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bucketbueckers · 2 months ago

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I'D RATHER PRETEND

CHAPTER FIVE

tags: @angryflowerwitch @avvwritesstufff @melpthatsme @rebecca-woso @bueckersg1rl @l0verl4ne @clouded-whispers @dolliest-thena @katemartinlvr @numberonepartyanth3m @glamourdaya @pbbucks @unadulteratedcyclepaper @paiges-1vur wc: 6.3k notes: masterlist ahead? uh yeah i sure hope it does! decided last minute i didn't really care about any real plot action this chapter outside of tess and paige so if you are disappointed by that, sorry but it's better this way, tess and paige are the plot now🤞 accidentally made this chapter kinda important, it lowk got away from me, but i hope you all enjoy 🫶

‘This Month in Review - The Cutest Sports Couple Since Megan and Sue’

Whether you’re a sports fanatic or a casual watcher, there is no denying that Paige Bueckers and Tess Kennedy have taken the sports scene by storm. They are a topic of conversation in every room – and for good reason. Bueckers and Kennedy were top recruiting prospects out of high school, with Bueckers leading the pack as the #1 recruit and Kennedy following close behind as the #2. They are the current leaders of two superstar programs and despite not having played their full collegiate careers, Bueckers and Kennedy have already cemented themselves as players that will go down in history as the greatest to play college basketball at their institutions.

Bueckers and Kennedy are a power couple through and through, and while neither of them have made anything official, it is clear that they have spent this entire offseason together – even several hundred miles apart. Fans have pointed out that their recent TikTok reposts make references to missing a long distance lover or are largely relationship focused. Their Instagram stories often feature each other. From Kennedy’s Instagram, a recent story showcased a short clip of Bueckers holding a LEGO rose, winking as she blew a kiss to the camera. From Bueckers’s Instagram, a recent story included a FaceTime screenshot of Kennedy, grinning as she threw a thumbs up for the photo, and it was affectionately captioned, “My duo 🎮.”

Additionally, they have been noticeably active in each other’s Instagram comment section:

[IMAGE TRANSCRIPTION: MAY 30, 2023 | BUECKERS IS PHOTOGRAPHED WEARING A LEG SLEEVE, BLUE AND WHITE PATTERNED BASKETBALL SHORTS, AND A BLACK LONG SLEEVED SHIRT ROLLED UP TO HER ELBOWS. SHE IS MID-JUMPER, LEFT ARM EXTENDED AND RIGHT WRIST BENT. USER PAIGEBUECKERS: “TUNNEL VISION ON A MISSION ⏳” | USER TESSKENNEDY25: “I AM LOOKING RESPECTFULLY 👁️” END TRANSCRIPTION.]

Their galavanting didn’t end there. They made their relationship known through TikTok live one night, featuring Bueckers, Kennedy, and some of Buecker’s UConn teammates including Aaliyah Edwards and Nika Muhl. The TikTok live was a source of endless laughter, jokes, and games. Again, nothing was officially confirmed, although many viewers posted various screen recordings the morning after, and all fans can agree on is that Bueckers and Kennedy are not slick.

Many are comparing their relationship to Sue Bird and Megan Rapinoe, and we have to admit, the similarity is there. Bueckers and Kennedy are both standout athletes and leaders on dynasty teams. Fans are eagerly awaiting the hard-launch, if only just to confirm what we all know is true.

-Penelope Lancaster, Bleacher Report

JUNE 20, 2023

“Do you have everything, piccola? Brace, heating pad, charger?”

Making a conscious effort to fix her face, Tess resists a sigh and responds, “Yes, mamma, I have everything.” She knows that her mother is just looking out for her, but she’s been through all of her belongings three times now and she knows for a fact that she has everything. If something was missing, she’s certain Paige would have an extra or she’d be able to buy a new one in Massachusetts.

She got the call from Amaya only a few days ago. To no one’s surprise at all, the media was eating up her and Paige’s fake relationship. Their brand deals were feeling secure in their investments once more and the tabloids were far more concerned about Tess & Paige than they were about Tess’s month-long crash out. With everything aligning once more, Bose actually wanted to sign a joint deal with her and Paige and get them to advertise a new product – standard NIL endorsement stuff, but the icing on the cake was Amaya’s cheerful, “You’re married now!” that nearly made Tess’s heart fall out of her ass.

Tess doesn’t make a habit of being a gullible person, but she genuinely thought Amaya was going to make her and Paige scrap the whole “soft-launch” idea and just come out at the altar with wedding rings. Amaya was quick to clarify it wasn’t actually like that (Thank God), but the Bose representatives wanted to do something corny, monopolize on their traction as a duo, and Tess and Paige would henceforth be named Mrs. and Mrs. Bose.

It was pretty stupid, but a little funny, and as soon as Tess saw her payout, she couldn’t really complain.

“And Paige is getting you from the airport? No Uber?” her father asks for the second time, mostly to clarify.

Tess can’t stop the flush from spreading across her cheeks like she’d been caught red-handed. Truthfully, her parents weren’t haters by any means. They were oddly invested in her and Paige’s ruse – which made lying to them about it so much more difficult, but the both of them seemed to genuinely like Paige despite never speaking to her. They’d been begging for weeks straight for Tess to bring her home so they could meet her since it’s “getting serious,” although they were pleased to know she’d probably be around by Christmas. She and Paige had this commercial to film, then Paige would have to return to Storrs for summer practices (Tess wouldn’t be returning until the semester officially started – she wants to work as much as she could with Terri, no hate to Craig), then Paige was set to spend early August in Europe with her teammates. Both of them would be extremely busy in the coming months, especially once the season started, so they weren’t expecting to see each other all too much outside of FaceTime.

“Yes, Paige will pick me up,” Tess confirms, zipping up her backpack one last time. “She flew in this morning.” Tess tactfully leaves out the part where Paige had completely rearranged her flight schedule for her. Paige argued that it “wasn’t safe” to put her safety in the hands of a random Uber driver given her knee and that she hated late flights anyways. Tess knows that Paige truthfully doesn’t give a fuck about flight times, but arguing with her was near impossible.

Her father gives an approving nod, and much to Tess’s well-hidden anxiety induced annoyance, the three of them do one last check of her belongings before they load up in the car to drop her off at the airport. Tess tries her best to tune into the conversation, although part of her is still nervous about flying. She’s been cleared to travel for a week or two now. Despite that, she can’t help but anticipate the worst going wrong. Amaya splurged on first class so she’d have plenty of leg room and she’s flying on a very reputable airline. She has to remind herself that realistically, she’ll be perfectly fine.

