#It's still April Fool's here at least | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

gasolinerainbowpuddles · 3 months ago

Text

𝙲𝚑𝚛𝚢𝚜𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚖 · · · · 𝙸𝚇. 𝙰𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚕 ║ ⓒⓗⓐⓟⓣⓔⓡⓔⓓ

𝙲𝚑𝚛𝚢𝚜𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚖 𝚖𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝 || 𝚗 𝚊 𝚟 𝚒 𝚐 𝚊 𝚝 𝚒 𝚘 𝚗 || 𝚏𝚒𝚌 𝚖𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝 | PAIRING(s): Joel Miller x fem!OC/reader

| RATING: explicit material | 18+ | CHAPTER CONTENT: this chapter contains a sensitive content warning (please refer to the dedicated warning below), POV switching, soft!Joel, protective!Joel, mental/emotional/financial abuse, trauma responses, high functioning alcoholism, angst, hurt/comfort | WORD COUNT: 13k

| CHAPTER SUMMARY: The storm rolls in.

Please read with caution if you have difficulties with works concerning domestic violence and abuse. This chapter contains several depictions and discussions of graphic violence. Highly sensitive portions WILL BE MARKED with my sensitive material banner if you wish to skip the more challenging portions. The sensitive material banner looks like this:

April Fool’s Day felt like a very fitting start to the month. Every day lately had felt like one massive joke the universe was playing on you, repeating ad nauseam and never letting you forget just how stupid you were. The extent to which you’d fucked things up with Joel had illuminated your shortcomings so brightly that it nearly burned everything else out. You’d gone so full throttle with your defensiveness that you risked severing the entire relationship during your first real fight.

The fact that it was entirely avoidable made it all the more humiliating. Of course, avoiding it would’ve required you to not be so damn defensive over everything, holding things so close to your chest that they ended up crushing your ribcage and making you implode on yourself.

The shame in the aftermath was almost immediate, starting before you’d even walked all the way home, and it had only flourished since. You’d responded like a child - petulant and overreactive. Like you were nothing more than an injured animal backed into a corner, all bristled fur and warning snaps of teeth before finally striking when pushed too far.

But you hadn’t been backed into a corner, and Joel had simply sought understanding and connection. The trust he’d asked you to grant him was something he’d more than earned by this point, but you had still rebuffed his kindness and treated him just the same as someone acting in bad faith. A brief moment of retrospection made it obvious his usually coolheadedness slipped in the moment after being shaken up by your disclosure about what had actually happened on New Year’s Eve.

Of course he wasn’t himself after learning that you’d been carrying around such a jarring experience. Of course he’d begun to worry what else you might be shouldering on your own if you were capable of hiding such an upsetting event. Of course he’d reacted by pressing you for an assurance that there wasn’t anything else you were dealing with on your own – especially when he was right there and wanted to help.

He’d toed that line for months around you and had finally crossed it no more than a hair, and you’d gone nuclear. It had been too much, but, the further removed from the fight you got, the more you realized it was always going to be too much. It wouldn’t have mattered if he’d walked on eggshells or barged right in with it. Your inability to handle his push for emotional intimacy was inevitable, and you never even put in the effort beforehand to counteract any of your spiraling. You could’ve at least had a plan. You could’ve at least had something to fall back on. But you didn’t. You’d failed yourself and, maybe worse, failed Joel.

You’d barely spoken to him the entire week following. Too much anger seated in your chest. Angry at him for prying. Angry at yourself for not giving him the trust he’d earned. Angry at all the life experiences you’d accumulated that made it impossible to just behave like a normal fucking person for once.

Just like he’d done the whole time you’d known him, Joel let you dictate where things went from here. He gave you the space you were clearly signaling for, and you wish he’d force your hand. Call your bluff. Not give you the option to avoid him. You wish he’d put his foot down and demand you get over yourself and your pride and whatever else was holding you back. Make things get back to normal. But of course he would never disrespect your autonomy like that. He’d already apologized for poorly vocalized feelings on his part and pressuring you for information when you clearly weren’t comfortable sharing it.

You, on the other hand, were too much of a coward to apologize.

What if you apologized and he realized just how crazy you’d acted? What if acknowledging your faults only highlighted them to the point he realized you were never going to grow past the broken person you are? What if by speaking on all your shortcomings he realized he was wasting his time on somebody who was too far gone? Too much of a lost cause? Too undeserving of someone like him?

So, you didn’t apologize. You don’t acknowledge it. You just keep the two of you in an emotionally stunted purgatory. When you kissed him good morning and goodnight, it felt so reserved and loaded. It was like all the life had been sucked out of your energy together. Like you’d sucked all the good out of this relationship just like the emotional vampire you were. The shame spiral was hollowing you from the inside out, and you didn’t know how to make it stop.

You were already on week 3 of fucking up you and Joel’s relationship, and you wanted to slam your head into the wall until you stopped acting like this. Why were you acting like this? Not only was it completely draining, but you had put yourself right back into that cycle of not chasing happiness and going after a better life.

It took every ounce of willpower you possessed to keep your cool with your dad, but your anger was steadily chipping away at whatever sanity you had left because his girlfriend — no, fiancé — Denise had shifted wedding planning into top gear and made it a sort of forced group activity whenever she was over, which unfortunately was happening more and more. She’d been making herself quite cozy in your house lately and especially when her kids were at after school clubs or spring break sleepaway camps.

While you cooked everyone dinner, cleared the table, and started on the dishes, she set up shop right in the middle of everything with her tacky venue pamphlets, hideous color palette cards, pricing charts for cakes, and all other assortment of wedding planning staples. You were looped into all of it by default as you stood at the sink washing dish after dish and putting leftovers into containers.

You bitterly wondered to yourself why she wasn’t the one cooking the meals and cleaning up after everybody since she was so desperate to be your dad’s wife. If she wanted to play house so bad, why not start right now and spare you the chore of all this mundane labor and forced interaction?

It had never been a mystery what your dad saw in her. She was an attractive woman who fulfilled the role of beautiful wife with two kids young enough that they could be “trained up” with a bit of effort. It was the redo for the perfect nuclear family that your mom, brother, and yourself had never been able to uphold. It made your stomach twist to think of how your dad would no doubt take all the mistakes he’d made with you all – namely, not being harsh or strict enough – and correct them with this second try.

What Denise saw in him became a little more clear with night after night of inane, one-sided conversations she held with your dad somewhere nearby throwing her a bored hum of agreement every now and then. It was clear that she was projecting her idealizations of a man onto your father rather than seeing what was in front of her. The way she didn’t even seem to care if he answered her or seemed interested made it obvious that any man could be sitting in his place. He was her little paper doll to play house and happily ever after with.

She was so lost in her willed delusions that she was missing the writing on the wall. You had no doubt this time around with a wife and kids that your dad’s corrections would be swift and fierce. Denise was so busy projecting her dream life onto him that she didn’t even realize the horrors waiting for her and her children in the near future.

Would you have to be there to witness your dad destroy another three lives? Would you have to watch him overpower and break down more children? Would you be the silent, complicit counterpart in all this, having learned to keep quiet if you want to survive?

You start to feel nauseous imagining the looks of panic in their eyes, settling on you to please save them and watching their faces drop and contort when they realize you can’t. You’re stuck here, too. This is your prison, too, and has been for a very long time.

“Are you even listening?” Denise snips.

You whip around to find her looking at you expectantly. Your dad wasn’t sitting at the table anymore. Denise held a trifold pamphlet in her hand, but you couldn’t see what it was about.

“Are you talking to me?”

“Well who else would I be talking to?” she drones with an eye roll. “You’ve really got your head in the clouds today, huh?”

You grit your teeth at her blatant impoliteness but hold your tongue as best you can. “I must not have heard you over doing the dishes,” you say pointedly.

She’s already got her focus on the pamphlet again and hardly acknowledges your remark. “Well put that thing down for a minute and let me ask you about this.”

You rest the soggy sponge on the edge of the sink and dry your hands on the towel hanging from the stove. Your brain was just going through the motions as it tried to multitask and figure out what on earth she could possibly have to ask you about. You’re not sure you’ve ever held an entire conversation with just her. Usually your dad was hovering around, no doubt making sure you didn’t say the wrong thing and incriminate him.

She motions for you to sit without glancing up, and you settle into the chair across the table from her. “Uh, what exactly did you want to talk about?”

“I need to make sure we can count on you for the wedding party. We’re working on the lists right now, and I don’t want to put you on there if it’s going to be a problem.” She pins you with a haughty look and crosses her legs and arms.

You sit in silence for a moment, stunned at the idea that you’d ever willingly take part in this stupid marriage. “Uhhhh, I’m not really sure what you mean by that.”

She rolls her eyes again and shakes her head like she’s already talked this over with you a million times. “What I mean is,” she huffs with a sour look, “the people in your dad’s life seem to have a bad habit of just…. running off and leaving their responsibilities in the dust. I want your word that you are going to actually be reliable and not blow the whole thing off the day of just because you get a wild hair up your ass.”

It takes a while for her words to register. The charge of them felt too audacious to have actually come out of her mouth. Had she really just said that? It barely sinks in before she’s talking again.

“So? Are you going to give me your word that you’re not going to skip town so famously like your mom and Calum?” Her eyebrow is arched so high it almost reaches her hairline. She leans forward and snaps her finger in the air as if you need to be yanked from some inattentive state. “Hello? I’m talking to you!”

“Go fuck yourself,” you say quietly.

“What was that?” she asks, turning her head slightly to hear you.

“I said,” you repeat louder, “GO. FUCK. YOURSELF.”

She gasps and drops back against her chair, hand clutched over her heart. “Excuse me?!” “I don’t want anything to do with your sham of a wedding,” you seethe. “I don’t want anything to do with this entire stupid marriage that’s just going to end up in the gutter because you’re such a shallow, vapid bitch that you can’t even see what you’re dragging yourself and your kids into. You’re a shitty mom and I guess a shitty wife since this is gonna be your second marriage. Failed the first time. Gonna fail again.”

Denise sits in a stunned silence before her look of shock morphs into a furious indignation. You cut her off before she can even think to speak negatively about your brother again.

“So to answer your question, Denise: NO. You can’t count on me to be there. I wouldn’t waste my time on somebody who’s so far beneath me and my brother. Keep his name out of your disgusting mouth and spend more time worrying about what sort of hell you’re about to drag your kids into.”

Your chest heaves with adrenaline, fists balled tight, as she jumps up from her chair and rounds on you. She shoves a shaky finger in your face and hisses, “How dare you!”

You swat her hand away and stand your ground. She’s not much taller than you, and, much to your morbid amusement, she’s patently nervous to engage in such a confrontational, physical way.

“What the fuck is goin’ on in here?” your dad thunders.

You spin around and lock eyes with him. Your face must be a dead giveaway because his own darkens with a foreboding anger. Denise swipes her things from the table and shoves them into the tote bag hanging off one of the chairs before shouldering past you, sniffling loudly, and stopping in front of your dad in the doorway.

“She doesn’t even show you any respect, so I don’t know why I thought there’d be any for me.”

She looks back at you with an expression of pure disdain and straightens herself taller. “I’m not staying a single night in this house if she’s going to be here,” she declares before stomping past your dad and down the hallway to the front door.

He calls her name, but she doesn’t stop. Her disregard for his instruction seems to surprise him. He chases after her out of the house and leaves you standing in the kitchen. Your head is pounding, and everything is a little fuzzy around the edges. Your chest bounces up and down with stilted breaths, and your entire body begins to tremble with the realization of what you’ve just done. You hadn’t meant to unleash all of that on her, but something about her mentioning Calum was the last straw.

It never felt quite right sticking up for yourself. You were never convinced it was worth it – that you were worth it. Too much trouble for too little of a person. But Calum? He was someone worth sticking up for. Despite having virtually no interaction at all with him, Denise felt qualified to make outlandish statements and character judgements about him. Maybe she felt emboldened because he wasn’t here to defend himself, but you couldn’t just let his name drip from her mouth like a poison she was trying to spit out.

You hear her car engine roar to life. The peal of her tires sound all the way down the street until it fades away completely. You unclench your hands and run your clammy palms against your jeans. The silence grows louder as you wait for your father to come back inside and address you. Your eyes dart to the back door for a split second.

Should you run? Did you have time? Could you just bolt and run to Joel’s?

The heavy creak of footfall in the hallway makes you jump. Your dad walks wordlessly past the doorway and heads into the garage. You stand frozen on the spot, bewildered at his decision to not even confront you about making Denise upset and speaking negatively about him. Was he going to make you wait it out? A sort of psychological torture knowing that his reprimand was inevitable?

His footsteps grow louder as he stalks back to the kitchen with a large glass bottle in tow. He eyes you as he takes a large pull from it before setting it aside on the counter. Your fists instinctively clench again as he calmly approaches you. Without a word or a warning, he draws his arm back and forcefully strikes you across the face with an open hand hit. The impact of it knocks you off balance, and you catch yourself before dropping to the floor.

“Get up.” His voice is a monotone, distant reverberation.

You shakily prop yourself up from the tiles and stand up again. Even though you knew it was coming, the second hit still catches you off guard. You crash into the floor hard this time – so haphazardly that your knees are stinging just as badly as your face.

“Get up,” he repeats in the same dead tone.

You shake your head. You lock your vision to the tiles beneath you, too frightened of making eye contact with him should he consider it some sort of challenge of his dominance. You hear the bottle clink against the counter after he takes another large gulp. You track his dress shoes as they get closer.

“No? You can’t face the consequences of your choices?” he derides.

He doesn’t wait for an answer. The thick sole of his shoe connects with the meat of your hip, sending a sharp shooting pain down your leg. Your mouth opens in silent wheeze. Somehow amidst all of this you still don’t want to give him the satisfaction of hearing you scream. He kicks you again, forcing you onto your back, and you stare blankly up at him. The ceiling lights illuminating him from above cast a shadow across his face, but you can make out the hard edge of his jaw where it pulls into a sneer.

The vice grip of his hand encircles your bicep, and he wrenches you up with it just as his other hand balls into a fist and strikes you twice in the face. A shrill noise fills your ears like a bell’s been wrung, and white speckles dance in your vision. You taste the metallic bite of blood before you feel it drip from your nose and mouth. You’re too disoriented to realize you’ve been hoisted up onto the table until you feel the wiry cinch of his fingers closing in around your throat like a vice.

“You think you call the shots,” he hisses. “You don’t call the fuckin’ shots.”

He grips your throat tighter and throttles it for what is probably a few seconds but feels like an eternity.

“ The only reason you’re even allowed to breathe is because I let you.” To emphasize his point, he squeezes hard enough that you start choking and coughing against the pressure. Your fingers work fruitlessly against his hold, and he lets go just as black begins to fog your vision. You scramble for the hallway, your brain screaming at you to run run run. Your entire body snaps backward, and you hazily gather that he grabbed your hair and yanked you downward.

“Running away from your problems, huh?” he tuts. “Just like your mom and brother.”

Your hands are clamped around his forearm, but it doesn’t do much to loosen his grip on your hair where the hold of it makes your scalp prickle.

“Well, you don’t get to give up and run off like they did, so how about we clear a few things up, hm? Here’s how this is gonna go from here on out,” he fumes.

His eyes bore into yours, but there’s nothing more than an angry void staring back at you. Even the vicious wrath and violence consuming him are not enough to bring life to his eyes. You swallow hard and feel the sting of your skin where he’d just been choking you. He jerks you around like a sad little puppet and effortlessly maneuvers you across the room to the sink. Droplets of blood fall and bloom into the dirty water. You plant your hands onto the edge for the tiny bit of leverage you can manage, but he threads his arm through your elbows and captures them behind your own back and against his chest. You can only go where he directs you to go, and that place is head first into the dirty water.

You gasped as your face plummeted but managed to hold your breath just before the wide cast of his palm held it submerged. You puff out a blast of air and suck another one in the second your mouth rises above the liquid.

“You are going to apologize to Denise,” he spits.

He slams your head under the water again rougher this time, and your face knocks against plates and glasses before coming up again.

“You will not embarrass me.”

You don’t close your eyes in time and get a heavy, soapy wash in them. They sting and burn, but your arms aren’t free to wipe it away. You splutter and wheeze, desperate to center yourself and keep as calm a mind as possible. It was hard to think beyond the primal instincts of catching and holding your breath. Apparently your survival instincts are vexing to your dad because the next time he sends you under, he grabs and twists one of your wrists while simultaneously digging a knee into the soft curve of your inner thigh. You scream at the surprise pain, gurgling and inhaling water in the process.

You’re still shrieking and coughing when he brings you up, and he screams in your ear. “SHUT THE FUCK UP!”

You flinch and whimper but manage to choke back frightened sobs.

“If you ever embarrass me like that again, you might never come back up from that water. Understand?” It’s said like a twisting knife through your ribs, and you wordlessly nod your understanding.

“You realize nobody would give a shit if you were dead? You know how long you’d have to be missing for someone to realize it and go lookin’ for you?”

“Dad, please,” you whisper. “Please don’t.” You’re not sure what you’re asking of him other than to not hurt you anymore tonight.

He huffs a humorless laugh and shakes his head. “Un-fucking-believable.”

He flings you across the room, sending you flying into the table and chairs. They screech and clatter around your bumbling body, and you don’t have the energy to fight the fall. You lie in a crumpled heap halfway under the table and suck in generous lungfuls of air.

“Clean this mess up and fix your face,” he barks before gripping his precious bottle of liquor and ambling down the hall and up the stairs.

The reality of what just happened begins to register. Your body throbs all over. Your chest is tight, and your breaths feel harder to take. Your body shakes with the effort of getting yourself off the floor. Little drops of blood fall from your nose. You grab up a handful of paper towels and shove them against your face. The applied pressure drowns out the quiet little cries that are wedged in your throat. You squeeze your eyes shut and try to take normal breaths, but the adrenaline slamming through your veins practically demands your inhales barely make it past your windpipe.

Everything hurts. It hurts to breathe. It hurts to move. It hurts to cry. Your mind goes a bit numb as you quietly right the upturned chairs, wipe up the dirty floor, and clear out the sink. Your hair and face drips water onto the floor you just dried. You can’t say how much time has passed, but it’s dark outside now. Upstairs is quiet. You pray he’s drank himself to sleep. Your mind is chaotic and sluggish all at once, and pulling a cohesive thought together feels impossible.

A deep part of you just wants to go to sleep and not be conscious for any of this. The louder, bigger part of you is ringing every alarm bell in your mind. This was just like the time you thought your dad was going to kill Calum in front of you. It was the same feeling of fear, except this time you held it for yourself.

Calum. He said go to Joel’s. He’d made you promise that you’d go to Joel’s if you needed to.

You want to.

You’re going to.

But what if your dad finds out? What if he shows up to Miller Contracting offices? What if he finds Joel’s house? Did he own a firearm? You don’t think he does. But what if he did? Would he hurt Joel for intervening?

Your brain fires off a million miles a minute, but none of it is helpful. Your phone buzzes on the dresser. It’s Joel. You hit the big red button and shoot him a text.

You: I don’t feel good. I can’t come to work tomorrow. Sorry.

He calls again, and you decline again.

Joel: Please answer the phone. Do you need anything? You: I’m ok You: I just rly need to sleep rn Joel: Please call me tomorrow morning when you wake up! You: ok I will Joel: Get some sleep. Please tell me if you need anything.

You set the phone back down and sink down onto the edge of the bed. Your head feels heavy in your hands. Your body gives way and slumps to the floor. You lay there so long you feel the impression of whatever you landed on pressing into your arm. You crawl to your dresser and pull yourself up to look at the clock.

11pm.

You slink quietly to the bathroom and run the tap. You should probably shower, but you don’t want to risk waking your dad. You look at yourself in the mirror for the first time and burst into a fresh wave of tears. You bury your head into a washcloth and cry. You cry until you can’t anymore. The crying makes your face even puffier. You douse the washcloth in ice cold water and press it against your face. It’s not enough to offset the swelling. It’s going to look even worse tomorrow.

Tomorrow.

Would your dad even remember any of this in the morning? Worse yet, would he feel like he hadn’t gotten his message across the first time and come back to make a firmer point?

A shudder rolls through your body. You can’t stay here. You can’t be here. He might kill you. He wants you dead. He might try to kill you the next time. There will be a next time. The next time could be the last time. You can’t stay here. You can’t be here.

