip. You take another bite. “God, one day you have to tell me your secret.”

Joel chuckles. He leans across the counter, elbows resting against the granite much like yours. He sips on his coffee, eyes watching as you stuff another bite into your mouth. “I’ve got many secrets, Darlin.”

You laugh, mouth full of fruit and cream. “You’re an open fucking book, Miller.”

”I think I could surprise you several times over.” He chuckles. Something sparks behind his eyes like he’s actually keeping something from you. You’ll figure it out. You always do. 

“These are delicious, Joel, but if I take another bite, I’m gonna be sick.”

Joel frowns. “You feeling okay? You don’t have a fever do you?” He presses his fingers to your forehead before you can roll your eyes. 

“Anxiety.”

Joel nods. “You’ve got a little-“ He motions to his mouth.

You cock your head to the side brain not picking up on the obvious signals. He sighs in mock exasperation. Reaching forward, he wipes the whipped cream from your lip with his thumb, pressing the excess to his mouth. The moment catches you off guard, something stirring in the back of your mind as you zero in on the thumb pressed to his lips. 

“You should go get ready.” He says as if nothing happened, taking your plate. “We need to leave in an hour.”

You nod, pushing back from the counter. The weight of the day at hand keeps that moment from playing over and over again on a loop.

”Daddy,” Sarah says. “Isn’t it time for school?”

”You’re going to stay here with Nathaniel and Miss Lacy today. Your aunt and I have some things we have to do.”

”Oh,” Sarah nodded. “Uncle Tommy things?”

You stop, sharing a look with Joel. You’ve tried your best to keep Tommy’s troubles from the kids, but it’s inevitable. Sarah is almost 6 after all. She’s always been incredibly perceptive and observant. 

“Daddy?” Nathaniel asks, looking around. Your heart breaks a little bit. 

Your mind wanders. When will he get to see Tommy again? 

Joel takes the lead when you arrive at the courthouse for which you’re grateful. You’re both dressed in nice clothing. High heels clack beneath you. A tie reaches around Joel’s neck. You hold Tommy’s suit in a garment bag as a guard leads you to an office-like room. Tommy sits at a table with his layer from last night and another man you don’t recognize. They seem to be deep in a serious conversation. 

All three men turn as you enter, making you feel like you’re in the wrong place. You can’t tell if Tommy is relieved to see you or not. A pit forms in your stomach, like you’re not going to like the outcome of this meeting. 

“What’s going on?” You ask. 

The door clicks shut behind you as Joel’s scent creeps around you.

”We’re talking.” Tommy says. 

“About?” You press. 

Tommy sighs, unable to meet your eyes. “A plea deal.” 

You bite your lip, tears threatening to spill from your eyes. This is easier. It’s probably better in the long run, but you’re not ready to face the music. You prepared for court, not a plea deal. Not for Tommy to admit guilt with a stroke of a pen, not a judge in sight. 

“What’s in it?”

”Baby…” Tommy pleads like he wants to make amends right now. 

“What are you signing us up for, Tommy?”

“Two years and a half years. Probation after that.”

You inhale sharply. 

“It’s a good deal,” The man you’ve never seen says. “He’s looking at at least twice that if this goes to court, and he will be convicted if this goes to court.”

You look to Tommy’s lawyer for confirmation. He doesn’t make it obvious but gives you a solid nod. 

“You were about to sign it.” You look at your husband. It’s not a question. 

“Yeah.”

”I’d have appreciated it if you had talked to me first,” you say. 

“You’d have told me to sign it.”

You nod, barely keeping the tears at bay. “Yeah.”

The DA holds a pen out to Tommy. Tommy looks back at you for final permission. You give it, watching that expensive ass pen glides across the paper with Tommy’s chicken scratch of a signature. Your heart breaks with each stroke, crumbling a little more as he dots the I and crosses the T.  

Joel places a hand on your shoulder. The heat spreads, anchoring you to the moment, keeping you afloat as you stare down the barrel of being a single mother yet again. 

Tommy slides the paper back to the DA. He looks them over, tapping them against the table with a satisfied nod as if a family hadn’t been torn apart. 

“You have about 30 minutes before they come to get him.”

”That’s it?” You ask. “We can’t even take him ourselves?”