It’s a quiet morning at the airport as her father pulls into the drop off lane, putting the car in park. “Text us as soon as you land, okay, piccola?” her mother tells her.

Tess flashes the both of them a comforting smile, leaning forward to give them quick hugs. “Of course.” And with that, she grabs her suitcase and her backpack, says her goodbyes, and waits for her parents to pull off before she walks through the airport in search of her gate. She’s only stopped a few times by fans asking for photos, which she dutifully poses for, then she makes her way to the counter to check in. She only has to wait a few more moments to board the plane. Amaya set her up with a secluded seat in the back. She snags a quick photo of the tarmac and sends it to Paige, whose response comes quickly.

Tell your pilot to take a shortcut or sum I miss you

you use that line on all the girls back home?

Is it working?

maybe a little

Then no All my lines are for Tess Kennedy and Tess Kennedy only

good

🤔 Are you forgetting something?

miss you too pb 👎

I know 😁

so modest gtg we’re about to take off

I’ll be waiting 🫶

Tess simply reacts to Paige’s last message with a heart, unable to wipe the smile off her face. She shuts her phone off and settles in for the hour long flight.

When the plane touches down in Framingham, Massachusetts, Tess is full of restless energy. It’s equal parts relief and excitement; however, after spending the morning traveling, she’s ready to get back to the hotel and get a nap in before she has to be productive. She hauls her bag over her shoulder and exits the plane with the other passengers as she waits for her phone to power back on. When it does, she sees that a text from Paige is already waiting for her.

I got your suitcase I’m like right in front of the gate

Tess sends back a thumbs up, something she’s sure Paige is annoyed by, and slides her phone back into her pocket. She follows the crowd out. Her heart thrums with anticipation, even as she tries to shove down those complicated feelings. Friends are allowed to miss each other, but her longing feels different somehow. She and Paige were practically inseparable for the month they were apart. Knowing that they’re about to reunite in person leaves her giddy with anticipation.

The crowd clears. Paige stands tall and proud in the center of the boarding area, an easy smile on her face and her arms hiding something behind her back. When Paige finally spots her, her smile widens and she begins taking swift steps towards her. Tess matches her strides, falling into her embrace with a soft laugh and overwhelming relief. One of Paige’s arms loop around her waist, squeezing her gently. “Missed you,” Paige murmurs, her cheek pressed to her head, and Tess doesn’t bother fighting the flush or the enamored upward curve of her lips.

“Missed you too, P,” she confesses. Paige’s arm tightens around her waist and she can feel the smile the blonde presses to the crown of her head. She pulls back, uncaring of the way the crowd clamors or the phones pointed at them, fully focused on Paige. Her hair is pulled back into a wavy ponytail, her face bare (yet she’s still undeniably beautiful), and she’s dressed in a UConn hoodie and a pair of grey sweatpants. Simple, but Paige is good at pulling just about anything off. With a mischievous grin, Paige displays the bouquet of flowers she’d been hiding behind her back, and Tess can’t quite hide the surprise on her features. “Paige – what?”

Paige carefully pushes them into Tess’s hands. They’re roses and in shockingly good quality, as if they’d been plucked directly from a garden rather than purchased from a grocery store. “Saw ‘em and had to get ‘em for you. Figured you deserved a little better than that LEGO flower after these past two months, yeah?”

Tess is speechless, her mouth opening and closing much like a fish’s. No one has ever gotten her flowers before, high school graduation aside. Paige did this completely on her own whims, and that thought alone makes a fresh blush creep up her neck. She glances at Paige, a soft smile spreading across her face. “These are beautiful, P. Thank you.”

Paige’s grin turns tender, her face clearly pleased as she pulls Tess in by her waist once more, careful to not squash the flowers. “‘Course, ma,” she says like it’s the easiest thing in the world, which, for a girl like Paige, it probably is. That thought alone is sobering and Tess remembers where they are, adrenaline rushing into her mouth as Paige releases her. “Ready to go, Mrs. Bose?”

“So fucking corny,” Tess groans, but Paige’s joke is enough for the tension to melt away, for Tess to forget all about the sudden sadness she’d felt as Paige hugged her. “Lead the way, Mrs. Bose.” Paige cocks a wry smirk at her and does just that, her left hand reaching for the handle of Tess’s suitcase. Her free hand brushes against Tess’s, a silent question in her eyes. One glance at the crowd makes her heart race, but Paige’s eyes are soft, understanding, and all the convincing she needs. She links her fingers together with Paige’s, relishing in the squeeze Paige gives her in reassurance. Tess tries not to think too hard about how well their hands fit together – the blonde’s are just slightly larger, enveloping her own in a way that should not be as comforting as it is, and her thumb mindlessly brushes against her knuckle.

Paige leads them through the busy airport, the crowd parting for them, and Tess hardly pays it any attention as she gets lost in her racing thoughts. They’re just friends. Sure, no one in her life is as close to her in the way Paige is right now, but they just have their own thing going on right now. Pretending to be each other’s girlfriend requires a lot of commitment that neither of them have otherwise experienced. Tess was never one for romance – it wasn’t in the cards for someone like her. Growing up, she was taller than most other girls – and boys – her age. A lot of people weren’t into that. Then she realized she didn’t even like boys, which never bothered her, but she felt as though she was missing out on some crucial part of girlhood because she wasn’t desired or yearned for. She’ll be the first to admit it sounds stupid. There’s many people out there with issues far more serious than whether or not they were somebody’s crush in high school. She’s out of her element in so many ways, and she can’t help but think back to that initial burst of anxiety she felt as soon as the severity of the situation finally hit her. She’s in way over her head, she’s realizing it now, and she fears that it won’t be long until people realize she has no idea what she’s doing.

But Paige? One glance at her, at the easy expression on her face, the slight furrow of her brow as she scans the airport signs for the exit, and Tess can tell she’s not freaking the fuck out like she is. Paige is vastly more experienced in this situation than Tess is and they both know it. Paige said she could do casual. This is essentially what this was, right? All of the romance without the intimacy. Tess should have told her right then and there that she was not built for casual. It always spins out of control, and Tess is probably living proof of that.

This is all physical, she tells herself, unsure of if she even believes it. You don’t actually like her. She’s attractive – that’s all there is to it. And for now, that explanation is good enough for her. She’s going to do these commercials with Paige, hard-launch their fake relationship, and then they’re going to be far too busy to see each other until the holidays when they visit each other’s families to, again, hard-launch their fake relationship and tell the biggest lie to the people closest to them. That time apart will be enough for Tess to get her head back on straight and realize there's absolutely nothing going on between her and Paige that should be of any (reasonable) concern.