You clean yourself up as best you can and change into a hoodie and clothes that aren’t soiled with blood. Your hands shake and make it hard to hold the bobby pin steady while you unscrew a few vents and retrieve the small amounts of money you’d been diverting over the past several months. You have enough to stay somewhere for a little bit. You cram what belongings you can into a backpack and threadbare dufflebag. The rest will have to get left behind.

Your head is empty and buzzing. The night air smarts against your busted lip, throbbing nose, and puffy eye. Your legs are a lead weight, each step forward harder than the last. The shed door feels impossibly heavy and strains muscles you’re pretty sure you’ve never used before. The effort of mounting the bike almost makes you cry again. The muscle spasms and sheer exhaustion make it difficult to steer. You bike slowly but surely to the rundown, affordable motel you’d passed enough times to have the location burned into your brain. There certainly weren't enough reserves there to have found lodging any other way.

The front desk clerk barely gives you a second look as she slides you a room key. Paying cash makes things easier. You aren’t even sure the credit machine is working anyway. Her lazy drawl curls into your ear: there’s some vending machines on the righthand side of the building if you’re hungry or thirsty. You give a curt nod and wobble to your room. It smells moldy and is full of dust. You lock the door and collapse into the bed. Dawn bleeds on the horizon.

Joel anxiously passes your house on his way to the office. Nothing seems amiss. Maybe you really were just feeling under the weather and needed a day to rest. Your texts last night were so curt, and the declined calls did little to ease his worry. You hadn’t texted him this morning like you’d said you would. Maybe you were still asleep.

You’d been off ever since that argument. He’d apologized for overstepping your boundary, but things hadn’t gone back to normal. You’d been pulling away ever since. He was afraid you were going to break things off entirely, find a different job, find a new life without him . . .

It’s almost noon, and you still haven’t replied to the text he sent this morning just to check up on how you were doing. The anxiety makes his stomach clench so tight he can’t even eat lunch. It just about bottoms out when you text later that afternoon to say you weren’t going to be able to make it in tomorrow either. You don’t respond when he calls. It rings and rings and rings before going to voicemail. Last night you’d at least hit the decline button and sent him to voicemail after the second ring.

Something was wrong.

To hell with boundaries. He needed to check on you. He needed to see for himself that you were okay. If you were upset with him and planning on breaking things off with him, he at least wanted a chance to beg and plead for you to hear him out and keep trying. He’d do anything you asked. He’d do anything to make things right.

Your dad’s car is in the driveway when Joel pulls up and parks along the curb. He knocks on the door – three firm raps – and waits. A few seconds pass before your dad swings the door open, a waft of grain alcohol emanating from him with the motion. Your dad looks surprised for a split second before pulling his face together into a tight sneer.

“Joel Miller,” he drawls. He drags it out like the punchline to an unspoken joke.

“Sorry to interrupt your evening activities—” Joel deadpans before getting cut off.

“You here to get the rest of her shit, huh?” he scoffs.

The callous lilt in his voice instantly raises Joel’s hackles. Dread pours into his bloodstream. Where were you? What had happened? Were you okay?

“Yeah. S’pose I am,” he responds tightly.

Your dad mutters something about “not brave enough to handle her own messes” under his breath and gestures broadly for Joel to enter. He stumbles down the hall, pausing at one point to steady himself, before waving Joel off into your room.

“S’all yours, pal,” he slurs.

Joel pushes past him and takes in the disheveled state of your room. It was clear that you’d left in a hurry. Anger swells in his chest as he pieces together what at this point is undeniable. How long had you been living in this? Why hadn’t you told him? He’s sick to his stomach knowing he could’ve helped if you’d just let him. He’s angry with himself for not demanding you let him help.

He gathers up what’s left of your things, but there’s nothing to pack it in. He improvises with some plastic construction bags from his truck.

Your dad hovers and sways in the hallway, snorting loudly at the bags. “Yeah, that’s about right,” he chortles.

“What’s that now?” Joel grits out.

“Couldn't help but-but laugh at the garbage bags. Just very fitting,” he notes with a theatrical shrug.

Joel shakes his head, not following the wet brained commentary spilling out.

“Garbage for garbage,” your dad clarifies in a nasty tone.

Joel feels like he could grind his jaw to ash with how tightly it's clamped. He’s held his tongue long enough.

“Could say the same about you havin’ nothin’ to offer,” he bites back. “A big nothin’ of a man who has nothin’ to offer either of his kids. Two kids that have done worlds beyond what seems possible considering the absolute shit hand they were dealt with having parents like you.”

The look on your dad’s face sours instantly. “Y’know, I’m not sure what the ‘arrangement’ is between the two of you, but I’ll just say I’m glad she’s somebody else’s problem now. Best of luck with that one. Even her own mom never even looked back when she left. My ex was dumb as shit, but she was smart enough to know neither of those kids are easy to love.”

Joel draws himself up to full height and towers over this poor excuse of a man and a father. He considers kicking in a big patch of drywall in the hallway or maybe even your dad’s head for a split second, just to fuck something up. Just to send a message. Just to show dominance and sow the seed of fear. Just enough to make your dad uncertain of his own safety.

But he doesn’t want to give him the satisfaction or waste any more time here. He needs to figure out where you are and if you’re okay. The last of the plastic bags are shoved into the bed of the truck and into the seat. He starts up the engine and shifts it into drive.

“You got anything to say to her, you go through me,” Joel growls out the driver side window without bothering to make eye contact.

“Oh, don’t worry. I already cut her line today,” he laughs from the porch. “Should be cut off by now or at least by tomorrow. Couldn’t call her even if I was dumb enough to want that kinda thing.”

Joel doesn’t bother saying anything else. He waits until he’s parked in his own driveway before pulling his phone out and calling you. No answer. He calls four more times with no answer. Every time it just rings and rings and rings until sending him over to voicemail. There’s no new texts from you. He starts to panic.

Joel: Please just let me know you’re okay.

He placates himself with the thought that maybe you went to Kenzie’s. She didn’t live too far away if memory served him correctly. He unloads your things from the truck and haphazardly sets them down in the living room. A work email pops up, but he ignores it. He goes straight for the text notification bubble and breathes a sigh of relief to see it’s from you.

You: I’m ok You: just need to rest more You: hopefully will be better over the weekend You: sorry for having to call out

He stews over what he should say. Were you hiding from him, too? Were you getting out of the city? Where were you?

The same work email comes through a second time. Then a third. Then a fourth. Joel clicks on it and reads the vague, nondescript request from some woman named Jasmine to please reach out to her about an urgent matter concerning her parents’ flooded basement. He hasn’t done a basement in a while. This lady’s gotta have the wrong contracting company, and, by the looks of it, she’s not going to stop pestering him until he responds.

Joel sighs and taps the number she gave. It rings twice before it goes through. He wants to get this conversation over with as fast as possible and send this Jasmine woman on her way and in the right direction of whichever contractor it is that’s actually responsible for her parents’ basement.

“Hey there, just giving you a call back from an email you sent. I’m not sure you’ve got the right compa–”

“Sorry, is this Joel Miller?” she interrupts.

“Yes, ma’am, and I’m one of the owners of Miller Contracting. Like I was sayin’, I think you’ve got–”

“Hi, sorry again, but I wasn’t sure how else to get a hold of you.”

Joel’s throat suddenly feels tight. “Who is this?”

“My name’s Jasmine. You don’t know me, but I’m Calum’s girlfriend. I think you know his sister? That’s why I’m calling,” she explains.

“Is she with you? Is she okay?” he abruptly prods.

The line is quiet for a moment, and then a deflated reply, “No. No, she’s not. I was calling because–”

There’s some muffled conversation coming through, and Joel talks loudly into the receiver. “Hello? HELLO?”

“Yes, hi. I’m still here. Sorry. That’s Calum. He’s a little worried is all. He hasn’t been able to get a hold of her, and—”

The line is a fuzzy static for a few beats before a male voice comes through. “Joel? This is Calum. Man, I haven’t heard from her, and I was trying to think of how to get in contact with you. Jazzy thought of sending the email. You haven’t heard from her? She didn’t respond to any of my texts yesterday, and when I tried calling her earlier she didn’t pick up. It’s not like her. I’m getting fuckin’ nervous, man.”

“She responded to my texts last night and today, but she didn’t say much. Said she needed a few days off from work but didn’t say why. Just that she wasn’t feelin’ good.”

“So you haven’t seen her?” Calum presses, sounding more panicked by the second. “When’s the last time you saw her? Heard from her?”

“No, I haven’t seen her today. I went by your house to check on her, but she wasn’t there. Your dad was shitfaced. Most of her stuff was gone. He assumed I was there to get the rest of it, so I just went with it. I don’t know where she went, but it’s pretty clear she left the house for good.”

There’s a muffled conversation on the other end, and Joel strains to listen to it. Bits of “Calum, baby, you have to stay calm, okay?” and anxious sounding responses each time is all he can make out.

“Joel, man, please–”

“Listen to me, kid. I’m gonna go find her, okay? You listening to what I’m sayin’? You hear me?”

“Y-Yeah, I hear you,” Calum stammers. “I just– you don’t know everything about what’s going on. It’s… it’s not a good situation.”

“I gathered as much,” Joel lightly corrects. “Give me your number and Jasmine’s number. I’m gonna get to the bottom of this and make sure she’s safe, alright? I’ll get in touch with one of you to let you know when I find her, and I promise you she’s safe with me, okay?”

“Thank you,” Calum breathes.

Joel jots down the multiple numbers Jasmine gives him – “just in case” – and, after giving another round of assurances, ends the call. He takes the time to center himself and calm his racing thoughts. He wasn’t going to be effective in locating you if his mind was shooting off every second. The device location feature on all the work phones springs to mind, but his search comes up empty. He knows someone who could help him figure it out, though.

“Dad?” Sarah’s voice comes through. “What’s up? Shouldn’t you be in bed by now, gramps?”

“Uh, yeah. Probably. Very funny. Listen, I need your help with somethin’.”

“Is everything okay?” she asks, voice shifting into concern.

“Sort of.”

He explains the situation without the more worrisome details and is feeling like he’s finally getting somewhere when she walks him through the steps and helps him locate the dingy motel a short drive away where your location pin is highlighted.

“Dad?”

“Yeah, baby girl?”

“Look, I know I was kinda… I know I was sort of hinting at it with some jokes when you were here helping with our kitchen – and I’m not saying I know everything about your, um, situation with her – but what exactly is the plan? I mean, does she want to be found? Because if you go looking for her but she doesn’t want to be found….”

Her loaded silence hangs heavy over the line. Joel understands. If he inserts himself into a situation where he’s not welcome, he could land himself in trouble or just make things worse.

He lets out a heavy exhale. “I think if anything I can’t live with the idea of her being out there scared and by herself.”

“I get that, dad, but what if… look, just- just be careful, okay?”

“I promise I will, baby girl. I’ll shoot you a text when I get this sorted out, alright?”

“Okay. Just please be careful, and, like, get Uncle Tommy to help you or something if you need it, okay? I don’t want you getting hurt.”

It warms his heart to hear how protective she is. “I’m not gonna get hurt. I just need to get to the bottom of all this. I swear I’ll text you when I get word of somethin’, okay?”

“Okay. Love you, dad. Be safe.”

“Love you, too, baby girl.”

The pitter patter of rain snaps against the window as the call ends and quickly picks up into a full blown shower within minutes. The windshield wipers on his truck can barely keep up with the downpour, but thankfully it’s not a long drive to your location pin. The bright orange doors with peeling paint all look alike in the wet blur of the storm. He can’t even make out room numbers.

Between the late hour and the storm, there’s not a lot of movement. He considers knocking on doors until he finds you, but he doesn’t much want to get the front desk or cops called on him for disturbing the lodgers. He wants to get out and walk around just to feel like he’s doing something productive, but that didn’t seem like that great of an idea, either. So, he waits. And waits. And waits. The storm picks up and stalls in a waning cycle. A few people answer their doors for food deliveries or step outside for a smoke, but he’s only eliminated a handful of possible rooms that could be yours.

It would’ve taken you a long time to get here by walking, so he assumes you biked. It was unlikely you’d leave that outside, though, given this wasn’t the best area. It was sure to be stolen if left unattended. There really isn’t much separating the rooms from the parking lot and nearby street. The thought of you being here by yourself, practically out in the open, made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. It wasn’t an ideal layout for privacy and protection if your dad wanted to find you and somehow managed to figure out where you were.

You haven’t responded to any of Joel’s most recent texts and calls. He dims his phone and sighs. A crack of thunder makes him flinch, drawing his attention to a dimly lit hallway he hadn’t noticed before. His insides get tight when he starts to wonder if you’d even gotten a room at all. What if you were just huddled up in some random hallway because you didn’t have enough money for a room?

That singular thought is all it takes to get him jumping out of his truck and making a beeline for the flickering hallway. The buzz of old vending machines grows louder as he approaches. A small figure stands in front of the machines, hugging tightly around their torso as they look over the offerings. The smaller frame skewed feminine in build, but it was far enough away that he couldn’t be certain. The last thing he wanted to do was give some poor, unsuspecting woman a scare.

Joel kept his distance and pretended to be on his phone, although he wasn’t even certain the person could see him from where he was loitering between a minivan and a tall truck. They seemed skittish and distracted as they grabbed their dispensed snack and scurried back across the parking lot. He wanted to yell out your name, just in case, but that would frighten the already jumpy person regardless of who it was. Thinking quickly, Joel pulled out his phone and tapped your contact icon. The figure paused just as they got to their door and tugged a glowing phone from their pocket. A quick tap and the screen went black – just as Joel’s did.

The figure slipped through the room door and quickly closed it behind them. It could’ve been a coincidence, but this was the closest thing to finding you that he’d come across all night. With a renewed determination, Joel strode quickly across the lot and towards the room.

The rain had finally let up enough for you to wander over to the vending machines. Your face – along with pretty much everything else – was still sore, but the bag of flavored popcorn you got was as soft a food as you could find to settle your gnawing stomach. You hadn’t eaten or drank much of anything due to the discomfort of moving your jaw and chewing. Your stomach gurgles on cue and reminds you that the tense ache crawling up the nape of your neck is probably going to get worse if you don’t get some water and food soon.

The bag slips from your hand at the first gentle knock on the door.

At first you thought you were hearing things, maybe from low blood sugar or lack of sleep over the past couple of days, but then a second firmer knock came. Your legs froze to the spot. How had your dad found you? What was he going to do? Were the people who’d been staying in the room next door still there? Would they be able to hear you if you called for help? You should’ve answered Joel’s call that just came through instead of hitting the decline button.

“Baby, it’s Joel. Are you in there? Sweetheart, if that’s you in there, please just let me talk to ya.”

A sharp gasp jerks your entire chest as it culls into your lungs. Without even thinking, your body propels itself towards the door and towards Joel – towards safety.

“Joel?” you ask in near disbelief. “Is it really you?”

“It’s me, sweetheart. Been lookin’ for you. Been worried sick,” comes the muffled response.

You begin unlocking the door but pause when you remember the current state of your swollen and bruised figure.

Misunderstanding your hesitance as not wanting to see him, he offers, “I know you want space, but… just-just a minute is all I’m askin’. Just give me five minutes and I’ll be outta your hair. I swear it.”

Your heart plummets to the floor knowing he believes you don’t want him here. “No, it’s not that. I want to let you in. It’s just….” You struggle to find the words. “Listen, I need you to close your eyes, okay? Promise me you’ll close your eyes and keep them shut the entire time.”

There’s a loaded silence on the other side of the door. You can only imagine the confusion of such a request, but you aren’t sure how else to go about this.

“I’ll keep ‘em shut. I won’t even touch you, baby. I swear I’ll keep my distance, okay? I swear it.”

“Okay. I’m– I’ll open up the door for you now, so close your eyes, okay?”

“They’re closed.”

You draw in a deep exhale and brace yourself for the interaction ahead. No more secrets. No more hiding. No more lying. You pull the door open and want to crumple into him right then and there. Big, broad, and safe. Waiting for you. Came looking for you even though it’d been storming for hours now.

You gingerly grasp his hand and lead him inside, shutting the door closed behind you. His nose wrinkles at the damp smell of the dingy room that you’ve become nose blind to at this point. You guide him to the edge of the bed where his knees hit and prompt him to sit. He reaches for your other hand and gently holds them in his own.

“Sorry. Know I’m not supposed’ta touch you. Just need to feel that you’re really here. Been worried about you.”

“That’s okay,” you whisper. “You can hold my hands. You can hold me. It’s okay.”

“How come I can hold you but I can’t see you?” he hedges.

“That’s… hard to answer.”

“Hm. Got anything to do with your room lookin’ like a bat flew outta hell?”

Your stomach clenches uncomfortably. “How do you know that?”

He shrugs his shoulders. “Went to check on you. Like I said, I got worried. Your dad answered the door and assumed I was there to get the rest of your things, which I did.”

“Did he… Did my dad say anything?”

“Nothin’ worth repeating,” he huffs humorlessly. “Just some shit about turnin’ your phone off. Told him if he ever wanted to talk to you he had to do it through me.”

“Y-You said that?”

“Yeah. I did. And I meant it.”

A velvety, piercing thread of emotion weaves around your ribcage at his words, and you’re overcome with the magnitude of just how much this man in front of you cares about you.

He shifts uncomfortably and clears his throat. “I really wanna see you, sweetheart. I wanna see you and hold you. I just need to hold you tight for a minute. Please.”

“Joel,” you choke out in a flare of trepidation and warning of what happens once he sees you. “You have to promise me, Joel. You have to promise that you won’t have some big reaction. I really don’t think I could handle that right now.”

His brow crunches together like he’s recognizing that whatever he’s imagined is probably not bad enough. “I promise.”

“Okay,” you breathe. “You can– You can open your eyes.”

His lids barely flutter apart before his jaw sets hard, eyes going into a muted fury as he takes in your constellation of bruising and swelling. He dips his head and nods a few times as if he’s gathering himself, honoring your request that he not have some huge response.

“This happen a lot?” he grits in a low, dangerous tone.

You shrug and ignore the hot feeling growing behind your eyes. “Been a while since it was physical.”

“Is he–Did he–Did he touch you any other kind of way?” His question catches like it burned his throat on the way up. He looks up again, eyes boring into yours.

“No.” You shake your head and drop your gaze. “No, nothing like that. Just, uh, knocked me around a little. Shook me up to make a point, I guess.”

“Do you–Are you hurt?” He grimaces at his own inane question.

You shoot him a humorless smile and shrug your shoulders again. “Feel better than I did this morning, I guess.”

“Did you go anywhere? Were you seen by somebody? A doctor?” he presses.

You shake your head and squeeze his hands tighter. “No. Just, um, just came here right after. Got some ice from the machine in the lobby and got most of the swelling under control. Don’t think there’s anything so fucked up that I felt like it would justify a stupid expensive emergency room visit.”

“I’ll pay for it. I don’t care. Whatever it is, I’ll cover it.”

The impulse to reject his offer springs up, but you let the dismissal die on your tongue. If you wanted to honor this newfound trust in your relationship, you had to have the actions to back it up. You weren’t going to hide anymore. You weren’t going to ignore and rebuff ever offer to care for you. You weren’t going to weather the storm alone.

“Only if you’re, you know-only if you’re sure. If you want, we can go in the morning. I’ll go with you tomorrow. I, um, appreciate you offering to pay.”

He can’t conceal the brief astonishment of your amiable acceptance, and it quickly bleeds into elated relief. “Yeah, of course, sweetheart. Okay. Good. Yeah, we’ll go tomorrow and get you looked over. Make sure everything is okay.”

You lean into him, arms vining around his broad torso, and sink into the asylum of his embrace. “Can I stay with you tonight?” you whisper.

His body tenses as he pulls back to see your face, wearing an expression of confusion on his own. “What do you mean ‘stay for the night’? We’re goin’ home tonight, you and me. You understand what I’m sayin’?”

“Your home?”

“No. Our home,” he reasserts. “So let’s grab your stuff and get the hell outta here. Let’s go home.”

You bury your head in your hands in an effort to stimy the swell of emotion threatening to overcome you. He shushes and pries your defensive veil away, laying a tender path of small kisses along your forehead.

“None of that. Not anymore. No more hiding, okay?”

Your body mindlessly lists into his hold, and you allow some of your weight to shift to him. “Okay.”

It’s late enough into the night that the lobby isn’t busy, but that doesn’t stop Joel from constantly glancing up from his phone to make sure you’re alright. He closes out the text window to Sarah and opens up a new thread to Jasmine and Calum before sending them a quick update that he found you, you’re safe, and you’ll be with him. He hesitates to add anything more before discussing it with you first.