The DA shrugs like he’s being generous, igniting a deep hatred of him inside you. You don’t even know his name. He holds up the papers before sliding them into his briefcase. “Terms of the plea deal.”

You clutch your fists as he walks out of the room. Tommy’s lawyer slips out with him, and then Joel, leaving just you and Tommy. 

He stands and you finally realize it’s all happening again. You’ll be alone, worrying about your husband though this time for different reasons. 

“Baby, I-” He steps towards you. You don’t move offering zero indication that you register Tommy’s movements. 

He reaches for your hands, but you pull them back. “You weren’t supposed to take the Bonnie and Clyde thing seriously.” 

You fight back tears, turning so he can’t see them. “Pretty sure they both died.”

A humorless laugh leaves your body as you collapse onto a couch, holding your head in your hands. 

Tommy kneels in front of you, slowly peeling your hands from your face, taking them into his. Despite it all, you feel yourself melting into his familiar touch. It only confirms what you are beginning to fear. It doesn’t matter what Tommy does, you’ll always be here waiting for him. He is the love of your life and you would burn the world down to look into his sweet brown eyes and feel his skin against yours. 

You look at him through blurry eyes, sniffing back the congestion gathering in your sinuses. He gives you that crooked smile you love so much, and you feel better despite the weight bearing on your shoulders. The past three years have aged him ten. You suppose time has done the same to you.

Slowly, he presses his lips to your hands. “I know I fucked up. If-” He pauses, swallowing. His thumb plays with the thin gold band on your left hand. “If you’re not waiting for me when I get out I understand.”

You squeeze his hand. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

Tommy snorts. “Easily? Just last week you were yelling at me for putting you through hell.”

“Yeah, well…” You run your fingers through his black curls as you sniff back your tears. “You kinda hold my heart in your hands, Tommy Miller. I don’t think I could get it back if I tried.”

He smiles at you. You lean forward, pressing your lips to his. His hands creep up your thighs as he rises to his feet. Your back collides with the plush back of the couch as your fingers tangle in his long hair. Tommy presses his tongue into your mouth, a smile growing across your face. This is the first taste of your Tommy you’ve had in months, the one you fell in love with. 

The door opens, and before Tommy can pull away, Joel’s gruff voice echoes through the room. “Prospect of going to jail really puts you two in the mood, huh?” 

Heat surges to your cheeks. You’re not sure why. You and Tommy had been caught in much more compromising positions throughout your relationship.

“Gotta get what I can while I’m still a free man.” Tommy grins at his big brother, pressing another exaggerated kiss to your lips. Joel’s eyes move to the corner of the room. Your smile feels a little more forced after that. 

Your thirty minutes fly at lightning speed. They take Tommy before you’re ready. Any energy you gain from Tommy’s affection is drained the moment he’s led out of sight. You barely catch the look he gives Joel.

”Take care of them.”

Joel nods, gripping his brother’s shoulder. There’s a silent exchange between them. “Take care of yourself.”

 A clerk goes over everything with you and Joel. You’re given a strict list of items you can drop off for Tommy at the prison. You don’t process a word, the weight of it all falling on top of you. You came to the courthouse today expecting an arraignment and bail, not to be kissing your husband goodbye for the next year and change. It feels unfair like something was taken from you. 

Joel is the one who keeps it together. He always keeps it together. He asks the questions and makes note of the important things. He secures the horde of important documents held limply in your hands. 

When the clerk says your name for a second time, or maybe a third, you’re not sure, it snaps you out of the fog. Joel’s eyes are sympathetic as he holds out a pen. His single nod tells you he has all the information in his head. You can sign. You don’t have to think. You sign as flashes of Tommy doing the same filter through your vision. 

The pen drops to the table as you push back headed straight for the nearest exit. You feel like you’re in a dream. Joel catches up, tucking everything you forgot under his arm. He grabs your elbow, steering your aimless body in the right direction. He doesn’t ask if you’re okay. He knows the answer. 

You feel like a toddler, wandering and lost, relying on Joel’s firm grip to get anywhere. He opens doors and boots you into his pickup, patting the door once it’s closed. The car is warm from the sun. You fumble with the seat belt, but Joel’s calloused hands are there, guiding your weary bones. 