She almost believes that. At least until Paige smiles at her as she loads her suitcase into the trunk of her rental, opening the passenger door for her. Tess’s heart swells and she realizes just how unfathomably fucked she is.

JUNE 21, 2023

After a calm night spent watching Grey’s Anatomy – Paige’s request, obviously – Tess and Paige were up bright and early Wednesday morning to drive out to the Bose main office for filming. Paige entrusted her with the aux and promised to not complain about her music choices as long as Tess bought breakfast, which was a deal Tess was all too happy to make as she directed Paige to the nearest Dunkin. She made sure to snag plenty of pictures for the Instagram hard launch they planned to post before they went their separate ways. Her personal favorite was the one of Paige sitting in the driver’s seat, legs wide and pressed against the door and the center console, sunglasses perched over the bridge of her nose as she held both of their coffees. The blonde sported an easy smile with her hair in her game-day braids and her thin, black fleece jacket was unzipped, showcasing the UConn shirt she was wearing under it. Paige made sure to get one of her, too, but it was less presentable and far too candid – Paige had swiped whipped cream across her nose and photographed her mid-gasp. Tess begged her to delete it, but Paige’s infectious laughter caused all of the indignation to drain from her body.

With breakfast and coffee secured, Paige drives the rest of the way to their filming location as Tess hums along to Omar Apollo. The silence in the car is calm, both of them comfortable in simply sitting next to each other as the music plays. Paige shifts, her elbow resting on the center console as she drives with her left hand. Her fingers mindlessly twirl the straw in her cup. The movement catches Tess’s eye and she’s suddenly overcome with the urge to grab her hand.

It’s domestic, in a sense – sitting next to Paige in the car as they drive down the road with the windows down. The weather holds a gentle bite, not overbearingly cold, but chilly enough that it makes Tess feel a little more tethered, that she’s exactly where she’s supposed to be.

In her last session with Yvette, the psychologist recommended she just let go. As obvious as the advice is, and despite it being easier said than done, Tess is interested in giving it an honest shot. For years, she’s carried so much anxiety with her, worried about whether or not she’s doing something right or worried about how she’s being perceived. Sometimes, it takes a little bit of discomfort to move forward.

Before she can talk herself out of it, Tess props her arm up on the center console. Paige is close enough that she can feel her jacket sleeve brushing against her arm. She can feel Paige’s gaze on her, the gentle curiosity, but she keeps her eyes straight ahead, watching as the trees pass by in green blurs. Then she feels her move, feels her knuckles brush against her hand; and with her heart thrumming in her chest, Tess wordlessly unclenches her fist in invitation. Paige doesn’t hesitate before she’s linking their fingers together, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. Tess spots her smile from the corner of her eye, and knowing that Paige is watching her, too, she allows a smile of her own to grace her features. Nothing has ever felt as right as Paige’s hand in hers in a long time. As she continues driving, Tess can’t help herself from feeling at peace.

When the two of them finally make it back to their hotel room after spending the day filming, Tess collapses onto her bed with a dramatic groan, immediately reaching for her pillow and wrapping both arms around it, pressing her chin into the cushion. She hears Paige snort from somewhere in the room, followed by rustling as she shrugs her jacket off her shoulders and throws it haphazardly on her bed. “Tired?” Paige asks teasingly.

Tess hums in confirmation. Tired doesn’t even begin to cover it. She was up early, was on her feet for most of the day, and all of the reshoots and retakes weren’t doing her any favors. She knows she’s crashing out for no reason – this is literally her job – but she’s equal parts tired and hangry and she honestly just wants a hot shower.

“Want me to DoorDash somethin’?” Paige asks, as if reading her mind. She kicks off her shoes and falls into bed next to Tess, already pulling out her phone.

Tess cracks one eye open as the mattress dips under their shared weight, glancing at Paige, who crosses one leg over the other as she gets comfortable. “Chick-fil-A?” she requests. “Nuggets and fries? My card’s in my wallet.”

Paige wrinkles her nose. “Hell no. You got breakfast.”

Tess rolls her eyes. “Breakfast and the aux.”

“All you played was sad, break-up R&B,” Paige grumbles. “I really should make you cover dinner after that bullshit. Feels like there’s something you’re tryna tell me.”

“Pretty sure I’m not contractually allowed to break up with you,” Tess retorts. “So don’t worry.”

The blonde hums, unconvinced, before she turns off her phone and throws it in between the two of them. “Dasher’s gonna be here in 15,” she says, gazing down at her. “You good? Your knee okay?”

Figuring her current position probably isn’t the greatest for said knee, Tess rolls onto her back and stretches her leg out with a sigh. Her elbow brushes against Paige’s stomach and Tess shifts again, not realizing how little space she’d left between them after she moved. “‘M good,” she says. “Should probably get an ice pack just in case.”

Paige is rolling off the bed before Tess even registers what’s going on. She watches her pull the lid off of the ice box on the desk, scooping up a handful and depositing it in a plastic bag. She tests the seal, and once she’s satisfied, she wraps the makeshift pack in a towel, plucks a pillow off of her bed, and holds the ice pack in between her teeth as she gently lifts Tess’s leg, sliding the pillow underneath. Tess’s breath hitches at the slightest contact, and despite the chill of the ice pack, Paige’s hands are inexplicably warm on her skin.

“Is this the Dr. Bueckers the ladies told me about?” Tess asks with a coy smile, trying to ignore the flutter in her chest. The way Paige was gazing at her left too much for her to want, eyes soft and attentive, and for Tess, it was easier to hide the longing with humor.

“You play too much,” Paige says, but her words lack any real heat as she rounds the bed once more and crawls back in, reclining against the pile of pillows. She’s closer than she was before she left. Tess can smell her perfume, the shampoo she’d used the night before. Paige is magnetic, that much Tess knew to be true – she’d felt it the very moment Paige stopped her outside of the conference room to inform her that she’d be tagging along for PT. It’s only now that she realizes how strong her pull was as she unconsciously leans into Paige’s space, the blonde’s arm raising to wrap around her, fingers splayed against her shoulder.

“Do I?” she asks, if only to fill the silence. Paige’s thumb begins to trace soft patterns on her skin. It’s difficult for her to focus on anything but that, but she cranes her neck, finding that Paige is already staring at her. Tess flushes under her gaze, though she refuses to break eye contact.

Paige’s lips quirk as she responds, “Yeah. You do.” She seems as though she’s content to leave it at that, but a couple beats pass before she’s speaking again. “You want a lot of things you think you can’t have.” Tess’s brow raises at her words, but she remains quiet. “I see it in film. You’re an insane three-point shooter but you rarely take middies or layups unless it’s absolutely free. And you do this thing – it’s like you’re faking the drive, and I can tell you really want to do it, but you just…don’t. You’re not faking. You’re just scared to get out of your comfort zone and go for it. Scared to get close.”