Now that he knows it’s you, he watches the skittish, hesitant way you move about. Hugging closer to yourself as you talk with the clerk who looks like the only thing of interest to her at the moment is ending the conversation as soon as possible so she can step outside for a cigarette. He can’t see your face, but just the way you hold yourself looks like some part of you has been extinguished. He hopes it’s just the stress and exhaustion from whatever happened between you and your dad and not something that has taken root in you and altered you. He doesn’t think he could forgive himself for not insisting to check on you sooner if that were the case.

The drive home is hushed and calm despite the frantic energy of relief flowing from you both. When he cuts the engine in the driveway, you reach out and stop him before he can get out.

“Hey,” you say softly. He stills and soaks up your tired, buoyed demeanor. “Thank you for coming to find me.”

He swallows hard and nods, thumb smoothing over your fingers in gentle, tentative strokes. “Thank you for lettin’ me in.”

You both know he doesn’t just mean through the motel door.

“I know it ain’t easy,” he adds in a hush.

You dip your head in quiet agreement. “It’s not. But sometimes it’s easier than others, you know? If it’s–If it’s the right person.”

He brings your hand to his lips and presses a chaste kiss there. “I do.”

He studies you for another moment and nods. “Let’s get you inside so I can get some food in you.”

You don’t say anything about the black bags full of your things scattered about the living room, but he wishes he’d taken a few seconds more to make it look less chaotic. He wishes he knew how to explain to you that sharing a home is something he would choose and isn’t just something that happened as a result of misfortune in your life. He’d choose you a thousand times over, any day of the week.

He subdues his reaction when you tell him the softer the food the better because of your injured jaw and face. He whips up some scrambled eggs and sliced banana and even cooks another egg when you’re still hungry. You have an odd look on your face when he takes the dirty dishes to the sink, leaving them to be scrubbed clean in the morning when you’ve both had some rest.

When you’ve made it to the upstairs hallway, the look on your face when he offers you the guest bedroom is almost comical. “Just wanna make it clear you’re not, you know, obligated to, uh, to stay in my bed with me,” he explains. Your face softens as you insist that you absolutely want to stay with him. He tries to not let on how elated he is to hear that. He rifles through the medicine cabinet and makes you take something for the pain and the swelling.

“Do you think I could get a quick shower? I just– I feel so gross, actually. I didn’t really notice in the motel, but I think between the state of the room and the lack of food I didn’t really notice.”

“Of course, sweetheart.”

He shows you his setup in the main bath and grabs fresh towels and washcloths. His heart pinches when you wince trying to get undressed.

“Do you mind?” you ask and gesture to the hoodie engulfing you.

He crouches down to shimmy it from the bottom up even though his knees scream in protest. While you work the top half, he helps you out of your pants and panties. He has to fight back all the anger ballooning at the sight of your body covered in red marks and bruising. He heaves a sigh and stands again, only to freeze when he sees the telltale maroon ring of clenched hands around your neck.

“Did he fuckin’–” he cuts himself short and turns his head away until he can regain his composure. “I’m gonna fuckin’ kill him if I ever see him again.”

“Joel,” you caution – a soft reminder that a hostile reaction, even if it’s not directed at you, is not what you need right now.

His hands are pinned to his hips as he paces around the bathroom trying to reign in his disgust and anger for your father. He shakes his head and wipes his brow, pinching the bridge of his nose while he takes deep breaths. He’s brought back to reality and what should be his focus when he hears the water start up.

“Sorry, baby. M’sorry, I got beside myself for a minute there,” he atones. “Here, lemme get you situated.”

He adjusts the controls until a pleasantly warm spray is falling into the stall. You take his hand when you enter and let out a small, placid sigh at the soothing water. He helps get you washed up, making sure to be extra delicate around all the injured swaths on your body. You sway contentedly under his care and the warmth of the shower, and it nearly makes him misty eyed that you’re trusting him with this.

You appear to be slipping into a relaxed state when you tilt your head and get an unexpected spray of water into your mouth and nose. Joel isn’t sure if it was just the surprise of it or if it actually stung your nostrils, but your reaction is borderline panicked over it.

“Hey, whoa whoa.”

“Sorry. Sorry,” you sputter, eyes clenched shut. “Just got freaked out for a second. Sorry.”

Something in the distressed bend of your words gives him pause. “Tell me what I need to change. I want you to be comfortable. Is the spray too strong? Do you want me to adjust it?”

You shake your head, fat drops of water falling from your face and blending in with tears that have finally broken free from the edge of your lashes. You sniff loudly and turn your face away, and that’s when realization hits Joel like a ton of bricks.

“What the fuck did he do to you, baby?” He can’t begin to imagine what on earth that monster did to have you go from such a peaceful spot into full blown panic.

“I don’t want to say. It’s just gonna upset you.”

“You can tell me. You can tell me anything. I won’t get upset with you. I won’t get upset. You can tell me,” he insists.

Your wet, wide eyes slide over to meet his, and thankfully whatever you see makes you feel safe enough to voice it.

“Part of our… argument,” you begin in a shaky breath, “was by the kitchen sink.”

His eyes narrow slightly at the fear creeping into your voice, and a bad feeling starts brewing in his gut. He thinks back to a little earlier when your expression was indiscernible as he cleared the dishes.

“It was so scary, Joel,” you whisper, barely audible above the sound of the streaming water.

“Tell me. You can tell me.” He cups a hand along your jaw and strokes the purple and green patches of your skin with his thumb.

“He kept… He was holding me under the water. In the sink. Where I had been doing the dishes,” you choke out.

“Jesus christ,” he heaves, wrapping his arms around your dripping wet body and drawing you into a gentle hold.

“I thought he was going to drown me,” you sob.

“You’re safe now, sweetheart. You’re safe, you’re safe,” he repeats in a calming chant. “He’s not gonna get to you ever again, you hear me? You never have to be afraid of that again.”

Joel’s shirt and one leg of his pants are completely soaked by the time he manages to calm you down. He guides you out of the shower, towel dries you, dresses you in an old, soft t-shirt and pair of boxers, brushes your teeth, and gets you snuggled into bed. That same sense of gratitude of you letting him help you washes over him as you cuddle into and sniff his comforter, whining softly like a tired little kitten in need of a midday nap.

He makes quick work of peeling the wet clothes from his skin, brushing his teeth, and crawling into bed. He’s dead tired and realizes a moment too late that he’s gotten into bed completely naked. Any indication that you’re offended or think he’s trying to put a move on you now of all times goes out the window when your eyes flutter open and you pull him closer.

“You’re so warm,” you mumble sleepily into his shoulder.

He breathes a little laugh from his nose at how precious you are. “Go to sleep. We can talk more in the morning.”

“M’kay,” you slur back. You flatten your bodies together, arms wrapped around his middle, and start to drift off.

Joel watches you and strokes your cheek until you’re asleep. He tries to not stew in the hatred and rage he feels for what your dad did to you. It’s probably for the best that he didn’t know the full extent of the situation when he went to your house and collected your things. He’d have beaten him to a pulp, if not worse.

His stomach felt rancid at the fleeting relief it had been to hear that the brutalization hadn’t gone past physical assault. And to think you’d phrased this as “a little knocking around” in the grand scheme of things. It made him nauseous to entertain the reality of what you’ve been living with all these months. No, years.

Joel wanted to kick himself for asking such a stupid question in the motel: are you hurt? Of course you’re hurt. How could you not be with all the nasty purpling patches blending into bits of puffed flesh that hadn’t fully recovered from the swelling? How could you possibly be okay after fleeing your own home in the middle of the night just to avoid another violent attack by your own father? After he toyed with the idea of killing you?

Guilt clung to Joel like a too tight second skin. He could’ve done something if he’d known. He could’ve gotten you out of this situation, helped you avoid it altogether, if only he’d just pushed for you to tell him the truth. If only he’d shown you or proved somehow that you could trust him. He watches your eyes dance behind your lids, and he prays your dreams are peaceful.

“I’m never gonna let him hurt you again. You’re never gonna be hurt like that ever again. I won’t let it happen. You’re safe with me,” he whispers into your ear. “I love you.”

He kisses your temple softly and pulls you into the cocoon of his arms. You can’t hear him, but it doesn’t matter. It’s not a promise that can be kept without action, and he intends to show you he will keep it until the day he dies.

It’s the heat bordering on furnace that stirs you. Soft little breaths from Joel’s open mouth puff against your forehead. Your eyes droop a little, the cradle of his body so intoxicating that it practically lures you back to sleep. Warmth engulfs you in an entirely different way now, waking up in a safe place with a sanctuary of a person. Even through your muddled mind, you know you’ve never experienced this before in such a profound way.

The loud gurgle of your stomach wakes him with an amused, confused smile.

“Mmmm sounds like somebody needs suh’more eggs,” he gently teases.

“That actually sounds good,” you admit.

His eyes peel open at that, and his grin broadens. “Yeah? You gonna let me cook ya somethin’?”

“Yeah.” You nibble your bottom lip in a shy grin and immediately wince at the sensitivity of your teeth against your healing split lip.

“Careful, baby,” he cautions with a pinched brow. He runs his thumb tenderly against your lip and presses a small kiss there.

You nod an acknowledgement and snuggle your face into his chest, fingers grazing through the little gray and brown bits of hair in the middle of it. “What time is it?”

“Don’t matter. You don’t worry about what time it is or what day it is or any of that. You just focus on relaxing and feelin’ better.”

You snort at his cliche girl dad answer and throw him a sarcastic “sir, yes, sir” for good measure. His eyes brighten at the first bit of genuine levity you’ve shown since he found you at the motel.

“We’ll get you somethin’ to eat and then get you checked out by a doc, okay?”

You remember last night’s promise to be seen by a medical provider and groan. “Alright,” you concede with a sigh.

“That’s my girl,” he beams.

Just as he had offered, Joel whips up some scrambled eggs, bacon, and sliced banana for the both of you. You busy yourself with finding something comfortable to wear and get dressed. Breakfast is a quiet affair with Joel spending most of it fussing over you. He makes you take another pill for the pain and swelling. He sets you up in the living room to finish your water and juice without any explanation, although the clinking of dishes from the kitchen gives you a pretty decent guess that he wanted you away from the potential trigger of it.

You don’t ask where he’s taking you to be seen. You trust him to make that decision for you, even if it’s a bit nerve wracking to relinquish that sort of control. He pulls into a mostly empty lot next to a newer looking building with a large sign that reads CORBITT HEALTH SYSTEMS URGENT CARE. The woman at the patient intake station looks warily between your appearance and Joel’s contrasting broad, strong frame. It hadn’t occurred to you until this moment that people were going to assume he had done this to you. Joel shouldering any of the blame for your current state made you sick to your stomach.

“Can my friend come back with me? To help me?” you blurt out in some effort to absolve him of the unmerited charge.

She doesn’t look entirely convinced, but she doesn’t eye him as coldly now that you’ve insinuated this isn’t a significant other. “Sure. Assuming you don’t have any life threatening medical concerns, fill this out and get it back to me.”

You try to concentrate on the form, but it hurts to pinch your fingers tight enough to hold the pen. Joel wordlessly takes the clipboard and pen from you and quietly fills out what he can while you supply him with the rest. He turns the clipboard in for you, and it’s soon after that you’re called back. The series of waiting rooms is making you anxious, but at least there’s two chairs side by side so you don’t have to hoist yourself up onto that crinkly papered examination table.

“Thought she was gonna set me on fire with some telepathic brain powers,” he chuckles low and quiet. He jerks his head back towards the direction of the main waiting area.

“I hate that she assumed you did this,” you huff.

“Can’t really blame her, though, to be fair.” He shrugs it off, considerate to almost a fault. “It’s kinda the norm for the asshole who did it bein’ the same one breathin’ down your neck so you can’t talk to anybody in private.”

“But you didn’t do it,” you protest, growing more and more irritated at the idea of him bearing the brunt of responsibility for this.

“No, I didn’t,” he agrees softly. “And you’re never gonna go through anything like that ever again.”

His hand finds yours and gives it a gentle squeeze.

“You’re really gunning for Boyfriend of the Century Award, you know that?” you tease.

A loose, jubilant smile spreads across his mouth.

“What?” you ask. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“‘Boyfriend’, huh?” he repeats with a practically beatific glow.

“Oh,” you exhale in a laugh. “Uh. Yeah. I mean, if that’s… okay with you? We don’t have to do names or anything. I didn’t think when I– it just came out.”

He snorts and shakes his head, dipping to press his mouth faintly against yours. “More’n okay with me, sweetheart.”

You don’t know what you ever did to deserve this man. The memory of you telling Joel you didn’t need him or anybody else echoes like a ghost in your mind.

“Joel?”

“Yeah?”

“I-I don’t think I’m too good for help from people.” You shift awkwardly in your seat but hold yourself to be present in the conversation. “I know I need your help.”

“Where’s this comin’ from?” “I just.. when we had that fight, and I said I didn’t need anybody… It’s not true. I need you. I want you, and I need you in my life.”

“That makes two of us.” He raises your hand to his lips and plants tiny pecks on each knuckle. You turn your hand to cradle his jaw and lean forward.

“I was scared. I was so scared you were going to find out and then leave like everybody else.”

He rests his hand atop yours and bends his head to kiss your wrist, working his way up your arm as far as your sleeve will allow. “Not gonna happen,” he says plainly. “I’m not goin’ anywhere unless you’re comin’ with me.”

Before you can get too caught up in his declaration of commitment, a quick knock at the door signals it’s your turn to be seen. At one point during the appointment, the provider informs you some tests will need to be conducted to make sure there’s no internal injuries, and you both leave Joel to sit in the room while they guide you into the hallway towards the bathrooms to start with a urine test. You round the corner with them but stop short of the restrooms when they turn to face you and speak in a low tone.

“I wanted to speak with you privately,” they inform you. “Is the person who gave you these injuries here with you today?”

The question rattles you more than you expected. You certainly hadn’t anticipated the topic to come up in the middle of the hallway between rooms. There it was again – that assumption of Joel being your abuser. You do your best to hide your irritation. You know they’re simply doing their job. When you don’t answer, they rephrase it.

“Do you have any concerns leaving with the person accompanying you today?”

You shake your head, too nervous you’ll snap at them for accusing Joel. He didn’t deserve this. Every part of you knows this person is just doing their due diligence, but Joel didn’t deserve to be viewed as some abusive scumbag.

Your patience wears thin after the third delicately worded question regarding your current safety with Joel. “He wasn’t the one that did this,” you snip. “If you really need to know that bad, it was my dad, alright? Joel made sure I don’t have to go back, so can you please stop acting like he’s the fucking monster here?”

Their eyebrows shoot up in surprise, but they quickly fix their expression to the placid, neutral one from before. “Ma’am, I really intended no offense with my question. Our goal is to make sure you are not in immediate danger. We have resources like emergency housing or crisis intervention for people in those situations, and it is my duty to you as my patient to determine whether or not those resources would be helpful to you,” they explain calmly.

You sigh a long exhale and shut your eyes. “Sorry,” you mumble. “I-I know you’re just trying to do your job. I appreciate it. I do.”

They accept your awkward apology and move on with the appointment. You end up actually having to pee into a cup as well as go through some imaging to check for breaks or concussions and everything in between. When you finally wind up back to your room, you tell Joel what the practitioner had said to you in the hallway. He of course lauds the artful intervention – “that’s actually so smart because it doesn’t raise any suspicion from whoever is here with you.”

It turns out you’ve got a fractured nose that needed to be aligned and packed, but it should heal without any need for surgical intervention. With your nose splint in place and prescription for pain medication in hand, you and Joel stop by the checkout desk. You grimace at the paperwork the woman slides over to Joel. You don’t even want to think about how much today cost you. Well, how much it cost Joel. You probably couldn’t even begin to cover the cost of it. The topic of medical bills whips your brain into an alarming train of thought.

“Joel.”

“Yeah? What’s wrong?” He stops midway through opening the truck door for you.

“We need to go to the bank,” you practically choke out.

His expression hardens in understanding. Your joint account. The one your dad’s email is linked to that you don’t even have the password to. The one you can’t close without both parties consenting but either party can withdraw any amount at will.

The drive there is tense and quiet. The woman at the teller window nearly gets a verbal lashing from you when she glances hesitantly between you and Joel, doing the exact same thing the patient intake woman had done at the urgent care. Thankfully Joel ushers you off to the side before you can give her a piece of your mind. A different woman comes round with a dubious glance at Joel and leads you both to her office.

Your heart lurches as you force yourself to calmly and politely explain that you need to access your account and transfer the money into a new, single user account. Her fingernails clack loudly on the keyboard, her mouth drawing up to a worried pout.

“Was this something you and the joint account holder had discussed?” she wonders aloud with a tone that doesn’t sound very promising for you.

“No,” you answer flatly. “Is there a problem? I thought I could transfer the money without his authorization?”

“Well, yes, you could.” She fidgets in her seat nervously and folds her hands on the desk before leveling you with an uneasy look. “I asked because I assumed there must have been some previous discussion with perhaps a … miscommunication between the two of you about who would be initiating that action.” You stare blankly at her, not grasping what she’s trying to explain, but you don’t have time for her to dance around the subject. “Look, I’m not trying to be rude, but—”

She glances Joel’s direction like she’s looking for someone to help her out. You turn to see his face pulled into a stony frown.

“So he already transferred it to his personal account,” he grits.

“Ah, yes, that would��ahem–that would be correct,” she confirms.

All the blood drains from your face as it dawns on you. Your dad got here first. He drained your account. The only money you have to your name is what you were able to hide in the vents and escape with. You’re aware that Joel has continued the conversation, but you don’t make any of it out. Everything sounds and feels like you're underwater.

His warm hand covers yours, a reassuring stroke of his thumb against your trembling fingers. “I’m gonna get this paperwork started for your new account, okay?” You blink a few times and realize he’s been given the document for you to open your own account. It seems silly to open an account when you’ve got no money to put into it, but Joel doesn’t seem deterred by this distressing turn of events.

You give a jerky nod and take a deep breath. “Okay.”

It was hard to see this dismal end of a situation as the new life chapter that it was, but as you watched Joel scribble his address – your address now, too – into the banking form for a new account, you at least knew wherever you were headed with him was better than what you were leaving behind.

Thank you all so much for your patience on this one. It was a tough chapter to write, but I'm really proud of myself for sticking with it until I worked through it. Thank you all so much for reading!

If you or someone you know is experiencing domestic abuse, the National Domestic Violence Hotline has a 24/7 hotline that can be reached at 1-800-799-SAFE (7233). There are also chat and text options available through the site.

💜

✦•······················•✦• TAG LIST •✦•······················•✦

Anyone who comments or reblogs is added to the next tag list. Also anyone who I think might be interested gets tagged. If you want to be removed from the list, please lmk and I'll take you off ASAP.

@anoverwhelmingdin @beelzebeth87 @bizarrelove-triangle @bonezone44 @bubble-pop-eclectic

@circumspectre @confusedpuffin @copperhalfcent @criticalarchitecture @cumberpegg

@cutie-with-that-booty @daydreamingmiller @electriclasso @ellenmunn @elli3williams

@emma-2104 @eupheme @everyth1ngfan @favorite-fan-fic @fishingforpike

@gay4magnetobutfanfiction @guiltyasdave @heartstoptrying @jodiswiftle @joeldjarinff

@joelmillersblog @joelscowgirl @jupiter-soups @keylimebeag @koshkaj-blog

@lavema @lilac-boo @littleficreccs @littlevenicebitch69 @lunpycatavenue

@magpiepills @pedropeach @pfannkuchen07 @reneerocks3617 @drunk-and-capable

@sherala007 @slowdivings @survivingandenduring @sweetpascal @tbeep

@the-orange-tabby-cat @thethirstwivesclub @tonysopranosrobe @toomanystoriessolittletime @wand-erer5

@weho2kcmo @perotovar

#fic: chrysalism #joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller au #joel miller x reader #joel miller x oc #hurt/comfort #pedro pascal characters #joel miller smut #the last of us fic #the last of us fanfiction #joel miller fluff

173 notes · View notes

s-4pphics · 1 year ago

Text

tag, you're it! (e.w.)