The ride is silent. You basket in the warm sun, head pressed to the window with your eyes closed. The world feels so far away, but you’re extremely tuned into the heat of the sun, the rumble of the truck on the shitty roads, the blinking indicator light, and Joel’s listless tapping on the steering wheel when the vehicle draws to a stop from time to time, toeing the line between consciousness.

This is just a dream, right? You’ll wake up soon and Tommy will be behind you, drawing random patterns around your stomach hip, or thigh. The past year of your life and the past 12 hours have just been the world’s longest nightmare. That’s all. 

The truck lurches to a stop. The engine turns off with a distinct click. Your eyes blink open slowly. Your stretch out, toes curling in your dress shoes. Joel’s tie lays haphazardly on the dash. His cuffs are unbuttoned, pushed to his elbows, and the top couple of buttons of his dress shirt are undone. He still looks out of place in his dress attire, but a little more like himself. He hadn’t dressed this nicely for your and Tommy’s courthouse wedding. 

Your eyes drift out the windshield. A neon light reflects off your irises. This isn’t home. You look at Joel. “Why are we here?”

His seat belt comes undone with a click, snapping back. “We’re going to go in there and get drunk off our asses.”

”It’s the middle of the day.”

Joel raises an eyebrow at you. 

”Can we just go home?”

”No.”

”Why the fuck not?”

“Because we have a sitter all day, and you deserve a night before the weight of the world falls back on your shoulders.”

”Joel.” You want to go home and crawl in bed.

”This is three times longer than his deployment.” The statement hits you square in the chest. “You need this. Give yourself today. If you don’t do it now, you never will.”

You sigh, staring down the flickering neon in front of you. He’s right. You know he is. You might be exhausted, but it’s tempting. When was the last time you let go? Maybe that one good month you had after Tommy got back? When it was all making up for lost time and shit. 

“We’ve got a sitter for the whole day,” Joel says. “My treat.”

You inhale deeply, allowing the memories of drunken nights past to fill your brain. You can feel the thrum of alcohol already. You haven’t cut loose in a long time unless you count the nights spent at home alone drowning away the world after you’d tucked your son in for the night. 

Your fingers press the red release button of your seat belt. The metal buckle hits the window. “Fuck it. Let’s go.”

Joel smiles, dragging you inside.  

Taglist: @pamasaur @alltheotps @rizzraa @moel-jiller @misstokyo7love @justagalwhowrites @pedritosgfreal

[goteique]

| SIDE EFFECTS + SAKUSA KIYOOMI.

+cw. — fem!reader, established relationship, ( domestic ) fluff, love & comfort, slight angst, mature language, atsumu being atsumu, mention of hinata and bokuto. beta-read by my beloved ray.

+wc. — 1.2k 

+syn.—  Sakusa has gotten used to you pretty quick ever since he started living with you but now that he has known the bliss, he does not want to go back to living alone.

+notes. — this is for flufftober ‘fond moments’ collab event for a prompt: quality time hosted by @spookuna. mdni cuz im eighteen plus blog.| redirect to blog navigation. & tagging @tetzoro for poking my pineal glad with a question that became a inspo for this <3

For almost a month, Kiyoomi has had an odd extension of routine that starts after his matches. It starts with going straight home ( to you ), and eating the dishes you made for him which was suggested by a dietitian of course! and then wait at least one hour before hitting the shower, and that too, a cold one since right after he is done drying himself he jumps into bed just to hold you amongst his chest like a hot bag; this . . .this particular moment is what he has been looking forward to for months and now it has finally become a part of his life, and if things do not go south then it might just last for the rest of his life. Just barely thinking of it gets him wide awake. If life was a sleepless dream, then he would not mind sleeping forever at the end of it with you.

Today, however, everything turned upside down. He came home a little late, just a little; ate silently without talking much. Generally, he turns into a yapper right when he sees you. He has so much to talk about yet even with all that bubbling enthusiasm he still does not forget to ask, “Babe, how was your day?”, “Aw, babe that’s amazing. I’m so proud of you.”, “What? Need me to scare the manager? Because I can.” he says while flexing his muscles wearing nothing but a towel around his torso but you know he won’t do that since he has the confidence that you can handle anything all by yourself. After all, you scared the shit out of Miya when you first met him and he will not accept but, indeed, Miya is not easily scared, especially by girls. However, this evening his responses were full of— “umm.” and “umhm” — nods and sneaking glances. The Kiyoomi that is reserved for the world has come home to you today. 