Tess doesn’t think they’re talking about basketball anymore. Despite the sharpness of her words, Paige’s tone is gentle, and the smile on her face is both confusing and frustrating. Frustrating because Tess knows she’s right; confusing because Paige knows she’s right, but it seems like she’s not completely confident in Tess taking that leap. Honestly, part of Tess is tempted to prove her right. She knows they could drop this topic right now and Paige wouldn’t press her. The other part of her knows they’ve come this far together, that she’s come this far. Doesn’t she owe it to herself, to Paige, to be vulnerable? To take the drive into the paint, risk getting fouled, instead of hovering at the perimeter to take the same shot she’s taken thousands of times already?

She thinks she does. Tess is tired of wanting, of yearning for the things well within her reach if only she had the confidence to go after them. But perhaps there is a thin line between confidence and bravery, between knowing and trying. So she shifts, feeling a little braver, angling her body towards Paige’s, fists the collar of her UConn t-shirt, and pulls her closer and closer until their lips finally meet.

Paige gasps against her, surprised, before her good sense returns and she melts into Tess. The hand on her shoulder skims across her skin to rest on the nape of her neck, her right hand reaching up to hold her face. As Paige guides her jaw to get better access, her kiss deep and consuming, she takes full advantage of Tess’s jilted sigh. Her hands fall from Paige’s collar, finding purchase on her stomach and her waist in search of stabilization. Paige leaves her breathless and woozy, and if she didn’t feel secure in the way she was holding her, then Tess would be afraid of floating away completely.

They break away, chests heaving, flushes down to their collarbones. Tess’s eyes open with a flutter of her eyelashes. Paige is already staring at her, her eyes wide in some sort of awe, pupils dilated. Her lips are swollen, shiny, and Tess can’t help the feeling of smug satisfaction that comes with knowing she did that. Paige Bueckers looks like a mess and it’s all because of her. “Still think I’m scared?” she asks, voice hoarse, her fingers gripping the fabric of Paige’s shirt.

The smile that spreads across Paige’s face is raw, real, visibly affectionate despite her next words. “Yeah.” Tess almost rolls her eyes, but Paige’s hand drops to the base of her throat, her middle finger brushing against her pulse point. She doesn’t apply any sort of pressure, but the weight of her hand makes her head spin anyways. “But s’okay.”

Tess chuckles. “To be scared?”

Paige hums an affirmative, shifting again, and she presses her lips against Tess’s. It’s different this time; firm, lingering, and insistent, almost as though she’s trying to take everything she possibly could. The weight of Paige’s body against hers is exhilarating and it makes her heart race. She can feel Paige’s smirk against her lips. Tess is instantly reminded of the fact that Paige can feel the thrumming of her pulse. She pushes her back with a hand to her chest, smiling at the rumble of laughter that reverberates through her body. “S’okay to be scared,” Paige says seriously, her thumb wiping away the smear of gloss on Tess’s lip. “But you don’t gotta be. Not with me.”

Tess meets her gaze, studying her features, the sheer honesty in her expression. Paige releases her jaw, her hands reaching down to untangle Tess’s fingers from where they’re still clenched in her shirt, fitting their hands together. “Don’t overthink it,” Paige whispers, understanding Tess’s mannerisms by heart now.

But the peace is always short-lived. Tess frowns, her voice almost a murmur when she asks, “What are we doing?” Paige’s eyes widen slightly. Tess wouldn’t have noticed if she hadn’t been so fine-tuned to Paige’s every move for the past month. “The rules, Paige, we agreed–”

“We haven’t broken any of the rules,” Paige states firmly. She squeezes Tess’s hands, her throat bobbing as she swallows. “We communicate. We don’t see other people. We don’t tell other people. And we…” Paige struggles to find the words. “We don’t have to label this. It’s just us.” Tess’s face softens, the furrow in her brow relaxing. “‘M just…glad it was here. You and me, no cameras. And... we can just say we practiced for the public, right?” Paige’s thumb brushes against her hand as she stares at her imploringly, almost as though she’s pleading for Tess to agree, to stop thinking and just do it.

Practice. That word fills her with simultaneous relief and dread, but she remembers Paige’s words. Don’t overthink it. Tess understands that they’re walking a very thin line right now. Why should she let her brain ruin it? They don’t have to complicate what they have right now. And for now, that’s good enough for her. “Practicing is fine,” she confirms, feeling a little more confident.

When Paige’s eyes light up, her lips quirking into a smile, Tess believes that she’s made the right decision. “Yeah?”

Tess nods, flashing a smile that’s unexpectedly genuine. “Yeah.” She pulls Paige in closer by her hands, their lips brushing again, but before she can melt into her completely, Paige’s phone rings and the two of them snap apart.

“Fuck,” Paige groans, her brows drawn tight in annoyance. She hardly looks twice at her phone as she picks it up and answers it. “Hello?” Tess can barely make out what the person on the other end is saying, but the tension leaves Paige’s body. “Okay, I’ll be down. Thank you.” Tess looks at her curiously as she hangs up the phone. “Cockblocked by the dasher,” she says solemnly, unable to hide her pout. “Gimme five minutes, I have to go meet him.”

Tess can’t wipe the smile off her face as Paige rolls off the bed again, slipping on her shoes and rummaging around in her bag for her wallet. Before she leaves, Tess catches her by her wrist, pulling her down to her level and planting a chaste kiss to her lips – a far cry from the one they’d been cheated out of. “Hurry back,” she says. “I’m hangry.”

“Two minutes,” Paige breathes out, grinning stupidly, pushing Tess’s hair out of her face. Then she’s gone, and Tess is left alone in the silence of their room. If any of this had happened a week prior, Tess would probably be spiraling, but she’s committed to turning over a new leaf. She’s not going to overthink it, she’s not going to crash out, and most of all, she’s going to accept this new development in her and Paige’s friendship for what it is without trying to second guess whatever it could mean. They can just be friends who kiss now. That’s a thing. They don’t have to label anything. They can just be them, and as far as Tess is concerned, she’s okay with that.

Paige makes it back in record time, Chick-fil-A bag and drink carrier in hand and slightly out of breath. At Tess’s brow raise, Paige shrugs cheekily, handing over a milkshake. “You said you were hangry,” she teases, sliding back into bed next to her. “I’m too young to die.”

Tess rolls her eyes as Paige begins dividing out their food, passing the sauce and napkins. “You’re such an asshole,” she says good-naturedly.

“You kissed me,” Paige reminds her, as if Tess could ever forget about that. “What does that say about you?”