ITS PRIDE MONTH PUSSSSSSYYYYYYY

omg this is kindaaaa…. yeah

imma lil proud LOL hope y’all like it

wc;cw: 14.2k, ceosdaughter!ellie, tagger/artist!oc, ANGST!!, mentions of depression and suicidal ideation, illness, parental death & brief mentions of funerals, descriptions of foster care/homeless shelters and poverty, both oc n ellie have daddy issues, MOMMY ISSUES!!, brief mentions of drug addiction(coke), homophobia DURING PRIDE MONTH🤨🤨, internalized homophobia and misogyny, ellie is a horny touch starved loser n kinda stalkerish?, mentions of criminal injustice(police, prisons, etc.) i hate it here, rich ppl being demons, SMUT!!!!! MDNI!!!!, light descriptions of masturbation, potential dubcon!!, sexual tension😟, bratty subbottom!ellie, mean domtop!oc she carries her dick on her like a glock lol, slight fearplay, KNIFE PLAY/BLOOD, DIRTY TALK, finger and strap sucking, fingering, pussy eating, MOMMY KINK!!, nipple play, squirting <333 n creaming <333, riding, reverse cowgirl, slapping(FACE!!! ass titties), hitting it from the bbbbback, loss of virginity, masochism LOL, a lil ass play LOL, pretty taboo themes catch it

“She’s… I genuinely believe she’s deranged, your honor! She’s… uncontrollable! Look at what she’s done to our city! Civilians can see her tracks everywhere they go, and it’s disgusting! Not to mention she’s a pervert!”

You rolled your eyes as you listened to the high-pitched, ongoing shrieks of one of the wealthiest women in the state as she spat belittlements of you to the judge.

You were… fucked.

You adjusted in your uncomfortable chair, leaning back and crossing your arms over your chest, turning your head to eye your lawyer, arching a brow at him as you waited for his defenses for you. He looked… scared shitless, to say the least.

Yeah. You were definitely going to fucking jail.

Were these pieces of shit really going to treat you like Satan himself for pulling a measly, little prank? Has April Fools truly lost all meaning?

A couple of days ago, on April 1st, you took it upon yourself to spray paint ♡GIRLDICK♡ across the largest building in the city, which just so happened to be owned by the Miller family, if anyone even bothered to call their cultist bond that. Their wealth swiftly accumulated when the now deceased founder of the organization, Joel Miller, discovered some new form of AI technology… or whatever the elders at the shelter told you. His death shook your city years ago; You weren’t sure why it was so moving for people, but R.I.P, you guess.

You assumed they were just another group of elitist fuckers, but he must’ve been decent at the most; You still remember his memorial broadcasting on the small TV at the shelter as the other residents mourned in solace.

Regardless, you hope all their institutions across the nation collapse one day, preferably with the rest of them inside.

The broad in the black, silk suit kept pointing her finger at you, and it took everything in your spirit to not get up out of your seat and rip it clean off her hand and shove it down her throat.

Not every tag you’ve done around the city has been rooted in “perversion”. There’s nothing perverse about… loving girldick. It’s a way of life!

Fuck security cameras.

Unbeknownst to them, you’ve already been coined as a hidden talent in the city, at least according to some people you know at the shelter. You’re faceless in the eye of the public, but that separation doesn’t negate their appreciation for your artwork. You even went viral for the mural you painted of your father for his birthday two years ago, even though the fucker that posted it on Instagram hadn’t included your signature. You could bet millions of people have seen it by now, and you gained absolutely nothing from it.

But, of course, your form of creative expression was being reduced to a jizzing penis. You've created countless mosaics around the city that represent the purest forms of love and sex, and now you are being blasted for being some sort of corrupt sicko. You only drew what came natural to you, and if people felt a way about it, they could choke on the fattest girldick known to humanity. You hate rich people.

Your father didn’t sacrifice everything he had to teach you the complexities of sketching for your name to be attached to outlines of dicks. You didn’t grow up watching your father skip meals so he could get you a new water paint set for your birthday every year for your art to be lawfully ridiculed. The only comfort this situation brought was that you knew he would’ve found the sloppily drawn cock hysterical. You still remember his laugh after all this time.

You miss him dearly. You probably could’ve been just as rich, if not more, as the bitch at the other table if he was still here with you. He would’ve ensured you didn’t stray off into the life you live now.

Being in foster care was the dissipation of your joy. You were considered a problem child very early on: fighting the caretakers when they tried to calm you, cursing at them, stealing, and nobody wanted to adopt you because of that, regardless of your talents. You were set up to fail too early, and you despised the world because of it.

Your record was horrendous, and you were going to jail. You fucking hate rich people.

… Except the Miller's eldest daughter. She gets a pass.

And she keeps staring at you.

Every time you caught her sparkly eyes, she blushed and looked forward, her freckles surrounded by a deep red that rushed down her neck. She was dressed much less… sophisticated than her mother: her hair tied back in a low bun and littered with black bobby-pins, a dark-blue sweater, rings on her thumb, black pants, and clean Vanz.

You knew a lesbian when you saw one. You could barely hide your knowing smirk.

“My child doesn’t need to be exposed to such… nauseating ideologies! Think of the children of the city and what they’re forced to see because of vile people like that,” she pointed at you again. You were this fucking close to stabbing her with that pen in front of you.

Your daughter’s gay, Mrs. Miller.

“With all due respect, ma’am,” the judge started. What kind of backwards shit was this; Wasn’t she supposed to be respecting him? “It’s important that we stay on track. You’re specifically suing her for vandalism— “

“Ongoing, unchecked vandalism! This is not her first charge, your honor, it’s her seventh! She’s… she’s— “

You tried to tune her out, looking around the congested space of the courtroom, and you caught eyes—shiny, green eyes— on you. Again.

She was fiddling with her hands in her lap, her teeth picking at the dry skin on her bottom lip. But she didn’t look away this time. You watched her eyes trail over your face, down to your jaw, your neck, your chest, only to come back up to your eyes.

You did the same, taking in the dots on her soft cheeks, her eyes, her pretty nose, and mouth, looking her up and down, biting your lip, letting her know you were gauging her. She was cute, you had to admit.

“—sentenced to three years in federal prison— “

You looked up in shock, feeling like your body had been dunked into a tub of ice water and left to die, instantly stiffening at the announcement of your sentence, the sound of the slamming gavel nearly putting you six feet under.

You couldn’t do anything but stare at the judge in disbelief as he organized his papers emotionlessly, your lawyer putting his hand on your shoulder. You knocked it off and glared at him. You looked over to the table, the family already up and taking their leave, Mrs. Miller’s hand tightly enclosed around her daughter’s wrist as she dragged her out the wooden doors.

Two security guards were already walking towards you with cuffs, gripping your arms too roughly to pull you up out of your seat and latching the metal around your skin. You started to panic as they walked you towards another set of doors.

“Wait, wait, my backpack, I need my— “

“You aren’t allowed to have anything on you. Your property will be held by the court until further notice.”

“But— “

“No buts, and don’t resist,” you felt the security grip your arm harder, and your anxiety peaked, your panting breaths hardly leaving your body.

You didn’t resist. You couldn’t. Your life was shattering around you in slow motion, loose shards slicing through you with intent to kill.

You allowed the brawly men to drag you… anywhere. You didn’t care anymore; You were tired, and no longer had the urge to fight left in your heart.

Ellie was brought up in isolation.

Homeschooled, no friends, no purpose outside of being the vessel to represent her family name, creating the next line of heirs for her father’s company.

The benefits of his successes had simply… appeared when she was fifteen.

She remembered how he went from being present, gave her the utmost attention, played sports with her, taught her how to sing and self-defense with his past down switchblade, to not, completely cut off from society as he barricaded himself in his study and worked relentlessly on new forms of technology. Being an only child brought nothing but loneliness for her after a while.

But then they were rich. They moved to an affluent neighborhood and into a two-story house in a matter of months, driving Porches and buying out stores. Wealth appeared, but the relationship with her family suffered because of it.

Her father fell ill, and after a multitude of hospital visits, teary farewells, and a memorial, he was gone. Merely a memory that hardly seemed real. Her and her mother’s relationship became even more unsteady after his passing.

Ellie’s mother swiftly took over the company in an almost authoritarian way. She interacted with society in a robotic, rehearsed manner. Mechanical, soulless, the only proof of her humanity exposing itself when she snorted white powder.

Her mother had brought up the idea of marriage the second she turned eighteen, a year before her father’s passing, saying that there were multiple well-off men that were eager to be with her, willing to give her children. Multiple.

Men…. children… having children with men. Money. The empire. Her mother.

It all made her nauseous.

… But art didn’t.

She’d always kept her journals secret. Left in a box on the highest shelf of her walk-in closet where the maids couldn’t find them.

She expressed everything that she couldn’t to her mother on paper. Her depression, her insomnia, her desire for death, her mourning, the need for sex with non-men, any form of physical connection, something—anything that made her feel human, normal.

She needed a fucking hug. A kiss. Sex. She wanted to fuck.

The first time she saw your artwork on an abandoned building as she chauffeured to the museum, she’d nearly fainted.

It’d been two women on top of each other, the most intimate parts of their body covered with the other’s hands and skin. One had her head between the other’s legs atop blankets and flowers as the other… apparently in the middle of an orgasm. Her mother always made the point of sex sound so… stiff. Lifeless. Merely a factor of procreation.

But your art was so erotic. Sensual. So full of pleasure and softness and care.

She’d almost jumped out of the car and onto oncoming traffic to get a closer look at every detail, but the car was too quick. She couldn’t even get a fucking picture.

And she was soaking. How the fuck was she going to explore a museum when she was dripping like this?!

You’d given her one of the strongest orgasms she’d ever had in her life when she returned home that day, and she didn’t even know who you were. She’d spent hours with her hand between her legs as she thought of your creation while her mother was out working, moaning and crying out as loud as she wanted, and she wasn’t even embarrassed.

She would sneak out in the darkest clothes she had when her mother passed out on the couch, and just walk. Specifically in search for anything with your signature that she’d memorized like it was her own. She’d taken pictures of your content, memorized them, got off to the suggestive ones in secret, and appreciated your love and passion for your craft.

She’d even started recreating her own depictions of eroticism. All with women. They never looked the same: different heights, all skin tones and body types, anything that she could think of, she drew it. She’d tried to envision what you looked like after only a few weeks, and she prayed her envisions were at least somewhat accurate.

She never could draw self-portraits with precision, but she knew it was her. She was always in the middle of the raunchiness that she conjured up in her mind, being touched everywhere, tied up, beaten, completely ripped apart and forced to forget the suffocating world around her. Her reimagining's of herself would be drowned in pleasure, sometimes by you, by herself, by faceless strangers. Anything she wanted.

When she saw you for the first time, she almost couldn’t control herself.

She’d felt like a fucking creep as she ducked behind parked cars to watch you paint all over an abandoned freight train behind a trashed building. The streets had been silent as she watched you decorate the metal cart in floral interpretations of pussy, her heart in her throat.

You looked gorgeous and focused and tired. So, so tired, only in sweats and a tank top with a hefty bag strapped to your back. She assumed you kept your art supplies in there.

Ellie couldn’t keep her eyes off you when she’d seen you during your court hearing.

You were just as gorgeous as the first time she saw you, but, somehow, even more exhausted. Far away, not really present, but she couldn’t blame you. And she couldn’t stop staring, enthralled by you. Even in your grayest moments, you made her feel vibrant. And that brought her guilt.

But it also made her lustful. Hungry.

And she couldn’t stop staring.

When her mother dragged her out of the hearing, she was enraged, even more so when she degraded you on the way back to the car.

You fucking stared at that whore the whole time!

Don’t ever, in your life, embarrass me again.

I’ll throw you in the gutter with that rat if you ever disrespect me like you just did in there. Do you understand?

Ellie didn’t even know what she did to garner a response this aggressive, but she was used to it. And, for the first time in her life, she didn’t care. She didn’t give a fuck.

At that moment, she knew what she had to do.

It was your fifth day in prison, and you felt nothing.

You didn’t cry, you didn’t plead, you simply succumbed to your destiny in silence. Your father would be so disappointed if he were alive.

I raised a fighter, so you fucking fight!

But you couldn’t. You were tired, and you wished you could stay asleep, never to wake up again.

You’ve been working like a dog since you got here, and you accepted it. This was your life, and you felt nothing.

Until your cell unlocked. These fuckers were probably here to shit talk you again.

They cuffed your wrists and led you somewhere. You didn’t care where, keeping your head down as they encased your arms in a calloused grasp. You hoped this location would be your last forever.

They led you into an empty room and uncuffed you. You saw the old sweatsuit that you’d received from the shelter, and your heartbeat sped up. You looked at the security in confusion. What the fuck were they doing? What were they about to do?

You could barely hear what the officers were saying, jumbled words of bail bond and cash payments molding together and sounding like a foreign language to you. They undid your handcuffs and pointed towards the clothes, murmuring for you to change so they could transport you back to the courthouse to retrieve your belongings.

What the fuck is going on?

When you returned to the shelter, you inspected your bag. After nearly scrubbing your skin off while showering.

The contents were all in their original condition, each individual item wrapped in plastic with small notes attached to them. Except for your dick. You assumed the court had no comments.

Your paint, your brushes, random hairpins, your notebooks. They were all there in their original condition. Thank god.

What you didn’t expect to see was a new jacket, sweatsuit, and small note wrapped in the same plastic from inspection.

You ripped the plastic open and retrieved the note, unfolding it and… confusion, arousal, and fear rushed through you, shocking your body as all your feelings shot down your spine.

It was a sketch of… you. And a girl bent over with her hands bound behind her back as you fucked her. An… incredibly familiar looking girl.

A freckled girl. A rosy-cheeked girl. The rosy-cheeked girl from a week ago with the psychotic, sadistic mother.

Her expression in the sketch was pure ecstasy. It looked like she was screaming, her cheeks shaded dark with water-paint and her hair a reddish-brown, thrown in all sorts of directions. Her eyes wild and erotic. Yearning. Teary. Her pleasure seemed dream-like.

And you looked just as gone. Head tossed back, sweaty with your dick shoved inside her pussy, your nails digging into the soft skin on her hips, small, but deep, bloody scratches following the painful glide of your fingertips that make the red blotches on her backside. There were small doodles of strap-ons and pussies smudged, erased, fixed to perfection that seemed almost manic. Obsessive.

You looked at the bottom of the crumpled piece of paper, a small signature across the bottom of it.

♡GIRLDICK♡

Come back home. Five days.

E.M.

… Come back home? You don’t have a fucking home. And who the fuck is E.M? Your heart was beating against your chest, climbing up your throat in an attempt to escape your body entirely. You couldn’t stop your eyes from flying across the sloppy penmanship.

… ♡GIRLDICK♡

E.M.

♡GIRLDICK♡

… Miller Enterprise.

Miller.

… Freckles.

…. What in the fuck.

It was almost dark, and you were shivering as the wind blew past you.

It had been five days.

You were eyeing the large building in front of you from across the street, a giant M slapped across the top of it, windows galore, hoodie on your head and trembling hands shoved in your pockets.

You could see the last bit of employees trickling out of the building, clad in suits and tight pencil skirts, heavy briefcases and clicking heels.

You could also see the fresh white and black paint covering where your spray-painted dick used to be, and it made you chuckle to yourself. You were almost tempted to recreate it with your new snagged bottle of acrylic. It supposedly glowed in the dark.

But then you saw a dark shadow in the corner of your eye, hurriedly moving past the glass of the entrance.

Your heart raced instantly at the thought of being discovered, and you followed the body's movement. You could see it was Ellie the closer she got to the glass, dressed in a black sweater and comfortable pants, and her same shoes from the court hearing. She looked antsy, a bit on edge, but curious. She was anticipating seeing you.

You could see her messing with the keypad on the door, the loud sounds of locks clicking over the bustling streets. Flashes of red, swiftly replaced with flashes of green shined through the maxi-glass, and she looked around at all the doors. What was she checking for?

She seemed satisfied with her job, and she slid the entry door open, leaving it slightly ajar so she could slip something between it.

She gave one last glance at the system before bolting back inside and down the lengthy hallway before all the hall lights shut off.

Did she… did she just disable all the alarms for you?

Now, you were the one anticipating meeting her.

You ran across the street the second you got a chance, hurdling through traffic before running up onto the sidewalk and treading the stairs.

You looked down and noticed two pens taped together, holding the door open. You picked them up and inspected them, a glossy, silver M near the gel tip.

You stepped inside before anyone noticed, the door automatically shutting behind you before the same green lights came on, a robotic voice confirming that the doors were locked.

You were inside the Miller Enterprise, and you were terrified.

Ellie was so nervous.

She’d been checking her Chanel watch all day, obsessively monitoring the windows to see if anyone that resembled your form had arrived, but she was disappointed every time she looked. No sign of you, yet.

The later it got, the more anxious she became. Did you see the note she left in your bag? Was it too forward? Did you think she was fucking crazy? Did you hate her for what her mother did? She prayed not.

She was currently pacing around her mother’s—father’s—dark office, every step of her shoes echoing in the nearly empty room. She hasn’t been in here since she was seventeen, and it brought just as much anxiety as it did the first time.

This will all be yours when I’m gone, don’t fucking ruin it.

She hated everything about this space. Every aspect of her dad was completely gone. All his pictures, his vinyl, his pens and pencils, his nameplate. Everything. All of it, completely void of emotion.

She hated it, she hated it.

But then she heard a clang in the hallway, and her anxiety picked up even more before she could process it.

She quickly made her way over to the exit, peeking her head through the doorframe and examining the hallway, searching for you. The noise had to be you! You really came! She could feel her nipples getting hard already.

But she saw no one. No one was in the dark hallway.

… Fuck.

Why did she shut the system off? The lights wouldn’t come on!

Her hands instantly got clammy, her heart racing, and her knees shook. She hadn't felt like this since she was a kid, and she was horrified.

Someone’s here to hurt you, someone’s going to come in and hurt you!

You never leave doors unlocked! He always said to lock your doors, never, never, never—

She couldn’t stop the intrusive thoughts from taking over her entire body, reaching into her pocket and pulling out her father’s switchblade, pressing its latch down to expose the blade. She slammed the door shut and walked over to the large window and tried to steady her breathing. She looked out of the glass and inhaled harshly.

Keep your grip tight when you strike!

Calm down calm down calm down—

“Boo.”

You saw Ellie jump with a hard gasp before spinning to face you, a fearful look on her face and her switchblade in hand, pointed edge towards you.

You could see her chest rise up and down with every shaky breath she took, her body trembling and cheeks flushed. You felt like your body was going to burst into flames, but you hid it, grinning slyly at her as you stepped forward.

Deep breath.

“Hi, Ellie.”

Another step forward. She took two back, nearly pressed against the glass.

“Y-You,” she stuttered as her eyes darted around nervously, and you could see her cheeks flushing in the darkness, “How’d you get in here?”

“I think you know how.”

You shrugged, the contents of your bag shuffling on your back. You pointed towards the large, stretched windows behind her that oversaw the entire city, the hustling streets and lights beaming into the dimly lit room from the last bits of sunset.

“View’s incredible,” your mockery littered in sarcasm. Don’t let her know you’re scared.

She took a bold step forward as her brows furrowed, anger twisting on her doll-like face. You took two, as well. You saw her eyes dart to your feet before meeting your gaze to hiss at you.

“There’re cameras on every floor of this fucking building! I press that button,” She darted her small knife towards the enclosed, red button on the side of the wall, a large print of EMERGENCIES ONLY directly above it. “And every cop in this city’ll show up and take your ass back to the fucking gutter where you’re supposed to be.”

… How the fuck was she going to threaten you when she told you to come here?! What was she playing at?

She pointed her weapon back at you. You ignored your confusion and raised an impressed brow before walking forward without pause, pulling her mother’s chair out from under the desk, the wheels squeaking against the marbled tile. You saw the grip she had on her knife tighten.

You smiled at her. “You’re pretty good with a knife, honey.”

“Fuck you. Don’t fucking call me that.”

“I dunno,” you scoffed, twirling on your heels as you took in the luxurious space around you. “I can bet my bottom ass dollar that you like it.”

Her glare hardened, and your smile brightened. You finally moved to sit in the chair, the plush leather molding against your body and stuffed backpack. You scooted back under the desk and rested your elbows on the hand-carved rosewood, completely calm. At least outwardly. Your insides were jittery from adrenaline.

You quickly inspected the contents of the desk: her mother’s matching rosewood nameplate, some loose paperwork with large sums of money scattered on them, dark pens and markers, and a signed restraining order. With your name on it.