And that one-hour gap, between his dinner and shower, which is generally filled with listening to you as you roam around the house and work and he follows you like a puppy is filled with frequent calls, messages, and screen time today. It sure makes you worry if not disappointed or angry. It has been a month since you two started living together, so this one hour has always been filled with making this small apartment a place that you both could call “home.” Things were slowly falling into place, turning this place into a home. You were happy, and Kiyoomi? He was the happiest man in the world. 

However, crest-fallen.

Sakusa came out of the bathroom freshly showered when you were folding his clothes. Now that he can see your back properly without any thoughts lingering in his mind you look tired, sad, and perhaps. . . a little annoyed. Maybe it is not a good time to tell you the news after all but what else he can do, he does not have much time left either. He tip-toes his way towards you, slowly.

“C’mon out with it, omi. What’s up?” You say and turn towards him with a bunch of his clothes in your hand only to face a half-naked Sakusa, a pink towel wrapped around his torso, his hands in the air branching out in a form of embrace. You chuckle as you walk off to his closet but his stance remains intact just his head following you; 

his jaw drops as he enquires with utmost curiosity, “How do you always know?” which earns him just an endearing glance from you. You keep the stack of his clothes on the shelf, one by one as he finally says what has been bothering him. “I have to move out. . .to Osaka.” You had to pause before keeping the last t-shirt on the stack of clothes. Your hand is still on the edge of the closet wooden frame since you know the moment you close it— is the moment you have to face such a warped reality where you would be alone in this newly bought apartment, with no omi to wait for, cook for, or take care of. . . 

As if he could read your thoughts he mumbles sharply. “Babe, turn around.” He must be still in that pink towel. The air conditioner is on but it seems that he does not mind the cold today. You slowly turn around closing the cupboard with your hands at the back biting your lower lip in anticipation thinking if Kiyoomi had to tell you about moving out to you, then he must have tried all the possibilities of either staying here with you or taking you with him yet none of them must have worked because if it had, you two would not be standing so apart like two curtains drawn apart. 

“Oh dear God,” Kiyoomi groans as he clutches your wrist pulling you into himself. He makes you sit on the edge of the bed while he sits on the floor, legs folded keeping his head on your lap as he draws lazy patterns on the side of your thighs with both hands, simultaneously. “I never thought I’d fall in love even though I’ve planned it in my notebook ever since I was a kid.” He turns his head up, “Now that my love is here I want to keep it, safe, forever.” The water from his hair has left spots on your long tee. You run your nails through his scalp and he lets out a low even groan saying, “So, I took a week off to spend time with you and of course to get the packing done.” He has to rake his eyes open since the exhaustion blended with being sleepy along with your tender touch is too tempting not to give in.

“What?” You ask, surprised. “You did it for me?”

“Yeah. ‘course. Why wouldn’t I?”

A black pup tip-toes its way into the room and both of you watch it walk till it halts right at your feet wagging its tail, tongue hanging out of its mouth. Both of you look at each other, and then a familiar voice turns up, “We’re here love birds.” Sakusa rolls his eyes before turning around and grabbing your bathrobe to wrap himself up probably because now his senses are back enough to let him know how chill the temperature of the room is. You put your palms over your cheeks, it has become warm again, as you look at the pup. 

Just when you crouched down to pat the pup, Atsumu, Hinata, and Bokuto followed into your shared bedroom. 

“So, what’re you gonna name him?” Miya asks with a big grin plastering on his face.

“Kiyo!”

“Heyyyyy.” Naturally, Sakusa protests. Bokuto and Hinata share a look holding back their laughter. 

“Well, I call you Omi when I need something from you, or when I’m angry with you and I call you Mr. sakusa when we—you struggle to put your thoughts out in words so Atsumu interjects. 

“ —fuck.” He is still grinning. What’s he so happy about?

“Yeah. that.” you point at him while keeping your eyes still on Kiyoomi. “So, I don’t see a problem calling him Kiyo.”