“I’m a very charitable person,” Tess supplies modestly. Paige snorts like she doesn’t believe that, but Tess smiles regardless.

They continue chatting throughout dinner. Paige pretends like she doesn’t notice Tess stealing her fries, although Paige ends up using most of Tess’s sauce, so they call it even at the end. Paige throws their trash away while Tess scrolls on her phone, only glancing up when Paige returns, hooking her chin over her shoulder and throwing a casual arm over Tess’s waist. “Time to break the internet?”

“You better not post anything embarrassing,” Tess grumbles, enjoying the weight of Paige’s body on hers.

Paige hides her laugh in the fabric of her shirt. “I couldn’t if I tried.” She pulls out her phone, opening Instagram and begins drafting a new post. Tess’s eyes catch on some of Paige’s photos as she scrolls through them. There’s random screenshots of Bible quotes, a concerning amount of selfies, a lot of basketball related things, and pictures of Tess have somehow become a new trend in her gallery. From the photo of Tess with cream on her nose, FaceTime candids, to photos from their shoot today that Tess wasn’t even aware Paige had taken. Tess softens. Most of the pictures were nice. “Could get a new one,” Paige suggests, opening her camera and pointing it at the mirror on the opposite wall, displaying the two of them pressed close together. Tess rolls her eyes, chuckling, but Paige takes the photo before she can react.

“Paige Madison,” Tess sighs. She can feel Paige smile against her.

“C’mon,” she goads. “We look good.” Tess can’t really argue with that one, so she leans her head against Paige’s and begins drafting her own Instagram post. They work in silence as they select the best photos for the hard launch. It’s only been a month and a half, but Tess feels both fondness and nostalgia as she scrolls through their photos and their memories. She has a couple of photos from PT with Paige, FaceTime screenshots, the photo of Paige holding their coffees, and photos of Paige trying to style the Mrs. Bose earbuds they were promoting. She knows there was a reason why Paige came into her life, but she can’t help feeling like she showed up at the right time; it could have been anyone else – college athletics has an endless amount of controversial athletes who are in need of image repair – yet being paired with Paige feels like a stroke of fate.

Tess selects only a few photos, not wanting to go overboard. She includes their first picture at PT – Paige holding the ice pack over her knee, the FaceTime screenshot of Paige showcasing the LEGO rose, Paige and their coffees, and a mirror selfie they’d taken after stylists did their hair and makeup for the shoot. She captions it “here’s to tess kennedy’s worst kept secret. thank you for coming into my life when you did,” and while this hard launch is not real, the sentiment is.

Paige finishes at around the same time she does, a soft smile on her face as they swap phones to look at each other’s work. True to her word, Paige kept the embarrassment to a minimum, although the first photo she selected was the one with whipped cream on her nose. Tess shouldn’t have expected anything less, but it’s quickly growing on her. The rest of the photos consist of the mirror selfie Paige just took, a screenshot of Tess modeling the gold dress for her, a bible quote – 1 Corinthians 16:14 – and, shockingly enough, an older photo of them from their freshman year, shaking hands after the first game they’d played against one another. They’re both cheesing. Tess remembers that loss vividly. The media called it The Battle of the Freshmen, mostly because it was the long awaited match-up between Tess and Paige, who’d been hailed as freshmen phenoms, two top recruits. In that game, they both accounted for the majority of their team’s points. Paige was responsible for 31 of UConn’s 63 while Tess led South Carolina with 30 of their 59.

Tess couldn’t even be upset at the loss. She and Paige played their hearts out, and honestly, playing against Paige was the highlight of the game. From their expressions alone, you would have thought they both walked home with trophies that night. Tess could argue that she did. Playing with Paige makes you a better player, sure, but playing against her? Tess learned so much from her game, although she would never admit that to Paige; her ego is too overinflated and Tess will not contribute to growing it.

“Where’d you find the last one?” Tess asks curiously, handing Paige’s phone back.

Paige does the same, her face lighting up with a soft smile. “Got tagged in it a couple times,” she says. “Felt right.” Tess can’t argue against that, smiling too. “At the same time?” Tess hums in confirmation, her thumb hovering over the post button, and simultaneously, they both share the hard launch to their pages. There is a very brief period of stillness before the notifications and comments begin pouring in. Tess swipes over to Paige’s post and only then does she read the caption, “And her pink skies will keep me warm.”

“Cheesy ass Frank lyric!” Tess exclaims with a laugh.

Paige looks inexplicably smug, pleased with herself. “Full circle,” she says.

“Full circle,” Tess agrees, her smile turning tender.

It’s at that moment that everything finally clicks. The lyrics filter through her brain. And a new day will bring about the dawn. And her pink skies will keep me warm. She can hear it perfectly, Frank’s voice singing to her, “Abandon mission, you must be kiddin’, this shit feelin’ different, shit feelin’ different to me.” All of the thoughts she’d been ignoring, the uncomfortable conversation with herself she’d been avoiding. She tried to push it down, but the realization came into focus with stunning clarity. Tess liked Paige. Tess likes her.

That was the entire reason why everything has felt so different. It wasn’t because she and Paige were spending so much time together, why Paige has become nearly synonymous with Tess’s recovery. It wasn’t because their friendship was just different. It was because it wasn’t friendship at all. It was always something more, even from the start.

Tess feels as though the floor beneath her could splinter, a giant crack down the middle that would send her tumbling to the ground below. She likes Paige. She has feelings for Paige. Calling it by any other name wouldn’t do her any good. She broke their rules and it’s taken her this long to realize.

“You good?” Paige asks her, her brows drawn into a furrow, concern etched onto her face as her hand reaches for Tess’s. She hadn’t realized she was shaking.

Tess clears her throat, nodding. “Yeah,” she lies, hoping that it sounds believable. Bree’s words come back to her. You’re lying to Paige, which is why you’re fumbling the bag. She was right all along. Tess could laugh at the absurdity of it all if Paige wasn’t sitting next to her. “Just need a shower, I think.”

She decides right then and there that Paige can’t know. She can’t know that she’s close to ruining it all, close to undoing all of the work they’d done to restore their reputations. That she’d broken their rule after all. That she let this get out of hand, and if Paige knew, their friendship would be destroyed for sure, and Tess isn’t sure if she could handle not having Paige around.

Paige hums, seemingly convinced, but all Tess can think about is what she’s done.