You’re apparently not allowed a hundred feet within the perimeter of the building.

… Funny.

“Press it.”

Her scowl hardened, “What?”

You pointed a lax finger towards the button as you looked up from the document, “I said press it. You want me gone so bad, right?”

She didn’t reply, her fingers fidgeting around the knife as she adjusted her grip. Her eyes nervously flitted across the room, all over the white floors, back on you.

“You’re not gonna press the fucking button.” You spat with a devilish smile. “And I know why.”

“Fuck you, you don’t know sh— “

“You paid my bail.”

You heard her release a shaky exhale when you sliced through her words, her eyes widening in shock like she saw through you, and you knew you had her. Your smile widened as your nails pattered where you tapped on the desk.

“Uh huh. Why’d you do it?”

Her throat moved as she swallowed, and you almost laughed.

You reached into your jacket pocket and pulled out the piece of paper that kept you company in your small cot during your restless nights, unfolding it and holding up the explicit depiction that she left in your bag days ago. You pressed her as you swung the chair with your foot, “Think somebody’s got a little crush. Mommy’s gonna be so upset with you.”

“FUCK YOU!” She marched towards you until she was in front of the desk, her scent enclosing around you before you felt the incredibly sharp blade against the side of your neck, and you stiffened in terror. You looked at her in shock, studying her expression. She looked pissed, but you saw… something in her eyes that made your core squeeze tight.

It was vulgar, needy, and you hoped she missed your body’s excited shudder at her crude rage.

She didn’t. Curiosity shone behind her lust and fiery, her enraged shrieks shook your eardrums.

“You’re fucking worthless! You really think anyone’s gonna care about you rotting in a fucking cell?! You’re… you’re nothing! You’re a low life! You’re… you’re! —“

You deadened your own eyes as you slowly moved to stand, but she pressed the knife deeper into your skin as she leaned over the desk, your faces closer together. You stiffened and felt a sting on your skin, and a drop of wetness. Your pussy squeezed, and you could feel sweat looking under your jacket.

“Gonna kill me, Ellie?” You glared at her, your heart pounding with fear and exhilaration.

Say you want me. Say it, sayitsayitsayit!

Her eyes were vengeful as she scanned your face, but you saw that glint grow behind the harsh overcast. Something you craved just as badly as she did.

“Really want mommy to see her precious girl killing somebody on camera? Hm?”

“She,” her breath shuddered. “wouldn’t give a fuck if it were you, I promise.”

You barely whispered your reply as you leaned even closer, your nipples hardening under your sports bra and your underwear clinging to your wetness.

“Then do it.”

The heavy breaths she released hit your face in a burning wind, and your core tightened once more. You could see the aggression on her face slowly dissipate, that giddy sparkle in her eye overtaking her pupils as they darkened.

You felt the cold steel pull away from you slowly, her hand coming down on the desk, — unfortunate— and it threw you into action.

Your hand flew up to her throat and squeezed the sides, and you heard the clatter of the object as it hit the wood. You heard her suck in a choked breath as her eyes glossed over, suddenly desperate and wanton and scared like you’d been seconds before. She looked like a neglected kitten, and it made you hold her neck in tighter constriction.

She whimpered aloud as she attempted to gasp, her hand coming up to grab your wrist, but you snatched it away with your free hand, and it limply dropped to the desk, her body submitting.

You leaned in closer to her, and her eyes squeezed shut, lips puckered, silently begging for you to kiss her. You snickered.

You let her neck go and slammed your palm across her blushing cheek, a loud crack! filling the room.

She cried aloud, looking like she was about to burst into tears as she jumped off the desk and backed away from you, her hand pressed against her searing cheek. You rose to your feet and circled around the desk, rushing towards her until she was pressed up against the window. Tears were running down her face. You shoved her closer against the glass, grabbing her cheeks to force her to look at you.

“You’ve been watching me, haven’t you? I got a little fan, is that it?”

“N-No— “

“Yeah, I do. Fuckin’ stalker. Probably gotta whole shrine t’me in your fucking room. Does mommy know that you worship me? The lowlife who fucked up her building?” You snapped at her.

She flinched at your tone before she choked out a gasped sob, “I j-just liked what you m-made.”

“Stop crying, Ellie.”

She nodded as she sniffled, wiping the tears off her cheeks. You grasp loosened on her cheeks as you cupped her face, your thumb brushing away the wetness on her already bruising skin. You noticed how she leaned into your caress. It made your heart jolt.

“Look at me,” you whispered.

She hesitantly met your eyes.

“You wanna kiss me?”

She looked down at her shuffling feet, and you saw her fist clench.

“Answer me.”

“Y-Yes, wanna kiss. Just… just one?”

You hummed in satisfaction, inching closer towards her like you did previously. She stiffened but shut her eyes tightly, her plush lips poking out in a pucker once more as your noses touched. You chuckled and whispered, your lips brushing against hers as you spoke.

“You ever kissed anyone, baby?”

She sighed out an uneven nuh uh, her mouth chasing yours. You grinned wider.

“Oh? M’gonna be your first kiss?”

She whined out a needy uh huuuh!

You stuck your tongue out, slowly running the wet muscle over her lower lip, and you felt her whole body tremble against yours. She brainlessly stuck her tongue out to lick yours, but you pulled back. She tried to follow you, but you yanked her head back by the small bun at the back of her head, the soft strands curling around your fist.

She let out a moan, and your tongue licked up her exposed throat, leaving a trail of spit up her chin, all the way to her mouth.

You relented and connected your mouths, and she let out a shocked noise into your mouth. You slipped your tongue in her gaping mouth, wet, smacking noises filling the room as you kissed her hotly. She couldn’t keep up with your quick movements, her lips and tongue moving sloppily against yours. Her spit was all over the outside of your mouth.

You felt her hands come up to your hips to grip your jacket in a tight fist as she moaned into your mouth.

The noises she let out were so sweet: little, excited gasps and whiny keens as she tried to pull you closer.

You released her hair and grabbed her chin to move her head to the side. You kissed down her neck, and she jerked against you. Her breaths increased in pace as you pecked her sweaty skin, lapping your tongue all over the side.

You sucked into the skin under her ear, right under her jaw, pulling her sweater down to mark her collarbone.

“Pleeease, pleaseplease, ah— “

You mumbled in between gentle sucks, “What, Ellie? Talk.”

You felt her hands grab your hips tighter, but she said nothing. You pushed her hands off you roughly and looked at her with piercing eyes. She shrunk into herself when she met them.

“When I tell you to do something, you do it. You understand?”

She nodded quickly.

“So fucking talk,” you gritted out.

“Want,” she whispered with a sharp gasp. “Want you.”

You smirked, “You want me?”

“Mmhm!”

You shoved your backpack off your shoulders, the thud echoing when it hit the floor.

“Want me to do what?”

She paused before looking down at her feet again, twiddling and picking at her fingers as her face burned red.

“Um…”

You rolled your eyes and turned away from her, but you felt her hand grab your wrist and you stopped. You looked at her in annoyance.

She looked at you tentatively, her breathing shaky.

But then she slowly brought your hand in between her legs.

She shivered as she placed her hand on top of yours, making you rub her cunt back and forth. She released pleased sighs as her lashes fluttered, her head falling back against the window as she looked at you up and down.

“P-Please?” She licked her lips. “Wan’you here.”

You scoffed in shock, and her thighs squeezed down on both your hands. You pressed your palm closer against her, and her hips bucked into you.

You moved closer to her, your clothed chests pressed together.

“Move your hand,” you spoke quietly, just for her to hear even though you were alone.

She dropped it limply. You pressed your palm into her covered clit, and she moaned.

You leaned in, your lips brushing her cheek as you spoke.

“Baby just wanted her pussy touched? That’s why you acted out earlier?”

She didn’t speak as she panted heavily. You brought your hand up to slap her cheek again, and she released a pained cry as her hips twitched.

“Talk!”

“Yes! Needa… need t’be touched!”

“Tell me where.” You brought your hand back down to her pussy as fresh tears slid down her cheeks.

She sobbed. “A-Anywhere!”

You leered at her soft face. “Yeah? I get t’choose?”

She nodded quickly, her eyes screaming touch me, please! Make me cum!

“Open your mouth, honey. Stick your tongue out.”

She mewled softly, but did what you asked, her shiny, pink muscle glistening under the beaming city lights.

You brought your hand up, rubbing your index and middle finger on her soft tongue.

“Get ‘em wet.”

She hummed as she sucked them into her mouth with no hesitation. You felt her tongue messily swirl around your digits as she sighed contently, and you pressed an encouraging peck on her cheek.

You slowly fucked your fingers in, pulling them out, only to push them back in again. You almost awwed aloud when she chased your digits every time you pulled out. She was already drooling for them.

You pressed her tongue down as you fucked in, and she gagged on them. Her eyes shot open and they instantly watered, her throat tightening around you.

“Bet you suck a mean dick,” you muttered before you could stop yourself.

She moaned loudly as you fucked deeper into her mouth, pressing down on the back of her tongue.

“Oh, yeah? Want mine down that pretty throat?”

She garbled and nodded as much as she could with your fast thrusts in her mouth. You couldn’t wait to fuck it open.

“Snooped through my shit, didn’t you? Saw my fucking cock and creamed yourself? That’s why you bought me new shit?”

You saw her bring a hand down to touch her pussy, her hips bucking into her own hand, chasing any stimulation. You grabbed her wrist and pulled it away from her.

You finally eased up on her throat and pulled out completely, lines of slobber connecting your fingers and her mouth together. You cut them with your own tongue, her spit clinging to the edges of your mouth.

You planted a smacking kiss on her lips before you shoved your hand down her dark, flared pants and into her boxers.

She squealed when you immediately found her clit with your spit covered fingers, the slippery bud sliding between your already drippy fingers. You watched her hand fly to the white windowsill for balance as your hand went wild on her cunt.

“Such a wet fucking pussy. Feels good, baby?”

Her brows creased as she nodded, her body rocking with your movements. “A-Ah! —“

“Uh huh. You touch yourself like this when mommy’s at work? Hm?”

Her head shamefully jerked in confirmation. You could see her now: her pretty legs spread on her plush bed, her sopping pussy squeezing at the thought of you fucking her just how she needed. She’d be grabbing at her tits as she flicked her clit, desperate to cum all over her blankets for you. Your pussy was so wet.

“You think about me when you do it?” You knew the answer, but you needed her to say it. Confirm that she thought about you just as much as you thought about her.

“Yes! Yes, yes!”

“Fucking whore, no wonder she hates your guts.”

She moaned louder at your degradation. “S’c—coming! “

Your fingers were practically vibrating on her cunt, her clit thumping as her orgasm built. “Get my fingers nice’n sloppy, angel, c’mon— “

She reached down to grab your wrist as she jumped on your fingers, but before you could slap her, her body tensed, and her eyes rolled into her skull. You felt her clit pulsate under your touch, and you knew she was cumming.

“Fuckmemommy!”

You couldn’t stop the shock that appeared on your face as you watched her thrash on your hand, gasping out, asking you to please fuck me, mommy! Need you to fuck me!

You just massaged her through it, pressing your hips up against hers so she couldn’t run from your touch.

“Wan’mommy to fuck you, angel?” you mumbled in your daze as your pussy dripped, your brain barely registering what you just said.

“Yespleasepleaseplease, gimme— “

“Fuck, baby, need mommy inside you?” Your heart was pounding in your ears.

“M-Mhhm!—“

“Gimme your leg,” You lifted it up with your free hand, bringing it up so it came around your waist.

You slid your fingers down to her twitchy entrance and slipped the tip of your pointer finger inside. You almost moaned at how her walls clung to you, sucking you in deeper, milking you.

“Tightest fuckin’ pussy,” you mumbled to her, and she whimpered when your finger arched inside her. You prodded around until she slumped against you, pushing her hips down on your finger. You leaned in, your lips brushing her ear as you cooed right there? yeah? feels fuckin’ good?

She couldn’t even speak. She just plopped her head onto your shoulder and sloppily kissed your neck. Your cunt clenched and you flinched when her soft tongue licked into the small slit she made earlier. You heard her hum as her tongue swiped a line from your collarbone to your cut; She was licking your blood up like a fucking dog!

It made you punch that spot in her harder, and she cried out against your skin, her nails digging into your forearm.

You slowly pushed your middle finger in, and she sobbed as she stretched around you. You arched your thumb out to rub her clit as you poked that spongy spot in her pussy; She was so loud for you.

“Like when I touch you there?”

“I like it, like it s’much!” You felt her nodding mindlessly against you.

“Gonna cum on me again?” you spat at her.

“Fuck yes!”

“Know you’re gonna cum hard, can’t even fuck you like I wanna, squeezing me so tight.”

You dug your fingers as deep and fast into her as her cunt would allow. Her walls were choking the fuck out of you, practically screaming for them to stay where you were pressed inside her. How the fuck was she going to take you fully?!

The thought of breaking her open made you shake, “Gonna make this pussy take me. Can’t wait t’give you this fucking dick.”

Then she started screaming out for you, trying to get you closer, wrapping her arms around you, her leg dropping onto the floor. “Ohgodohgodohgod, m’cumming, mommy, I’mcu—AH!”

You almost fell back when she went limp on you, her knees buckling as her slick coated your fingers, your palm, her panties. You used your weight to push her back against the window, her head thudding against the glass like before, but she seemed too engulfed in her desire to care. You almost brought your hand up to comfort her sore spot, anyway, but you stopped yourself.

You took her in: practically dangling off you as she wailed from orgasm, her face beat red, the bun at the back of her head almost loose, her eyelids fluttering. You sneered at her, a nasty grin on your face.

“Atta girl, so excited for cock, ain’t she?”

She could only grind out yesyesyes between her teeth, her fingers still squeezing down on you as you rubbed her clit, her orgasm slowing down.

“You gotta make me cum first, m’kay?”

“W’na make… mommy cum!” she nodded like a bobblehead as she slurred.

“Yeah? Want mommy’s cum in your mouth?”

She wept desperately, “Yes, please, need it!”

You grinned, catching a glimpse of your desperate reflection in the mirror. You’re so glad she was too fucked out to notice.

“C’mon, honey.”

Ellie stood in front of you as you sat in her mother’s chair, her shoes kicked off.

Your bag was tossed next to you as you stared at her, noting her fidgeting stance. She wasn’t looking at you, at all. She was looking down, specifically at your occupied hands.

You’d picked up her discarded knife from the table, inspecting its rusty, scratched design, slightly bloody blade, retraction. You couldn’t stop fiddling with it.

“W-What’re gonna do with that?” You heard her ask.

You ignored it. “Where’d you get it?”

“It was my dad’s.” Her voice went sharp.

“What kinda father lets his baby play with such sharp objects?” You said in between sarcastic snickers.

“He’s fucking dead, who cares.”

You finally looked up at her sharp tone, examining her tense face, and your playful smile slowly dropped. She tried to appear as if mentioning it didn’t bother her, but you recognized that look in her eye from anywhere. Grief fucking sucks, no matter how much time passed.

“… Hm.”

You looked down at the blade again, then back up at her, “He taught you how to… handle it?”

She shrugged, her brows raising as her arms crossed over her chest. You nodded.

Your arm was suddenly incredibly itchy. “Mine taught me how to… draw n’stuff.”

You looked off to the side awkwardly as you reminisced on the first pack of colored pencils he’d bought you. You remembered how particular he was about the art utensils and their conditions. You didn’t realize that he was trying to ensure their quality because he couldn’t afford another pack until you got older.

Always make sure these bastards are sharpened! That’s true precision!

“… Cool,” you heard her say, and you looked at her, “Were you guys, uh, close?”

“Mhm,” You nodded stiffly, and silence surrounded the two of you. Ellie awkwardly nodded as she stared at the floor, and your lips twitched before you turned to stare out the window.

Some time passed in pure silence before you heard her speak.

“… Still wanna, uh… D’you still wanna fuck?”

You looked at her as she fumblingly scratched the back of her head. Her eyes met yours as her ears burned. You grinned as your shoulders rose.

“Up to you.”

“Like… I still wanna if you do,” She nibbled on her bottom lip.

You leaned back in her mom’s seat.

“Ellie.”

The deep tone of your voice made her look up, her eyes shining like crystals as her arms dropped to her sides.

“Yes?”

“… C’mere.”

She moved, her sock-covered feet padding on the floor until she was in front of you.

You looked up at her, your hand coming up to play with the hem of her sweater.

You spoke softly, “Off. C’mon.”

She grabbed the back of her top and lifted it over her head, her bare chest jiggling with her movements. She tossed the fabric to the floor.

You eyed her chest like you were going to swallow her whole, her perky nipples urging you to reach out and pull on them. Her pussy is so fucking sensitive; Were her nipples just as bad? Worse? Could she cum just from you touching them? Fuck, she probably could—

“Are they… Do you like them?”

Her soft whisper cut through your gawking. You met her eyes through your lashes as she squirmed in front of you.

Your hands came up to grab her hips, massaging them gently.

“Yeah, baby. They’re so pretty, fit you perfectly.”

She sighed in content, “T-Thank you.”

You planted a soft kiss to her tummy as you looked at your thumb around the elastic of her pants to pull them down.

Her stomach jerked with every sharp breath as your lips moved on her bare skin. You felt her hand come up to your shoulder to grasp it as she stepped out of her pants.

Your hands traveled upward to grab both her tits in a rough squeeze. She wheezed and arched her back so you could get closer. You heard her murmur a quiet fuckme, and you looked up. She was watching your every move with wide, curious eyes. You held her gaze as you licked up her torso, and she whimpered.

You brought your hands back down to grab the back of her thighs, moving her closer to your lap. She placed her hands on your shoulders as she climbed on top of you, and you sucked her nipple into your mouth.

She grinded down onto you and moaned, and your eyes fluttered shut. Your tongue made circular movements on the pert bud, and you hummed at the taste of her soft skin. Her head fell forward as she gasped right in your ear, and it made you suck on her hard.

Her hips were jerking on top of you, trying to fuck down onto your clothed thigh as her nails plunged into your back.

“Feels so… mmh!”

You brought your hand back up to her other tit and played with her nipple with your fingers.

And then you slapped it. Hard.

She let out a sharp squeak and mindlessly bounced on top of your leg; You could feel a slight dampness building on your jeans, and you scoffed at her, sneering when you pulled away. You hit her other tit just as hard, your spit transferring onto your palm.

“Ah! Fuckfuckfu— “

Smack!

“Yes!”

SMACK!

She squealed. “M’gonna cum!”

You reached up to slap her face before pulling her hair to the side with a tight fist.

You quickly grabbed her switchblade off the desk and unlatched the blade, the sharp edge popping up. You instantly pressed it to her neck, and she choked on a ragged pant.

The lust in her eyes was accompanied by fear, and you grinned.

“Don’t get scared now. You were waving it around earlier. So ready to fight, huh?”

She shuddered, rutting down on your leg again, and you pressed the sharp edge into her skin harder. Her eyes shut tight, and two fat tears fell down her cheeks. She nearly bounced on you.

“I could fuck you up right here, you know that, right?”

“Please, mommy, needa cu—!”

You moved the knife away and released her hair, slapping her in the face again. “Shut the fuck up, you nearly slit my fuckin’ throat and now you wanna fuck. I should leave right now, fucking brat.”

She sobbed, “Nonono, please don’t leave, mommy don’t go, m’sorryI’m— “

“Mommy, don’t go!” you mocked. “Get on your fuckin’ knees.”

You kept the blade pressed against her jugular as she clumsily shuffled to the floor, her cries shaking her body.

“You wanna apologize?” She nodded jerkily, minding the silver edge on her vein.

“Yeah? Wanna make mommy feel better?” You said with a mean pout.

“Mhm!”

You sloppily kicked your boots off and shoved them under the desk.

“Take m’pants off, baby. C’mon.”

She moved quickly, unbuttoning and tugging your jeans and underwear down your legs as she sniffled. She yanked them off with a hard tug, and her eagerness made you giggle as you lifted your hips. You unzipped your jacket and pulled it off your shoulders, tossing it to the floor, leaving you in your black tank top. You could’ve sworn you saw a glimpse of a grin on her face as she eyed your breasts before she dived towards your cunt.

You shoved the knife closer against her, and you saw blood pool at the edge of the blade. She looked up at you with an anxious expression.

“I didn’t say you could touch me. Ask nicely.”

She looked confused as she mumbled brokenly, “Ask you what?”