#paige bueckers #paige bueckers x oc #uconn wbb #uconn #ncaa wbb

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madschiavelique · 2 years ago

Text

𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐞 (𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐨'𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫)

summary : so you were called for back-up on a mission with gwen, hobie, pavitr and miguel. you get him out of a tight situation, he drags you in a dark street, you get back to the team, you get shot in the thigh, and miguel starts sucking on the bullet to get it out of your skin :D (or most simply, how you got wounded and miguel is playing healing vampire)

content warnings : blood, bullet (if there are others please do tell so that i can add them !), biting (literal), miguel licking you, no use of Y/N word count : 5,3k

note : the spider babies feel like a lil found family to me, so i had to make them goofy in this. i thought about miguel’s bites not only being poisonous, but also in another dosage a great pain killer (i have strictly no idea about how realistic all this is but here have fun reading this besties). this stands as the first part of a 3-shot that i am writing for my bday which is in 4 days hehe (crying), also i didn't proof-read this and english is not my first language :D, enjoy

chapters' list : 1 - lovebite 2 - late night training 3 - unexpected mission (nsfw) 4 - shameless (nsfw)

Although this wasn't your first mission, you couldn't help but feel like a frozen steak being thrown into a hot pan. You weren't always flung into the thick of the action, of course, but today you were, because you'd been called in as reinforcements with Pavitr.

Miguel had taken Hobie and Gwen on this mission, hoping to get Gwen more used to the terrain. You had arrived a little after her, and for the moment you had restricted access to the field. But today was clearly an exception. You and Pavitr had been called in as back-up, and you immediately took the portal to the dimension in question.

As soon as you emerged from the portal, your spider-senses alerted you to the need to throw yourselves to the ground to avoid the rush of bullets that had been fired in your direction. Exchanging surprised glances, you began to crawl to the side of the building that seemed to be opposite to where the incessant gunfire was coming from, hoping to avoid being riddled with bullets. Because although Swiss cheese was appetising, it wasn't in your plans to become one.

Pavitr tapped his watch.

"Miguel, we're here, where are-" but he had no need to ask the latter's whereabouts, since right in front of them swayed Hobie and Gwen, who seemed to be fleeing... A bride?

It was a bride armed with some sort of personally optimised cannon that was firmly strapped to her body, and if your instincts were right, it would appear that her ammunition was not as simple as that commonly sold, and you dreaded to know what would come out if she fired. She moved with a sort of jet-pack, following your friends at breakneck speed, her long white veil rippling like a trail left behind an aeroplane. Immediately, the two of you began to follow to join them.

"Hey, Hobie! Gwen! We're here!" you shouted.

Suddenly, the bride's head swivelled in your direction, her big red lips stretching into a smile as her eyes widened like two big marbles. Ouch, maybe shouting your presence in the middle of a fight wasn't the right decision.

You could already hear Miguel's voice echoing in your mind: "You should have taken advantage of the surprise and used it to your advantage instead of letting the whole town know that two Spider-Men had just joined the fight!"

But hey, what's done is done, and you'll certainly remember to be more observant on your next mission.

"Ah, Miguel's little minions have joined the party! Honey?" she shouted as you both reached Gwen and Hobie, "we've got some newcomers, I hope they're on the guest list for the ceremony. It would displease me greatly if we had to eliminate them just for that reason."

"After all, murder and marriage are the same if the two people know each other and it all ends in death," you say, your eyes falling for a moment on the absolutely enormous cannon she seems to have programmed to shoot you.

"Marriage is just another contract to life anyway," replied Hobie, to which you nodded sharply. "Anyway, with her chemtrail theory flying around behind her, I'm worried."

It seemed that the anomaly was not a single anomaly, but rather a couple of anomalies, which was probably why these two had been asked to provide support.

"Where's Miguel?" asked Pavitr, all still running.

"Oh bloke, you're not going to believe your eyes when you see him," sneered Hobie.

"What happened?" you asked.

"I took a few photos of the occasion," said Gwen, "but nothing beats seeing it for real."

A loud bang sounded, and you turned to see what had just happened. The face of the building you were standing on was melting: the bride had fired a bubble of acid that had burst against the wall and was biting all the adverts that were stuck to it.

"Destroying propaganda? Bonkers, I'm starting to reconsider this," Hobie huffed.

"Miguel's further down the avenue, on that street over there," said Gwen. "Go and see him before he comes, it's well worth a look.

When the mystery is too great, you don't dare disobey, so while they were busy evacuating more civilians to reduce the number of casualties from the mission, you set off in the direction you'd been told.

You swung out into the street, and as you rounded the corner, you couldn't help but stifle a laugh. The great Miguel O'Hara, the man at the head of the Spider Society, guardian and master of the inter-dimensional balance of events, was pasted up and looked like an Egyptian drawing in the process of running, or the typical chalk drawing you would draw on the ground at a crime scene, all covered in a gooey fluffy substance.

You swung over to him, and he noticed your arrival. You landed on the edge of the wall he was stuck on, biting your lip to stop yourself from bursting out laughing.

"If you want to say something now is the time to shut up." he said, teeth clenched.

"Gwen was right, it's definitely worth the trip. Comfortable? Need a magazine? A snack perhaps?"

"Hilarious, are you going to mess with me like this for much longer or are you planning to help me out of this situation?"

"My intentions were of a slightly more agreeable nature," you huff, walking towards him on all fours.

The substance surrounding him seemed to be a kind of solid foam that kept swelling slowly. You drew out your claws and began to cut the foam from his arm.

"Lovely couple over there, real synergy between the two of them. Shame almost half of marriages end in divorce."

"You get sentimental about enemies? Keep your sensitivity out of the fight and concentrate."

"Focus on foam? Honestly you know your Marshmallow Man costume lacks realism."

He let his neck tilt back until it touches the wall, murmured between his lips: "todos me vais a matar."

A small smile stretched across your face, the poor guy must have felt like he was babysitting, and although you were older than all the other teammates, hanging out with them brought out your absurd and more childlike side, your inner child in a way.

You managed to dislodge quite a bit of foam, but it was taking too long, it was thick and had the consistency of snow whose surface had crystallised.

"I'm pulling your leg, jefe" you say, the little use of the Spanish name making him react. What, You've got to make a profit from duolingo after all. " Okay, pull in your tummy."

"What?"

You raised your arm in the air, your claws extending a little further. Lately you'd been trying to see how far you could push the limits of your costume, and the increase in your claws was one of them. It was a bit painful, but if it meant Miguel could get out of this situation and get home safe, then you might as well take it. All you could hope for was that you wouldn't fail...

Then, with a sharp, wide stroke, you sliced through the foam. The cut was perfect, and Miguel, who was just as surprised as you were, popped out of his spot as if he'd just stepped out of a mould.

" Well," he turned to you, dusting off the few remnants of foam still clinging to his body, "observations?"