Your brows furrowed at her, “My mistake. You probably never had to ask for shit in your life.”

Her bruised cheeks glowed red as she looked down in embarrassment.

You grinned slyly. “Say, mommy, may I eat your pussy, please?”

Shock overtook her expression before she rolled her eyes at you and looked to the side.

“You’re fucking cra— “

You yanked her dark hair back and pointed the end of the blade against her bruised jaw. Her ragged breaths hit your face.

“Say it.”

“Y-You're not gonna hurt me,” she stated unsteadily.

“You don’t know shit about me, and even if I did hurt you, you’d want it. Admit it.”

She avoided your gaze and her lips quivered.

You continued. “You’d let me do anything I want because you’re disgusting. A filthy fucking slut with a silver spoon in her mouth.”

You huffed at her with a frown. “And you like girls. You’d be just as worthless as I am in her eyes if she found out.”

You nodded over to her mother’s nameplate, and her eyes shut like she was a child getting scolded for stealing candy at the store.

“I’m right, baby? You don’t want a husband? Don’t wanna get bred for the empire like she wants?”

She shamefully shook her head as tears fell down her face. You didn’t even know if she was in that circumstance or not, but by her reaction, it seemed to cut her deep. You ignored the searing pain in your chest.

“Mhm, so,” you turned her head so she could look at you, her red eyes burning through yours. “Something you wanna ask me?”

Her mouth dropped open in submission.

“M-Mommy, may I… May I eat your pussy, please?”

You smiled in satisfaction, placing a gentle kiss on her wet forehead.

“Yes, baby, you may.”

You pulled the knife away from her and set it on the desk, grabbing her chin to plant a kiss to her mouth. She whined happily into yours.

You pulled back and adjusted your position, leaning back with your legs spread, the underside of your knees hooked into the armrests of the seat, your cunt on full display for her. Your sopping pussy was right next to her face, and you saw her eyes flutter in delight.

“Want me t’show you how?”

She nodded intensely.

You brushed away the flyaway hairs on her forehead, your hand planted on the back of her head.

“Spit on my clit, babe. Get it nice n’wet.”

She released a glob of spit right onto your pulsing bud,

and you sighed as it dribbled down to your hole. You tilted her head back, remnants of slobber collecting on her chin. You gathered spit in your mouth and pulled her lower lip down, her mouth falling open. You spat onto her tongue, and she moaned, tilting her head down to spit it out all over your pussy. You bit your lip so hard; you almost drew blood.

You reached down and spread your lips, your throbbing clit poking through. You could see her trembling as she eyed you.

“Wanna taste, Ellie?”

“Yeah, please, mommy,” she choked out.

“Lick me, then, honey.”

She wasted no time, the tip of her tongue circling around the nub instantly. Your mouth fell open at the sensation. The pink muscle was so soft, the licks slow and gentle, barely there.

“Doing so good, baby, take your time,” you sighed out.

She keened at your praise; her lashes flitted like butterfly wings in Spring as she rubbed your clit in deep licks.

“Fuck, Ellie, s’so sensitive,” she whined against you, eyes begging for your approval as she watched your expression. You caressed her burning cheek with your pointer finger, and she licked deeper.

“Fuck, baby, that’s it, making me so happy,” her eyes rolled shut as she tongued you, sliding her tongue all over your pussy in slow strokes.

You moaned out every time she came up to lap at your clit. You guided her head down to your hole, and her tongue slipped inside, slurping up all your slick. You were gasping her name out as her tongue wiggled inside you, swirling all over your walls.

“Such a good girl, fuck, El!” you groaned out as wet sounds filled the room. “Wanna make mommy cum?”

She hummed excitedly and nodded, her tongue moving back up to massage your clit. You tightened her grip on her head, forcing it to move back and forth her hums shaking your clit.

She moved her head faster against you when she sucked your clit into her mouth, and your head fell back against the chair as your eyes rolled back. Your thighs were shaking, toes curled as you squealed out encouragement. You needed to cum, she was going to make you cum!

“Get me there, pretty, m’— gonna make me fuckin’ cum— “

“Wan’mommy’s cum, please?” she sloppily murmured against you.

“Gonna get it, baby, m’right there! —“

She was fully moaning all over your clit, “Gonna fuck you so good, angel, fuck yes!”

You peeled your eyes open and looked back down at her when she released your clit to moan aloud. Her drool and your pussy juice were all over her pink lips as she sighed and whimpered in pleasure. You couldn’t see what she was doing, but her forearm was moving frantically as quiet shhlcks filled the room.

“Ellie.”

“Mommym’gonnacum— “

“I swear to g— “

“S’so wet, oh god, please!”

SMACK!

Her head flew onto your thigh at your hard slap to her face, and she screamed out as her body tensed up. You watched her with a scowl as she squealed out m’cummimgsohardmommy against your skin, a puddle of drool forming on your skin.

You yanked her hand out of her boxers, and she whined in protest as her orgasmed died, her hips bucking back into the air. You stood up, pulling her up by her waist and bending her over the desk, holding her down by her neck.

“Stop fucking with me, Ellie.” You pulled her boxers down under her ass, taking in the sight of her still pulsating cunt and her twitchy ass.

She spat at you over her shoulder, “Or wha— “

SMACK!

She groaned out in pain against the wood when your hand connected with her asscheek in a fiery slap, your hand burning.

“Motherfuc— “

SMACK!

You hit her and hit her. And hit her again. And again. Until she was jerking away from you, her hips bucking against the desk and your handprints covering her ass in a cherry-red tint.

You don’t even remember how many times you slapped her, but she was sobbing out apologies against the desk, asking for your forgiveness over her tears.

“You done fucking around?” Your hand felt like it was in flames when you dropped it on the desk.

“Yesyes, mommy, I won’t—sob— won’t fuck up again!”

“I was actually gonna eat your pussy out,” you scoffed out nastily, and she only cried harder at the insinuation that you weren’t anymore. “You don’t want that, you don’t want me fucking nice.”

You pulled away and walked towards your discarded

bag on the floor, digging through it and pulling your dick out, stepping into and adjusting the straps as you watched her bruised ass jiggle with each wail.

Your dick stood up as you walked back over to her. You gave her one last hard slap on her marked ass and pulled her up by her arm, shoving her onto her knees in front of you so she was trapped between you and the desk.

You could see her wiping away tears, but you grabbed her chin, forcing her to look up at you.

“You want dick so bad? Get it wet so I can fuck you.”

Shock appeared on her face.

“Y-You’re gonna fuck me with that?” You watched her inspect the size of you. The length, the girth, all the ridges. Her breathing got heavier the longer she stared.

“Now you’re fucking scared, really, Ellie?”

“I’m not sca— “

“Talk back again, and I’m leaving. You’re getting on my fucking nerves.”

She glared at you, but looked down, straight at your tip, then back at you.

And then she spit on it, a fat glob of saliva dribbling down the sides of your cock. Her hand came up to wrap around the base, rubbing her spit into the silicone. She held eye contact with you as she stuck her tongue out. You reached down and placed your hand on top of hers, slapping your tip on her slobbery muscle.

“Good fucking whore, good n’sloppy,” you let go to pat her still-red cheek with a heavy hand, and her pretty eyes hardened, her blush deepening. She dropped her mouth open, her lips curling on the tip as she sucked on it. You bit your lip as you watched her tongue swirl around you.

She moaned around the silicone, her eyes filthy. Her hand spread her spit up all over you as she took in your inches slowly, jerking you off and slobbering on you at the same time. She looked like a fucking pornstar, like she practiced for this, like she wanted to impress you, and you shook like you could actually feel her mouth. Your pussy was desperate to cum, but you pushed it aside and watched her.

She released you with a wet pop, her tongue flicking around your tip like she was lapping at your cum, and you couldn’t stop the moan that left your mouth.

“Nasty slut, goddamn— “

She smiled like you just called her the prettiest girl in the world before sucking you back in, her head bobbing up and down as she slurped you up. There was so much spit on your length that it started dripping onto the floor.

You bucked forward, your hips moving on autopilot, and she choked on you, her hand coming up to your thigh to squeeze it. You ignored her grasp and fucked into her mouth harder, pinning both her arms above her head on the desk. She gargled around your dick, and you could only imagine the tightness of her throat with each gag.

“What, baby? Don’t like it? Want me t’stop?” You gritted out. And you thrusted deeper. She moaned and her mouth opened wider.

She was making wet noises around you, her head thudding against the top drawer of the desk when you fucked in. You fucked your entire cock down her throat, and she gagged hard.

You pulled out and let her go.

She fell forward and coughed hard, her drool pooling down on the eggshell floors as she choked. You watched in irritation as she heaved.

“Get up,” her gasps slowed as she breathed in deeply, and she lifted her head to glare at you from her hunched position.

“Get up.”

“Fuck you,” she spluttered.

“I’m gonna. Get up.”

Despite her bitterness, she slowly stood and instantly bent over the desk with her scarred ass poked out towards you. You chuckled when you saw both her holes pulse in excitement.

“That’s how it is?” you slapped her asscheek, and her hips bucked back against your hand.

“Uh huh,” you heard her crackly mumble dazedly. “Need you t’make me cum.”

“Seemed alright doing it yourself a few minutes ago.”

She ignored you, and you smirked, “Need your cock, mommy, pleeease, please— “

You reached out, running two fingers over her drenched slit, and she pressed back on them as she sighed in pleasure. You slowly slid your fingers down to her clit, and she moaned aloud, her thighs jerking.

“Look at this fucking pussy, jesus.”

“I-It’s pretty?”

“Yeah, baby, fuck,” your mouth watered when you saw her walls clench. “Can’t even be mad, you’re so fucking hot.”

“Then fuck me,” she whined out sweetly, looking at you over her shoulder.

You leaned down until you were eye level with her pussy, her walls squelching and squeezing repeatedly. You bit your lip and kitty-licked her cunt, her slick painting your taste buds as her smell surrounded you, and she jumped at the feeling.

“Taste like fucking honey.”

“So do you, made me so wet,” she exhaled as she shivered in anticipation.

“S’gonna hurt,” you whispered, more to yourself as you eyed her tightness.

“Don’t care.” She pushed back on your face.

“Put your hands behind your back. Don’t move them.”

She shuddered and obeyed instantly, her hands overlapping at the wrists at the small of her back.

You pressed one last kiss to her pussy before standing upright, “You move your hands, I stop.”

“Not gonna move, mommy,” she whispered in between unsteady breaths. “Make me feel good, please. Please, please.”

“Shh. Got you, baby. Open your legs,” you caressed her back and she squirmed. You felt goosebumps rise all over her skin, and you smirked.

The gap between her thighs widened even more for you, her cunt on full display. You could hear her beckoning you to pop the tip inside her in tiny, desperate whispers, and it made your core clench.

You inched closer to her until the back of her thighs pressed against the front of yours. You wrapped a hand around your wet dick and brought it up to her slit, soaking it in her gooey slick and sliding it between her silky lips. Her cunt was already soaking your entire length and you didn’t even fuck her yet. She was subtly pushing back on you, trying to get you inside her.

You heard the enthusiasm in her voice when she keened, “Mommy, please, it’s right there!”

“Mhm, I know, I see it,” you mumbled wetly, her gooey cunt looked so pretty under the light of the city, shining like glitter.

“Making mommy so wet baby, such a pretty girl,” you brought your cock back up to her slit and pushed forward, slowly popping the tip in her snug opening. She squealed loudly, and you saw her fists clench at the end of her spine as her walls clung to you, pulling you in.

“Yesyesyes, oh god, mommy, fuck, uh huh!”

“Yeah, baby? It hurts?”

“Nooo, feels s’good, oh shit! —“

You slowly pushed in another inch, gauging her reaction for any discomfort, your thumb moving on her hip softly. She tried to push back to take you deeper, but you held her hips down.

“Fuck mefuckmefuckme— “

“Gonna be my good girl, baby? Gonna take it nice’n deep?”

“Yeah, mommy!”

You pushed in even deeper, and you could feel the resistance of her cunt the more you slid in. You couldn’t stop the moan you released when she said your name.

“Y-You’re splitting me open, ffuck— “

You pressed in the last bit of your dick, her ass resting at the top of your thighs, your hands propping you up on the desk as you leaned above her, placed on either side of her head. She was sighing heavily in satisfaction, and you could see her glossy eyes rolling.

“Feelin’ good?”

She nodded slowly, “U-Use me, mommy, please use me t’cum, fuck.”

“Gotta take care of my girl first,” you fucked out of her slowly before snapping your hips, fucking all your inches back into her, and she screamed. “Such a tight pussy.”

You bent down to kiss her pretty back, down her spine as you stroked her deeply. You’d barely completed your fourth stroke before you felt Ellie tense up under you, her body shuddering as she moaned quietly to herself. You snickered at her.

“Baby’s cumming?” you licked up her spine again.

You could only see her nod in jerky headshakes from where you stood, her cheek pressed against the desk. You looked down at where you were connected, and you could see how her walls struggled to choke your dick. You grabbed her wrists in one hand and fucked her through her orgasm, your free hand sneaking under her hips to rub her clit.

The second her body relaxed, you saw the muscles in her back flex again, the arch in her back deepening, “Mommy, think—m’cumming again, oh god, motherfu— “

“How many are you gonna give me, angel?” you rubbed her clit faster, fucking in harder.

“I feel it, I feel it, fuck!” She wasn’t listening to anything you were saying as she yelled in her pleasure. You could see how much she was wetting your cock, lines of her slick forming every time you pulled out of her. You angled your hips downward when you fucked back in, and she shouted your name out, her warnings of her orgasm echoing in your ears. You released her clit and pinned her down by her neck again.

“Like it right there, baby? That’s the spot?” You could feel your core squeezing with every cry she let out, her voice completely broken, her squeals scratchy.

She was babbling about something, but you weren’t listening, the squelchy sounds of her cunt increasing in volumes as you forced your dick in her, stirring her guts up.

You looked down and saw her ass squeezing with every quiver of her cunt, and you licked your lips. You let her wrists go and brought a hand to your mouth, sucking your thumb in to wet it before rubbing her ass with it.

She let out a loud slew of ah ah ahs before you felt a burst of wetness on your thighs, dripping down onto the floor. Her entire body was jerking back onto your, her rosy ass jiggling every time she hit your hips.

But then you heard a slam above her shouts of pleasure and mommy!

You looked up to check on her unsteady form as she continued to drench your lap, her hand resting on the back of her mother’s nameplate, her fingertips digging into the wood as she screamed in her euphoria.

It made you fuck her harder and pull her hand away from the dog tag. You didn’t even care about punishing her anymore, you needed to cum. You’d been riding that edge since you got here, and you knew you were going to cum so hard.

You leaned over her body and grinded into her, moving her hand away from the plate and sitting back up in its position. You grabbed her by her spit-coated chin so she could look dead at her mother’s name. She whimpered and tried to look away from it, but you tightened the grip on her face to keep her still.

“Look at it, baby— “

She sobbed, murmuring how hard she was about to cum again, her eyes fluttering as she stared at it, her cheeks glowing like apples.

You bent down to her ear, “You embarrassed, angel? Huh? Wanna close your eyes? Gonna squirt on me again?”

She was looking dead at the plate, “You’re so deep, mommy, fuck yes, m’gonna!—“

“Nasty fucking slut, taking it so good,” You looked up at the clear window as your thrusts picked up pace again, the entire city shining through the glass in all its glory. Every light of every building, people roaming, honking, noises of construction. It was all beneath you, and it was all theirs. The strap was bumping on your clit with each thrust.

“Look at your city, baby,” you lifted her weightless head by her wild, knotted hair and made her look into the distance as you groaned in pleasure. “Gonna be all yours one day, can do whatever you want with it soon.”

“Fuuuck— “

“Uh huh, you like having that power? You can get whatever the fuck you want— “

“M-Mommy!”

“Just need a baby, right? Gonna g-give her what she wants? Gonna give her that precious heir, that golden child?”

“Yesyesyes! Wan’your baby, ge’me fucking pregnant!”

You moaned at her begging as you babbled mindlessly to her, “Gonna cum in you, fuck, need it… t’catch— “

She was screaming about how your seed was going to catch in her womb, how hard she was going to squirt again, begging you to fuck her harder, hurt her, make her bleed, make her scream. You could feel your senses leaving as your orgasm built as she pushed back on you, and you moaned her name in her ear.

“Fuuuck, Ellie,” your clit jerked, and you let her go, her head falling onto her arm in front of her as she yelled in euphoria. “Gonna make that bitch raise my fuckin’ kid while I’m gone? Huh?”

She didn’t even react to your slip of your departure, “Yeahyesyesyes! Fuck, I’m cumming!”

You felt another spray of liquid drip down your legs as you drilled her, and it triggered your own orgasm. Your clit jerked as your release rushed through you, your walls clenching as your body shook on top of hers, grinding against her to ride it out. You could almost feel the sensation of filling her up, her cunt sucking your cum deep inside her.

She was still moaning above you, wringing the last bits of her orgasm out on your cock. You whined against her sweaty skin, the aftershocks moving through you.

You felt her go completely lax underneath you, heavy sighs leaving her parted lips.

You both caught your breaths in soothing silence.

After Ellie asked you to show her how to kiss properly, the pounding of your heart refused to slow down.

You were seated in her mother’s chair once more, her wetness still coating you in stickiness as she straddled your lap, her arms around your neck as she gazed at you nervously.

“We just fucked, why do you look like that?”

Her brows creased, “Like what?”

“Like you’re scared.”

“I’m not scared,” she whispered, her eyes flickering down to your lips before looking back up at you.

You only hummed at her, brushing your noses together before leaning forward, grabbing the back of her neck to pull her down to you. Her eyes shut tightly, and her lips puckered in front of yours, and you pulled back, grabbing her face to stop her.

“Stop doing that, just relax.”

“… What’d I do?”

You mimicked her, poking your lips out stiffly before breaking out into a grin. She huffed with a tiny smile, shaking her head, “Sorry.”

You shrugged, uncaring. She looked down, “Where do I put my tongue?”

You snorted, “Nowhere yet.”

You craned your neck up slowly and connected your mouth with hers gently, your lips molding against hers. She sighed and leaned closer into you, her arms tightening around the back of your neck. You felt a sharp sting in your chest at her delicate touch, and you pulled away. A soft smack filled the room when you separated. She smiled softly, “That was cute.”

You nodded stiffly, murmuring a mhm, before looking down. Out the window. Behind her. Anywhere but her eyes.

You felt her nuzzle against your cheek, kissing it gently, “Are we… uh, fucking again?”

“You want to?” The pounding in your ears was giving you a headache.

You felt her nod. Another kiss to your cheek. Another pull in your heart.

Your hands planted on her hips, lifting them so she could sit on you, but she grabbed your wrists to stop you.

Her hands latched onto the hem of your shirt, attempting to pull it up and over your head, but your hand caught her wrist. Not harshly, but stern.

Her eyes softened at your masked expression, releasing the gentle grip on your shirt, “I’m, uh… I’m sorr— “

“It’s fine. Ready?” you grabbed the base of your dick in your hand, and she mumbled a quiet yes.

You felt her hand come on top of yours as she helped you guide it to her entrance, and your breath shook as you exhaled.

Her hips came down on you at her own pace, your free hand resting on her hip. She gasped when it slipped inside, her hands coming to support herself on each armrest.

“Feels different like this,” she whispered huskily.

You smirked, “I know, take your time.”

She nodded, slowly sinking down on you. You saw her eyelids get heavy as her walls caught on every ridge of you, her head falling back in her pleasure. Her soft locks disheveled all over her head, her bun nonexistent as her bobby pins stuck out from every direction.

She slid in too deep, though. She let out a pained gasp as she caught herself on the chair, her brows furrowing.

“Okay?” you checked in.

She nodded, her lip in between her teeth, “So deep like this, fuck… don’t know if I can go all the way down.”

“It’s fine, babe, make yourself feel good.”

“H-Help me?” her breathing was picking up as her hips bucked.

Your other hand flew to her hips, digging into her soft skin as you guided her hips on you. You eased her into a deep grind, and her hands flew behind you, landing on the headrest behind you.

Her head rested in the crook of your neck as she followed your movements, her wet moans hitting the side of your neck. The sensation of her breath on your skin made your pussy clench.

“Am I—gasp—doing good, m-mommy?”

“Fucking me so good, baby, shit,” you whispered in her ear, and she moaned aloud in yours. She sped up on you, the harness digging into your clit with each swivel of her hips.