This was an exercise that Miguel inflicted on every recruit during their training or recruitment. It was simple: he selected a small anomaly to keep things simple, and asked the recruit what observations they'd make to neutralise the target. Except that, in this case, the anomaly wasn't so minor. You were racking your brains.

"I didn't see the husband, but I did see the bride. She's got a jet pack that should be neutralisable, it'll slow her down in her movements, but you'd have to aim carefully to do that. Her only power is her weapon, except that as it's attached to her it's going to be complex..."

Then you remembered her attire, and especially the long veil firmly placed on her head.

"Her wedding veil, you should be able to pull it down and hold it still."

Miguel nodded, you didn't know how to take the look he was giving you through the mask, but you hoped he was satisfied with the answer.

"The husband's pretty much the same, except-" but he didn't finish his sentence, suddenly grabbing your arm and pulling you instead into a much darker, narrower adjacent alley. He leaned against a wall, looking down at the street you had just left.

"Here's the husband," he murmured.

The suddenness of the gesture took you by surprise, of course, and you seemed unable to think straight. Not just because you were so close that your bodies were pressed together, but because all your senses, all your nerves, seemed to come together in one and the same place in your body, a place where it felt like sparks were flying: Miguel's hand was placed on your waist.

Through the thin but hard-wearing fabric of your suit, you could feel the heat from his fingers spread across your skin, sending a shiver down your spine and up to your neck and cheeks to warm them. His grip was firm on your flesh, and you tried to calm your breathing, which had been racing as fast as your heart at this closeness.

His second hand still had your arm in its embrace, and the simple thought occurred to you: what if his hand came down your arm to meet yours?

You looked up at Miguel's profile, watching the street you were on, alert. You took a deep breath as you watched him, his scent coming to you through the mask as earthy, pungent. And he turned his head towards you.

The distance separating your two faces was small, terribly small, and you wondered at that moment how the scene would have unfolded if neither of you had masks on. Would he have paid any attention to the way you were looking at him? Would those dark eyes have sparkled? Would you have been able to feel his hot breath on your face?

"Is everything all right? Your heart rate's increased."

The sentence refocused you for a moment as if you'd just plunged into icy water, your reverie no doubt perceptible through the suit. You lowered your eyes, glancing at the placement of his two hands on you, blinking rapidly as you tried to pull yourself together. Quick, an excuse, anything.

"The others," you breathed, using the card of concern for teammates, "I wonder how they're holding up."

"Uh huh..." he murmured, the answer only half satisfying him, his gaze piercing yours through his mask as you felt his hand tighten on your waist, another shiver running through your body. You didn't really understand why he'd maintained this seemingly intimate embrace, but to be honest, you weren't against the idea of this position for a few more moments.

It felt good to be like that, to share someone else's closeness.

He was so big, he seemed to engulf you with his size and thickness, looming over you, and so much strength and threat in one body aroused as much interest in you as it did fear.

Pull yourself together, for God's sake, what's Miguel, your boss? He's got better things to do than that, than get close to you, than get intimate with you...

He seemed to be inspecting you strangely, and the intensity of this gesture made you look down even more, the ground suddenly seeming very interesting to look at. But if he had anything to say on the subject, it could obviously wait until the mission was over.

"The way's clear, let's go," he says, finally letting go of his hold on you, "before these idiots do any more damage than they already have."

And with a thump, he pulled a web and propelled himself into the air. A gasp escaped your lips, the sudden sensation of not being touched leaving you feeling grey. You took a deep breath, trying to refocus your thoughts on the mission and not on the irreplaceable sensation that Miguel's hands had left on your body.

You dashed off in your turn, following him to join the others.

Not far away you could hear Hobie shouting: "They're pissing on us without even making us think it's raining!" Hobie, charming as always.

Needless to say, it was a fairground. Miguel threw a web in the bride's face and found the other three on a roof. Furious, he pointed his finger towards the corner of a building that was on fire, from the bottom of which civilians kept coming out, coughing, some even injured.

"Who did this?" he asked, his throat rumbling in frustration.

"You did," Hobie answered point-blank.

"Bravo," he growled sarcastically, "it's good to admit your mistakes."

"It's paradoxical communication," he informed you, avoiding a projectile that you couldn't identify, no doubt another munition of dubious composition from the bride's weapon, who seemed to be hurtling towards you with intensity.

" I Leave it to you for two minutes and you destroy everything," Miguel murmured as he began to run towards the enemy.

" Submerged by their numbers of two we couldn't do anything," pleaded Pavitr.

"Gobsmacked, maybe she's rebelling against a terribly phallocratic world," Hobie says as he dodges a huge snowball as big as himself launched from the cannon.

"Darling? Maybe it's time for dessert, what do you think?"

Shit, here comes the husband too. He was equipped with a jet-pack just like the groom, but his weapon was much less sophisticated than his wife's, a simple submachine gun, which didn't make it harmless, quite the contrary.

"Great idea! It's time for the icing on the cake," and with these words she seemed to throw portions of sweet and colourful cream towards your group.

"Come on, dance! Dance!" ordered the husband.

"No! I don't wanna dance, I'm from the town in footloose," you blurted out, trying to pull a simple web towards the cannon of the bride's gun.

You didn't succeed, but threw a second one anyway, taking the risk of standing still for a few moments to improve your aim. The web shot out and hit the barrel of the weapon. Yes! but the celebrations were short-lived, as a rush of bullets came crashing towards you, and even in your haste to escape, you were hit in the thigh.

A strangled little grunt vibrated against your teeth and lips, you didn't know exactly what it had struck in your leg, but the pain was sudden and stinging. Still, you followed the others a little, with difficulty. Every simple movement was a painful tug.

The group eventually stopped in an empty courtyard, to deliberate, talk strategy and how to organise themselves. The landing on the ground was a little abrupt, and you staggered back to your feet towards the group.

"Hey, you all right?" Hobie asked you.

"Never been better," you said, giving a thumbs up, your nose wrinkling at the next step.

"Are you sure you're okay? You're walking like a Disney witch," said Patvir, raising an eyebrow.

"Bollocks, your thigh!" pointed Hobie as he came towards you.

You looked down, the bullet had of course pierced the fabric of your suit, stretching the elastic material over your bloody thigh from the hole the bullet had punched in your thigh.

"Calm down," Gwen said in the distance, chatting to Miguel, "let me take care of this, Miguel."

"Like you've taken care of everything else so far, Gwen?" he said, his hands resting on his hips.

"Miguel?" called Pavitr.

"What do you want?" he asked as he turned his head suddenly towards where you guys were.

"Can't you answer 'yes' like everyone else?" gasped Pavitr.