Your hands moved down to grab her ass, spreading her cheeks before slapping them, grabbing the plush of them in your hands. She fucked you harder, and you felt her spit drip on your neck as she wailed into your skin. You threw your head back on the headrest when she sucked on your neck, right on your open scar.

She lifted her head up and looked at you with gentle eyes, her hands moving down from the headrest to grab your cheeks in a soft touch. She was panting on your mouth, her lips brushing against yours with every jump on you. She was so close and she smelled so good, her lips soft.

She whispered dreamily, “Can’t stop cumming— “

Your eyelids fluttered, “Then don’t. Give it to me, m’so close— “

She grinded harder as she leaned down to connect your lips in a honey-sweet kiss. You reciprocated against your brain's desires.

Push her away. She’ll never be yours! This is all she wants from you!

Tears built in your eyes as your peak approached, her moans increasing in urgency against your mouth. You sucked on her bottom lip, biting it hard. This is the most eager you’ve felt since you touched her.

“Cum with me, pleasepleaseplease— “

“I’m gonna, baby, fuck me hard!”

She was going crazy on your dick, full-on bouncing on you, taking it all despite her protests earlier, and you felt yourself tipping. Your pussy squeezed and soaked the harness as your orgasm pulled in your gut. You looked down at your cock, and it was drenched in her white, sticky substance. She was creaming all over your cock as she used you. It made your eyes cross in your skull as your euphoria hit you.

You were so loud as your nails tore into her skin, your moans matching hers in volume. You felt another splash of fluid on you, and you came harder, another wave crashing through you. You would’ve curled in on yourself if she wasn’t on top of you.

You felt her tongue slide into your hungry mouth, swirling around yours as you shouted through your high. She was making you feel so good, and you couldn’t fucking think.

You felt like you were cumming for minutes before the harsh pulses slowed into soft twitches, her hips slowing, and she bent down to kiss you. The touch was soft, sweet, undeserved. You stiffened, on guard immediately.

She was close, she was too close. Her soft caresses on your face snapped you out of your intoxication, pulling away from her mouth and grabbing her hips to pull her off your dick.

“T-Turn around, Ellie.”

“Huh?” she asked softly, her eyes teary and delicate.

“T-Turn around,” your voice trembled.

“O-Okay.”

She was too fucking close.

She lifted off you, planting her feet on the ground and you spun her. You pulled her down on your lap, her ass in front of your cock. You grabbed your tip, pushing it past her entrance, and she mewled. She took it with ease, mewling out as her back arched into you, swallowing you whole as she sunk down again.

She planted her hands on your knees and immediately bounced on you, her toned ass meeting the base of your harness with every jump on your cock.

You could see her pussy suck on your inches, suffocating your girth, her walls clinging to you.

You grabbed her neck and pushed her forward slightly, and she cried out in painful pleasure. You planted your feet on the floor and fucked up into her.

“Fuck! Your dick feels so fucking good! Oh my—agh!”

You saw even move cream spread over your dick with every fuck inside her squishy walls. You were moaning with her, fucking her harder, faster, the hand on her neck moving up to pull her hair hard. The sound of wet skin slapping accompanied the sounds you both made in your pleasured state.

You were going to cum so fucking quick, “Fuck, Ellie, shit— “

“I’m gonna cum so hard, mommy!” your hand in her hair flew down to her hip, grinding her down harder on you. You moaned at the feeling.

“Yeah? Already?” You were right behind her, those euphoric waves pulling in your gut.

“Fuck—fuckyes!”

“Want it so bad, get it all over this fucking dick, baby— “

Her hand that'd been playing with her tits flew down on top of yours on her waist, her fingers lacing with yours tightly as she shouted, screaming your name. She met your harsh thrusts as she bounced, and she squirted on you again, and you watched it gush out of her, wetting your stomach and harness and the chair beneath her, the sound of splattering liquid on the floor making you cum the hardest you ever had. Your vision whitened as your orgasm crushed you.

She kept cumming on you, and you kept cumming for her. The pleasure didn’t stop, and all you could do was scream her name out like she did yours, hold her hand tighter as your brain melted. She rocked back and forth on you, prolonging your orgasm, making you cum harder. It just kept building in intensity, the aggressive pulses wracking through you, your toes curling as she milked you, and all you could do was take it.

You blacked out in her mom’s chair, the last thing you remember seeing was her pulsing, squirting pussy, pulsing ass, and the auburn stars that painted her entire back.

Some time passed, your lashes fluttering open as you felt soft touches on your face.

You were met with delicate, green eyes, Ellie looking at you with a softness you hadn’t seen in years. It felt foreign, deep, and it made your heart pick up in panic.

You pulled away from her touches and looked around unsteadily.

She was too close. Too fucking close.

The office was a mess: clothes everywhere, the floor was soaked, the whole room smelled like sex and pussy, desk askew, its contents thrown everywhere, Ellie’s tears and puddles of spit all over the surface. You could even see splatters of… her on her mother’s restraining order against you.

You were suddenly terrified, moving into action and guiding her off your lap so you could stand. You undid the straps of your dick and stepped out of it, cringing at the drying stickiness, and throwing it into your backpack.

You heard her speak from behind you, “Hey, hey, you okay? What’s wr— ‘

“Nothing’s wrong, I’m fine, I gotta go,” you said tensely. Unwelcoming. Guarded.

“Did… did I do something?” She sounded too soft, too gentle.

“No, Ellie, I just, I gotta go,” You dressed erratically, pulling your underwear up and jeans on, wincing at your cum sticking to your garments.

You could hear the crack in her voice, “Can I… do you need help or— “

“Ellie, I’m fucking fine. I’m fine, okay? Forget it.” You spat over your shoulder as you repacked. Don’t look at her, don’t fucking look at her.

She sounded just as anxious as you did, “W-Why are you so upset with me all of a sudden? What’d I do— “

“You didn't do shit! Can you fucking drop it please!”

Her breath shuddered, “I thought… I thought we were… okay?”

You whipped around to face her, an incredulous look on your face. Your heart shattered when she flinched, but you yelled at her anyway. Why the hell did you look at her?

“Why the fuck would we be okay?! Did you forget how we fucking met in the first place!” You pointed behind her to the soiled court order, “We’re never going to be fucking okay! Get that through your fucking head.”

You reached down to grab your heavy bag, throwing it over your shoulder in a hurry. You felt like you were going to suffocate. You needed to go. Right now. You turned towards the door. You hadn’t even shut it all the way when you came in.

“I’m never going to see you again, am I?”

Your own tears fell at the dejected acceptance in her voice. She sounded so broken, and it was all your fault.

But you knew this was for the best. The two of you could never exist together in bliss, even though meeting her was the most human you’ve felt since you were a child. Since your father was alive.

But you were too different, too damaged. All you would do is hurt each other, you would resent each other, grow to hate, to regret. The world was too cruel, and she was not prepared for its harshness. You were barely prepared, and you lived it every day. And you promised yourself to never go through the despair of loss again. You walked towards the door and heard her release a quiet sob.

“No,” you pulled the knob, the spacious hallway being another reminder that you didn’t belong. Not here, not anywhere. Her mother was right.

You were worthless. Held no value in this society.

In another life, you could’ve been something great. Your cards could’ve been different, better. You could’ve made your father proud. The two of you could’ve been happy.

“You won’t.”

You left the same way you came, moving in urgency before her sobs lured you back to take her in your arms, against your will.

Maybe in another life.

hi lol OOOOOOWEEEEE

this was heavy sorry gworlies i love sad shit

don’t hate me too much?

omg tell me what y’all thought or whatever *looks away shyly

thank u 4 reading if u did :3

hi taglist love yall @cherriessxinthespring @ellieswifee @elliespookie @belovednanami @sevikasimp @saturnsellie

#ellie williams smut #ellie williams au #ellie williams #ellie williams angst #ceosdaughter!ellie #ellie the last of us #ellie tlou #lesbian #ellie williams x you #works 𖧧࣪

1K notes · View notes

hayleythesugarbowl · 5 months ago

Note

If you feel comfortable, could you do a cute little one shot about reader and Ian telling their smosh friends that they’re having a baby? Maybe they announce it in a jokey way and everyone’s like wait are u or are u not?? Thank you!! I love ur writing so much!! 😘

Try Not To Laugh: Crew Baby Edition || Ian Hecox x reader

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ masterlist • smosh masterlist ⋆˚｡⋆୨୧⋆

summary: you announce your’s and ian’s pregnancy through a TNTL bit

word count: 1.2k

warnings: pregnancy, ian being ian and talking about milk

a/n: this is so cute wait 🤭. hope you enjoy this cute, short little fic!! the pic has nothing to do with this but i thought it was funny lol. fem!reader.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~°~❦~°~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Do you know where they keep the fake babies?”

You scoured the shelves, peeking out from backstage as you waited for your turn to go on for your bit.

You weren’t exactly used to being on camera and you were still getting used to it.

You were participating in your first every Try Not To Laugh video, a gauntlet with all of the crew.

“Try the bin next to the walrus in a wig,” Ian pointed in the direction of said bin.

You began searching, crouching to get a better look, as you thought about what you were going to do when it was your turn.

You and Ian had planned it all the week before, knowing exactly what you’d do when you’d first heard Smosh wanted you in a TNTL Crew video.

Ian came up behind you now, putting a hand on your back as he crouched to help you look.

You had been dating Ian for over a year now, shortly after you’d joined the Smosh crew. Now, everyone at the company had bets going on when you were going to get married and tie the knot or adopt a pet or get pregnant.

And they weren’t far off. About the last part at least. You were currently three months pregnant with Ian’s baby.

You two couldn’t be happier. You were counting down the days until the third member of your family was brought into this world.

But the joy was only shared between you and Ian—none of the other Smosh cast or crew knew about it yet. You were waiting for the right moment to tell everyone.

And where better than TNTL.

You’d talked to Ian about it and decided that instead of come up with a bit, you and Ian would use your turn to announce your pregnancy.

If that didn’t get them to spit their water out, you didn’t know what would.

Sure, telling your friends that you were having a baby during a bit wasn’t exactly conventional. It was silly and unserious and perfectly Smosh. Some people announced their marriages on April Fool’s Day, others announced their pregnancy during a joke show.

You smiled as you thought about it, finally finding a realistic-looking plastic baby underneath a spiky wig.

“This’ll do,” you turned to Ian.

“A poor substitute for the real thing,” Ian said, standing and grabbing your hand to pull you up with him.

He placed a hand on your stomach and you laid your own hand atop his.

“If our baby looked like this though, I’d be pretty creeped out.” You gestured to the doll in your hand.

“Maybe if the baby inherits its looks from you” Ian teased.

You put your hands on your hips and Ian just laughed, leaning in to kiss you quickly.

“Kidding.”

Erin, who had just gotten done performing her bit, came backstage then.

She smiled at you. “You’re up. Should be pretty easy, though. They’re spitting like crazy today—no swallowers here.”

Behind you, Ian chuckled. “Nice.”

You smacked his arm. “You’re a child.”

“Pretty sure that,” Ian pointed to the fake baby, “Is a child.”

You rolled your eyes at him, putting the baby in between your legs, hiding it under the long dress you wore.

“Ready?” Ian asked you.

“I didn’t shove this baby up skirt for nothing,” you teased.

You walked out in front of the cast, six of them, all with water in their mouths already.

Ian followed you.

A couple of the cast members, seeing Ian in your bit, looked at each other in a way that said, Of course they’re doing a bit together, they can’t go three seconds apart from each other.

You and Ian shared your own look, nodding at each other as you began your bit.

“Wanna know the easiest way to get breast milk, free and legally?” Ian said, putting on an infomercial voice. “When you want that leche but you just can’t go to jail again?”

This got a couple people immediately, Courtney and Anthony both spitting out their water.

You let the baby drop out from between your legs.

Keith spit out his water now, shouting, “It never gets old!”

Now you and Ian both said. “Get pregnant!”

Ian came to stand beside you. “I got my girlfriend pregnant, and now I never have to worry about where my milk’s coming from again. This doesn’t work with LaCroix, sorry Shayne.”

Shayne lost it, laughing as he wiped the water from his mouth.

You stepped forward. “So get pregnant today. Call now, and with only four small payments a month, you can be pregnant too!”

Ian added, speaking quickly, “Restrictions may apply. Does not include shipping and handling. Must be 18 years or older to order—so sorry Trevor, maybe next time.”

Trevor spit, throwing up his arms in mock offense.

“So what are you waiting for?” You continued. “Get pregnant, like me!”

You and Ian ended in a cheesy pose and you looked up to find everyone spitting out their water.

“You guys are crazy!” Courtney shouted, clapping.

“Ian, the breast milk again?” Anthony teased.

“I hate that baby,” Kieth said, laughing. “I hate it!”

Ian looked to you. “Well, hopefully you hate the real thing a little less.”

He grabbed your hand, and you linked your fingers with his. Ian leaned down and kissed your stomach.

Suddenly, Olivia, the last to laugh, spit out her water, a look of surprise on her face.

She gestured between you and Ian. “Wait are you guys serious?”

Expressions of shock filled the room and everyone was momentarily silent.

“Guys!” Courtney shouted in anticipation. “Guys!”

Shayne stood up, putting his hands behind his head. “No. No you guys are playing us.”

“Wait,” Anthony looked between the two of you. “Wait are you—”

You nodded to all of them. “We’re pregnant.”

The room erupted into shouts of ‘oh my god!’ and ‘no way!’ and ‘wait they’re together?’—the last one was Trevor.

It only lasted a moment before everyone was up and hugging you, congratulating you and Ian.

“I can’t believe you guys just did that,” Anthony shook his head in disbelief.

You giggled. “We were waiting for the perfect moment—and I guess this was it.”

“Well, congrats you guys,” Shayne said.

“You’re going to make such good parents,” Courtney nodded, turning their attention to Shayne. “And who knows, maybe we’re next.”

Everyone laughed at the expression on Shayne’s face.

“Do you have any name ideas yet?” Olivia asked.

“Not yet,” Ian said. “But I’m pulling for Ian Jr. if it’s a boy”

“Maybe honey,” you said, patting Ian’s arm before turning to the others and shaking your head profusely.

Kieth laughed. “So I guess Kieth is off the table?”

“Or Trevor?” Trevor put in.

“Or Olivia if it’s a girl?”

“Well put those on the list,” you said. “Right after Ian Jr.”

This got a laugh from everyone. You looked around at your friends at coworkers that surrounded you. You were glad everyone knew now, and could share in your happiness.

You grabbed Ian’s hand again, leaning into him. You had so much to look forward to together, and you couldn’t wait.

“Can we rearrange the order?” You spun around to see Tommy peaking out from backstage, pretending to wipe a tear from under his eye.

“Because there’s no way I’m going after that.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~°~❦~°~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

ˋ°•*⁀➷ i always love writing for ian and i hope y’all enjoyed this. check out my other ian fics if you enjoyed this—i think i have 5 now. mwah! 🎀

#ian hecox #ian hecox x reader #smosh #smosh imagine #smosh fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic #reader insert #x reader

174 notes · View notes

redclercs · 2 years ago

Text

DELICATE✰ CHARLES LECLERC.

ii. do you really wanna know where i was april 29th?

— the one where you and him end up in the same room at the same time.

warnings: kind reminder that the pictures are just used for entertainment and don’t describe what the main character is supposed to look like also, there are some f1 inaccuracies but this is fiction so please ignore them thank you❤️ 2k words.

masterlist ✢ next

Liked by scuderiaferrari, vicpresley, tchalamet and others.

View comments

softyn it’s so good to see you having fun!!

myaid4nfeels so you’re already on the hunt huh

poppyseeds mother!! suddenly I love fast cars vroom vroom

greenleafss @/priscibby you were right she def has another man

frenziekenzie okay cool but I need you to talk about Aidan I’m a child of divorce.

Baku, Azerbaijan, April 29th.

HERE, here is where you end up when you let your agent say yes to every commercial offer you get no matter how random it is. And one day late, to top things off. Many people are angry at you, and you’re getting an earful as soon as the cameras shut down, but for now all you can do is laugh at terrible jokes, like the lady that you are, pretend to sip the frankly horrendous energy drink your manager keeps handing you, and appear very sorry about your previous absence.

You’re not even supposed to be here, you had no idea signing the stupid contract with Red Elix forced you to come to every sponsor event that they had. Having become the most recent sponsor for Ferrari’s F1 team, the men in charge couldn’t wait to show you off, their most important ambassador. Or their shiniest toy, it's all semantics.

"Come on, the shootout is about to start!" the old man whose name you have already forgotten holds your hand, leading you away from the refreshments table where you're looking something drinkable, preferably with alcohol, although it wouldn't help your jetlag.

You spent the eighteen hours of your flight on a F1 binge, because you weren't about to make a fool of yourself by showing up to a Grand Prix having zero idea of whatever was going on other than the cars going really, really fast. Some things are still mildly confusing, like the point distribution and why on Earth there is a sprint race and then a 'real' race the next day. But you're proud of your ability to retain information, you're an actress after all, there are a hundred scripts loaded into your brain.

"We root for the red cars, sweetheart," the man is still holding your hand and it's starting to feel gross, it's papery and sweaty at the same time. It's like he's talking to a child, ennunciating slowly and clearly, and then pointing at the screen where they take turns to focus on drivers sixteen and fifty-five.

Unsurprisingly, you'd figured as much, you're in the Ferrari Suite, everything is fucking red. A wave of annoyance runs through you, but you're used to men being patronizing, so you just smile and take the chance to slip your hand out of his grip, covering your face coyly. "I'll keep an eye on them!"

He turns around after laughing at your 'cuteness' or stupidity, really. Men love laughing at women, especially those whom they deem to be dumb.

"Could you please, please, get me some water? Not Elix, not anything else, water." you whisper to your manager just as he's made himself comfortable to watch the Sprint Shootout. He sends a resented look your way but still gets up from his chair to get you a closed bottle of water. Walter is being forced to be here as much as you are, at least he doesn’t have a contract that keeps him tied to Elix for every race.

The man from before is talking to you again and you try your best not to shut down and tune him out. He's explaining the rules of the Shootout but you couldn't care less about anything that leaves his mouth, also the cars are already coming out of their respective garage and there's so much noise it doesn't even matter how much he adjusts the volume of his voice.

Charles and Carlos, you have learned their names after an hour of having their enlarged picture stare at you from the main wall of the Suite. Charles ended up in first place and he's starting P1 later and tomorrow. Nice. Carlos is struggling a little, apparently, but seeing how fast these silly cars go and how tight the curves are, you can't blame him.

As soon as the Shootout is over, there is chaos again. You are dragged here, there and back, forced to smile for pictures with strangers who have the audacity to squeeze your waist and whisper in your ear, well, that's definitely worse than having to drink the Red Elix.

There is another rush as both drivers come back for a debrief and to get some rest before the Sprint, they're a blur surrounded by people in red uniforms blabbering instructions, and the shouts of 'good job!' and 'i love you!' that have followed them from the paddock.

"Mr. Schafer…” a boney boy with glasses leans down to talk to the guy that has branded you as his for the evening.

Schafer gives him a dirty look, annoyed by the interruption of his incredibly boring story about how he is a self-made multimillionaire. "What?" he barks.

"They- they said not now," the boy whispers shyly, no, not shyly, scared. "They said the drivers need to focus, but maybe later after the Sprint..."

A can of Elix flies in the air and you look in poorly disguised repugnance at the way it puddles close to your Air Force sneakers. The boy has taken a step back, now visibly shaking and your disgust is redirected to the man that just yelled at him and is throwing a temper tantrum.

"Not right now?!" he continues, face turning purple. "What if I had said 'not right now' when they asked me to give them MY money, huh?!"

"T-they said—"

"I don't care what they said! It's your job to get the pictures of them with the Elix! You're useless!"

Other people are staring at you, including most of the Ferrari Hospitality Team, and it makes you feel embarassed that they have most likely pegged you as similar to Schafer from how inseparable you are.

"Why don't we calm down a bit?" you soothe, forcing yourself to run your hand down his arm and back up. "You know how these pilots are, divas at best."

You don't know either of the guys who have disappeared inside the Suite, and by the looks the Hospitality Team gives you once again, you're certain you are completely mistaken. But you don't care, because the media boy is giving you a grateful look, and although he's still visibly fuming, the money guy has stopped yelling.

"You're right sweetheart," Schafer says patting your hand and taking it back to his arm. "Later, then." he warns the media boy, who takes that as his sign to run away.

────────────

Ferrari is full of hope and celebrations when the Sprint ends, you're once again paraded around but at least it's way more fun this time. You get to be near the podium and witness first-hand whatever rituals they play out. The fun is short-lived though, when you are warned by your manager that Mr. Schafer wants to take you out to dinner tonight, you don't have or want to know more, you know what he wants to achieve.

You walk back to the Suite with your manager, trying your best to avoid Mr. Schafer, who is frantically looking for you. He's missing his arm-candy badly.

Your jetlag has worsened, and you have a terrible headache, plus however much Elix you've drank despite taking the smallest sips possible, is making you nauseous.

You need five minutes to yourself. It's all you ask for. You haven't even been able to get a break in the fucking bathroom. Your manager is constantly yelling, already getting his own frustration out on you for whatever shit the Elix team gave him after you missed the first day of the Grand Prix.

In the midst of the chaos, you slip away. Eager to find a place to breathe and enjoy your own company. Or dissociate, again, semantics.

You find yourself in front of two doors with the numbers sixteen and fifty-five identifying whom they each belong to. They are empty, and you know it because both drivers are still in their debriefing/celebration/whatever else they could be doing that once again, won't allow them to pose for the Elix post-race photos.

You are at a crossroads, you are well aware this are private rooms for a reason, but you also know there isn't anywhere more deserted than these rooms.

Sixteen or fifty-five? Who is least likely to freak out if by any miscalculation on your part they found you here? Well, one of them ended the day on a happier note than the other, so...

You open the door marked with the number sixteen and sigh in relief. Five minutes and that's it. Then you can go back and play dumb to Schafer and beg for you manager to finally take you to the hotel.

There is a miscalculation on your part, and five minutes later, just as you're about to get up and leave (after stealing one bottle of water and a granola bar from Charles' stash) the door opens again, revealing the disheveled driver, holding a small plaque with a number two in one hand and a Pirelli cap in the other. He is far more handsome up close, there isn't a screen or photograph that does him justice, and you've seen plenty of both during the day.

"You are not supposed to be here," is the first thing he says, frowning.

"I know," you feign nonchalance as best you can, although you are embarrassed. "I was leaving."

Charles still wears that confused expression on his face, and it makes you glad it hasn't changed to anger. "What were you doing here?"

"Stealing your refreshments," which is not a lie, as you're still holding both things in one hand, not without struggle.

He's not freaking out, which comes across as strange. How many times has he come to his private room to find a random girl waiting for him?

"Should have taken the Elix," he mutters, throwing the Pirelli cap in the empty part of the couch you had been occupying minutes before. "That thing is disgusting."

You can't help but chortle a laugh. "Glad you think so,"

Awkward silence finally falls in the room, and you know that's the signal for you to exit. You're still invading his privacy and while you're glad he really didn't seem to mind, you don't know how much longer he will be so patient.

"Don't tell anyone you were here, okay?" he calls after you, "Someone might get fired."

You nod but he doesn't see you, already minding his own business in his little private bubble. You're jealous to leave him in a space all to himself.

────────────

It takes an hour to get both drivers and you in the same room for the pictures Elix is dying to get. This is far from ridiculous, but you have a contract and so does Ferrari, so you don't have much of a choice.

"Are you feeling better?" Charles asks, and you think he's talking to his team mate until he clears his throat right in front of you. He's holding the Red Elix, just like the one in his private room.

"Who? Me?" you ask stupidly, and then you take a sip of the Gold Elix in your hand, it's so much worse than the Red.

"Yes, you."

"I'm okay, why?" you're suddenly defensive, this is the second time this guy sees you and he's acting all weird.

"Good," he says and also drinks from his Elix, failing to hide his distaste with a purse from his lips. "This thing is really gross," he whispers, and this time his teammate does join the conversation only by laughing.

Both must be exhausted and yet they're trying to put on a good show for the sponsors.

"I'm sorry about intruding in your room," you lower your voice, squeezing your drink.

Charles shrugs lightly, and drinks again, this time without grimacing. "Sometimes I need five minutes too."

You smile, and it's the first sincere smile you've shown all day.

"My mum likes your movies," he says casually, as someone yells that you need 'just one more picture, please!'

You dread the part where he says something along the lines of "Supercut is the best!" but instead, after he stops the automatic motion of taking the red can to his lips, he adds: "I like Loneliness, it's so depressing."

And you throw your head back to laugh.

─── team principal radio: ❝hello! thank you for reading, i hope you enjoyed! i would appreciate to know your thoughts too! ♡❞

#charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc x you #f1 fanfic #f1 fandom #formula 1 imagines #f1 imagines #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #formula 1 fanfic #formula 1 x reader #charles leclerc x female reader #f1 x y/n #f1 x you #f1 fic #charles x reader

1K notes · View notes

abiiors · 8 months ago

Text

birthday wish - matty x reader

part 1 of matty's birthday weekend a/n: this is scheduled. by the time this goes up, i will (hopefully🤞🏼) be on a beach somewhere, day drunk 😌 cw: very vague and brief descriptions of a panic attack, alcohol and drinking, mayhem is still with matty here because that's how it should be. also...a smidge of angst, idiots friends to lovers wc: 3.1k

“matty you fucking dick!”

her screech echoes throughout the lower floor of his house and matty bursts out laughing. george stirs on the nearby sofa, huffs something unintelligible and goes back to sleep.

it’s 9 in the morning the day after they’ve had a late night out, no one should be awake at such an ungodly hour… least of all him. but matty has a mission to accomplish, the fucking childish prank he’s been planning for weeks to see through.

and this scream—her calling him a “fucking dick”—is the precise reaction he’s been hoping for.

seconds later she stomps out of his room and matty damn near pisses himself at the sight of her—dripping in water like a wet, angry cat, her t-shirt clinging to her body in all the damp spots and hair as green as an oompa-loompa's. even like this she’s a vision.

“what the fuck did you do?!” she yells again, absolutely fuming.

between peals of laughter, he somehow manages three words. “happy april fool’s.”

“oh don’t you fucking dare. watch your back healy, i swear to god…”

and then all the yelling wakes george up who takes one look at her and flinches back. he actually flinches back letting out a string of curses in the process until his butt hits the floor.

matty doubles over, clutching his sides, and wolf-whistles at her just to piss her off a little more.

“hair dye in a shampoo bottle, how clever,” she huffs, crossing her arms in front of her until the damp t-shirt sticks to her boobs and the wind gets knocked out of matty’s chest.

suddenly, nothing is funny—not the green-tinged puddle of water near her feet, not the way her nostrils flare in anger.

matty’s breath hitches in his throat, and perhaps for the first time he looks at her properly. the damp t-shirt ends halfway down her thighs, bunched up on one side so he can almost see the little group of freckles on the apex of her thigh. the anger makes her eyebrows furrow, makes a small crease appear right between them and matty wishes so desperately he could smooth it with his thumb. his hands tremble at his sides and he tightens them into a fist.

finally, after what feels like an eternity, george bursts out laughing.

matty startles—he’d honestly forgotten george was even there, still waking up from sleep and now that he is fully awake, george bursts into a fit of obnoxious cackles.

“what the fuck happened to you,” he teases to which she just lifts one finger and points it straight at matty.

matty, despite everything, blushes to the roots of his hair. now that he’s started thinking all these thoughts about her he can’t fucking stop—can’t stop when she bunches the towel in her hands and throws it at him so quick that it makes the t-shirt ride up a bit more. can’t stop when she places her hands on her hips so that the contours of her chest stand out under the damp t-shirt.

he has half a thought to tackle george so he won’t be able to look at her anymore but matty suppresses the urge. barely.

“i’ll get you back, healy,” she threatens and storms back to his room.

sure matty was the one who offered to let her have a shower in his bathroom—one, so she could stay over with the rest of their friends for the night, and two, so he could execute the prank. but now he can’t stop imagining it—her under the shower (does she sing?) using his shampoo, his body wash.

does she smell like him now? he’d die if he got close enough to find out.

“alright, mate?” george jerks him out of his thoughts. matty turns around to see his friend stretching sleepily, but george’s eyes are still very much trained on matty. his lips are very much pressed into a thin line.

“you both are insufferable, don’t get why you won’t just tell her,” he mumbles on the way to the kitchen pulling out a mug for himself.

“don’t know what you’re talking about,” matty shrugs, perhaps a bit too quick and gets another mug out. he puts the kettle on boil, gets the coffee and sugar out.

the whole time george stays quiet but matty can feel his burning stare on the back of his head.

only when the coffees are done and george takes the first sip does he speak.

“sure you don’t,” he mutters in a dry tone and takes his phone out (definitely to text charli and gossip about matty’s love life. or the lack thereof.)

in his head he guesses the texts that are being exchanged between them.

he’s chickened out again.

really? i fucking knew it, he’s never gonna get to it.

right? she might as well date someone else.

i should set her up with a friend…

and then shakes his head like that would get rid of the frankly ridiculous thoughts. his friends would never do that to him. they've already meddled and invested too much in his love life by now to give up so easily. besides, he’ll get to it. someday. eventually.

he’ll get to it when his insides don’t feel like jelly around her.

he’ll get to it when he feels a bit more brave.

matty’s birthday wish has stayed consistent for the last two years. he wishes he could make a move. he wishes she were single—well, one of those things is true now. he’s no longer pathetic enough to yearn for a girl who’s already with someone else.

he’ll never admit it to anyone but he did feel a bit of joy when she broke up with her boyfriend earlier that year—okay maybe a lot of joy when he saw how quickly she moved on.

“we’d been growing distant for some time anyway,” she’d confessed when he checked up on her after the break up. “it was inevitable.”

and now that matty’s birthday gets closer and closer, he thinks of all ways to amend that wish.

please fucking please give me the courage to just kiss her.

he doesn’t know who he’s making the wish to. god?? he highly doubts it. the universe?? he scarcely believes in all that new age spirituality crap. the fucking candle company and the cake maker then.

oh great vanilla bean who sacrificed itself for my cake… give me the courage to finally kiss her.

he's got like a week still… if he wished every single day starting today, maybe it will come true. cake and candles or not. he's a grown fucking man, he can make a wish before blowing on a fag.

sometime around 5 pm he wakes up to an empty apartment, lingering taste of the sweet vanilla cake that she’d baked for him last year still so fresh on his tongue.

there’s something else too… there’s the Moment that he’s not quite sure counts as a Moment even though he remembers it vividly—her fingers brushing against his lips while she was wiping away a bit of the frosting, nails grazing against his lips. just a touch too long. all of it—the intense stare, the looking away right after, the refusal to look him in the eye for the rest of the night—all of it feels like a Moment. but the rational part of his brain steers him away from that thought.

she had a boyfriend at the time. she wouldn’t pine after someone else. least of all him.

a somewhat humiliating memory resurfaces too—his own lyrics coming to bite him back in the ass—the speaker blaring “she’s got a boyfriend anyway” over and over again while he tries not to punch the dj.

matty stretches and gets out of bed.

the utter silence feels nice for a change—nicer when half the house is bathed in golden light and he can just stroll through the house in search of some weed and crisps and pop. maybe call his brother and demand that mario kart rematch that’s so so long overdue.

maybe he should let mayhem out into the backyard first.

mayhem…

matty freezes in his tracks and slowly turns around, almost like he’s in a horror movie.

he has not heard the dog bark once! usually mayhem is up and running at him the moment he senses him within a ten feet radius. today however, there’s no patter of paws on the floor.

matty runs to check the little outdoor area where mayhem usually sits. even before he opens the door though, matty knows what he will find—an empty dog bed, possibly an empty food bowl.

he lets out a low whistle and twists the door open. there’s an uncharacteristic, loud clatter and a second later he stands at the threshold, doused in hot pink glitter, dog-less, in the middle of his house.

i’ll get you back, healy!

matty giggles to himself and takes his phone out of his pocket, trying not to get the glitter everywhere. (although by now it’s pretty much settled into his dna, he’s sure of it)

she picks up on the second ring, followed by a very fake clearing of her throat.

“did you steal my dog, darling?” matty launches straight into it, trying to hide the smile in his voice.

“no!” and then there’s a faint little yip in the background that sounds suspiciously like the one he hears daily.

“right…”

“right. that all?”

as gently as he can, matty dusts off the glitter in place and walks back inside in search of a mop or something. he needs to contain the carnage somehow, but on the phone she clears her throat again.

“did anything else happen?”

the little giggle in her voice is so obvious to him. matty imagines what she looks like on the other side—on her bed maybe, cuddled up with mayhem who secretly seems to prefer her so much more than matty. on her bed in just a t-shirt maybe… he reigns it in before the thoughts can progress any forward.

“mayhem seems to have ran away.”

“oh?” then there’s a little silence, which instantly fills with the sound of paws on hard wood. “maybe he’ll come back,” she hedges, “maybe…once the dye in my hair goes away, who knows.”

“is that so?”

“yeah, just a hunch.”

the silence stretches on, none of them willing to hang up first. matty wonders if she’s sat there biting her lip, trying to stifle a laugh. matty wonders what it would be like if he were to bite her lip instead.

“still green?” he tries to tease, voice slightly breathy.

“still sparkly?” she quips back. and well…yes, he is. he’s sure he’s going to be for the rest of time.

“the day’s not over yet, sweetheart.”

sweetheart. where the fuck did that come from? matty runs a shaky hand through his hair and grimaces when it come away hot pink and sparkly. it’s all over his hair too… great.

“is that a threat, darling?” matty almost chokes at the word, his face heats up. fuckin’ hell… if this is what he’s like after one word…

“we’ll see about that tonight.”

and then like a coward he hangs up before she can shake his composure any further. he closes his eyes and focuses on the birthday wish one more time—it might as well be today, he’s faux-celebrating his birthday later with a few people who can’t be there on the actual day. he just needs to get his shit together and…not fuck up.

he fucks up almost instantly.

when he walks into the dimly lit pub, he can spot the green-head right from the door. she’s in a flowery blouse and jeans and pulling the hair off so well that he wonders if he should have done this months ago. but matty shakes off his jitters and walks up to his friends.

several of them are already pretty tipsy, singing and dancing along to the tunes. he is fashionably late after all. they greet him, slapping him on the shoulder as he passes by, drunkenly yelling “happy birthday” even though it’s a week away. graciously, he thanks them all, laughing and joking with his friends before making his way to her.

turns out the list of tipsy people also includes her.

she beams when she sees him, hurrying to put her cocktail away so she can throw her arms around him. a second later her perfume invades all his senses. matty closes his eyes and takes a deep breath of it.

“i was waiting for you,” she declares, a few words coming out slurred. “i’ve decided i like the green.”

“yeah? it looks beautiful on you.”

quickly she wrinkles her nose, stepping away from him. “you’re making fun of me!”

“‘m not!” he vehemently defends himself but in the end it’s all in good fun. fondly, she rolls her eyes and grabs his hand, pulling him to the bar.

“i asked them to set aside this one bottle of wine for you. feel like you’d like it.”

a strange warmth spreads through him—it’s not the most special thing someone’s done for him, it’s just a bottle of wine. but then again nothing is just something when it comes to her.

she thought about him. she’d been thinking about him. however briefly.

matty almost leans across and kisses her then but thinks better of it. a crowded pub is no place to do it.

turns out his first mistake of the night is drinking the wine. well… drinking too much and too fast anyway.

what starts off as slow sips and savouring the red quickly turns into glasses of wine in a corner while they joke around and giggle uncontrollably. she’s flushed, twinkly-eyed and a bit more than tipsy now.

matty, on the other hand, might very well be drunk.

he feels the effects of it—the feeling of his blood being replaced by wine, the buzz in his head, the lack of filter in his words. oh, his head is going to kill him tomorrow.

he doesn’t mind though, anything to be sat here across from her, giggling over an overpriced (but delicious) bottle of wine. matty leans forward, chin on the palm of his hand and watches her laugh at his silly joke.

“you’re gorgeous, did i tell you that?” for a moment he doesn’t recognise the voice. it’s slurred and deeper than usual and that’s not something he’d ever admit to her so casually. but then she giggles and ruffles his hair, laughing harder when her fingers come back, coated in a bit of glitter.

“you’re so drunk. but i appreciate it, thank you.”

“no no, i’m not! i mean i am but— i mean it i—” he’s wide-eyed and failing to explain just how much he means it. matty just wants her to understand. this is not some frivolous confession of a wine-addled brain, this is serious. he is serious.

desperation overrides any sane instinct in his brain. which is his second mistake of the night.

the words come out faster than he can process them, faster than he can filter them and make them digestible.

“you– you don’t know how long i’ve waited to say this. every time i get enough courage there’s either a boyfriend or something else. there’s always— fuck, forget all that. that doesn’t matter—”

“matty—”

“no, no listen to me, listen to what i’m trying to tell you.”

the more he speaks (rambles) the more the smile slips from her face, replaced by something he can’t quite place. she’s not… disgusted by him, is she? he hopes not. that really would be the final nail in the coffin.

“i’ve been trying—” he chokes, deeply swallowing more wine, “—been trying to tell you, i love you! i love you, i love you, i love you. i have for so long!”

and that’s when she pulls back entirely, leaning back into her chair as if she can’t put enough distance between them. her face shutters into an unreadable mask and matty feels panic bubbling up deep inside his stomach.

shit shit shit.

what has he done.

oh god, he clearly wasn’t thinking straight. this wasn’t how it was meant to go. this wasn’t how any of it wasn’t meant to go. it was meant to be followed by a kiss and maybe more. it was meant to be followed by an “i love you too”.

not… indifference.

or worse… disgust.

which is when he makes his third (and perhaps the worst) mistake of the night.

matty laughs. it’s hysterical and sharp and verging on cruel. he laughs until he can feel the tears in his eyes and he can only hope they don’t spill down his cheeks. and then he says the words he can never take back.

“oh god, look at your face. i was joking!”

“what…”

“it’s still the first of april, did you forget?”

each word is like a nail being hammered into his heart. but matty hopes it would be enough. in two seconds she’d roll her eyes and laugh at herself for falling for it. in a minute they will go back to drinking and joking. matty can pretend. he’s become quite good at it.

instead, she gets up so fast that her chair almost clatters to the ground.

in the dim lightning of the pub, matty can’t see the tears gathered in her eyes. although that might be because his eyes are still blurry from his own tears.

“love—”

“you’re a cunt, matty.” she says the words with an eerie calmness, mechanically gathers her bag and phone and walks away. only then does he register the extent of what’s happening.

the wine bottle falls to the floor and shatters when he drunkenly bumps into the table. red spills everywhere, soaking his shoes, the leg of his jeans. he hurries after her, tripping and falling as the full force of the alcohol hits him once again, calling out her name again and again. the music drowns it out.

she’s out the door before matty’s even halfway across the pub.

fuck… how did it go so wrong so quick.

how did he mess it up so bad…

he almost retches right there on the floor, grabbing a passer-by to steady himself. he needs to do something, he needs to make this right. he needs to…

he doesn't know what. his heart pounds in his chest and his throat feels so dry and tight he can barely speak, barely even breathe. matty sinks to his knees right there in the middle of the pub, gasping for breath.

he doesn’t know what happens next, doesn’t remember much after that. all he remembers is the feeling of doom and the loud, odd rhythm of his heart.

taglist: @scooby-doodoo @partoftheairforce @justgoatsbreakinghearts0855 @beachesgetpeaches @you-muppet @mcabister @alexmarie29 @at-her-very-foreign @hfkait @squishysoupy @sierraeslaprincesa @harrie-fic-center @alien-girl-violet @thereisaplaceintheheart @kennedy-brooke @lolidontknowanymore @theoriginalwhatsername @celestcies @sugarkane1001 @ari-turner @thewaywewereinsaigon @daphnesutton @beliefandsayingsomething @ros3chu @nothingrevealedeverythingdenied @zzzhealy @mattymybeloved @fck-off @indiaamars @sofaritsalrightt @k4tie75 @wondersecret @humptyhoran @indierockgirrl @hanbiior @moreyoulove-moreyouknow @rossgirly @if-my-heart-bleeds @little-lovely-darling @abriefnirvana @renitypoem @sinarainbows @lady-may-targaryen @love4agesss @angrylittlebaldman @oneluckygirl @sinarainbows @starvchaser @noacfapologyst @abouttofillhisshoes @tbhnotthatfunny

add yourself to the taglist

#matty35 #matty's birthday weekend #matty healy x reader #matty healy x you #matty x reader #matty x you

175 notes · View notes