But Miguel was already coming towards you, he must have seen the impact in your thigh.

"Nice icing on the cake, eh?" you said, laughing slightly at the situation. After all, ridicule poisons fear.

But the shots were already ringing out and they were coming towards you.

" Okay," breathed Miguel, "Hobie, Pavitr, Gwen, try to immobilise them. The husband is easy to neutralise, just hit his jet-pack and take away his weapon. For the bride, try to take her towards the river, if you make her fall into the water she will start to sink with all her layers of clothes and the weight of her dress. Pull her by her veil if you have to, but go ahead. The first one to do even a little unintentional damage again will end up with his back broken like a glow stick, got it?"

"I don't take orders," Hobie refused.

"Hobie, you take care of the bridegroom with Gwen," Miguel continued as if he wasn't listening to him any more, moving closer to you. He tossed him his multidimensional cell device, as if he was worth reaching for.

"Why does he only come and ask me things once a day, as if I were a vitamin?" Hobie huffs before launching himself into the air.

"Oh, you know, that's what we love about him, his boundless empathy," remarked Gwen before shooting a web and leaving in her turn.

"Why do I always get the less interesting ones," said Pavitr before leaving as well.

Miguel turned to you, taking off his mask. His brown hair was dishevelled and he didn't even put his hand through it before ordering:

"Sit.

You'd have liked to contradict him, to say that you could definitely wait until you got back to HQ and received treatment there rather than slowing down the mission when you'd literally been called in as backup. And here you were, the backup turned liability in the situation, so contradicting him wasn't really in your plans.

You backed away, leaning against the wall and letting yourself slide with difficulty against the bricks as you tried to put as little weight as possible on your damaged leg. With a muffled whimper, you reached the ground, stretching your bad leg further as you bent the other. You took off your mask in turn, no longer able to hide your expressions of pain. The sensation you'd had at first had been sharp, but now it felt like your thigh was on fire and the wound was licking at your skin like flames.

Miguel came forward and knelt beside you. His gaze was riveted on your thigh, and when his gloved hand came to rest beside the wound, you stiffened your back and couldn't help breathing in through clenched teeth. His brown eyes looked up into yours, watching your expressions through the wild strands of his hair. But it was also simply a look for permission to continue his gestures.

"If it hurts too much, use your mask," he said, his eyes returning to the wound.

The mask? In what way would the mask be- ah, so... You watched your mask, hesitating for a moment. What Miguel meant by that suggestion was biting your mask. Since you were probably going to grit your teeth, you might as well not hurt yourself too much and tear them up by biting into something. You wavered at the thought, preferring not to damage any more of your costume. You'd already dented it with your punctured thigh, but ripping your mask on top of that? No, preferably not.

His thumb felt your skin, and he pressed down on a spot that threw you so hard that your hand immediately grabbed his wrist. You were breathless, almost nauseous from the pain, and you opened your frowning eyes again to meet Miguel's gaze, which had stopped all movement of his hand.

You looked up at him, your eyes and nose stinging with the tears that threatened to spill from the pain. He breathed, his eyes falling on your hand, then straightened towards yours:

"If you don't let me touch it, I'll pin your hands down with my webs, is that clear?"

Biting the inside of your cheek, you let out a shaky breath and removed your hand, which seemed ridiculously small compared to his.

"Well, the bullet's really not deep, so it should be fine."

Honestly, you didn't know whether it was better for you to know what was going to happen, and you were somehow grateful that he wasn't detailing his operation to you, even though he was doing it mainly out of lack of time.

His two hands came to grip your thigh to hold it steady, he gave you one last look, then lowered his head close to your thigh, and you saw a flash of white gleam from his long, sharp fangs before they sank into your skin. A strangled cry drowned in your throat as you felt them ooze something wet, liquid seeping into your skin and blood.

Miguel's bites weren't just poisonous, they could also be incredibly helpful in situations like these, where they acted as both a mild painkiller and a kind of antidote that accelerated the healing process. And although the painkiller aspect wasn't performing well enough for your liking, you were still quite happy not to feel like you were in complete agony.

The sensation of his lips on your flesh, however, previously drowned out by the sensations of all your aching nerves, became much clearer. Their softness grazing your skin with more intimacy than he was aware of.

He hadn't bitten down on the wound, to prevent the bullet from moving any further, and you took a deep breath when he moved away, pulling his fangs out of your skin. His tongue cleaned them, and he glanced at you as he did so, just to make sure you were all right.

Please tell me I haven't become a big walking tomato, you thought. Now apparently the most important phase would begin: extracting the bullet. You bit down hard on your bottom lip, still feeling pain, then nodded to allow him to continue.

He bent down again, coming dangerously close to the wound, to your raw flesh where warm blood was dripping. The bullet wasn't far from the surface, luckily the suit had played a large part in cushioning it.

He breathed in lightly, then put his lips to the wound. A current of electricity ran through your body as all sorts of sensations mixed together in one place. The burn on your thigh had just met the slightly sticky wetness of Miguel's saliva and the warmth of his mouth and lips as he began to draw.

You realised what Miguel was doing, he was sucking the bullet out of your flesh. His tongue flicked lightly around the impact, and his fangs, still a little elongated, lightly traced your skin.

Your breath was erratic, and you tried to stabilise it, but the sensations seemed so extreme that the task was complicated. The thing about spider-senses is that your senses are heightened, so the slightest movement of Miguel's lips, tongue or fangs sent shivers through your body. He drew back to spit out the excess saliva and blood that had mingled before coming back and sucking harder. You could feel the bullet coming out little by little, still biting your lip fiercely until you felt a metallic taste, and were insistently reconsidering the choice of biting into your mask. So you switched to the side of your index finger, biting it as your frown of pain intensified.

Then Miguel pressed his lips a little harder, and your body had to grab hold of something. Then, inadvertently and with many mental 'oh no's attacking your being as soon as the gesture was made, you grabbed Miguel's hair.

His eyes immediately looked up at yours, wide, questioning the gesture, and the sight made you feel as if your heart had fallen into the warmth of your stomach. His brown eyes had a flash of red and peered through his long lashes, their colour blending perfectly with his blood-smeared cheeks.

You were so desperate for a foothold that your body hadn't given a second thought to what it should be gripping. He just froze, for a few seconds that seemed as long as minutes. You calmed your breathing, taking advantage of the respite from his movements to relax a little. Worried, you looked up at him again, dreading his reaction.

But nothing, no 'what the hell are you doing', no 'stop that immediately', no 'that's inappropriate', no reprimand, nothing. Your fingers in his hair relaxed, they were much softer than you'd imagined, but your hand didn't leave its place. You felt both his hands tighten around your thigh, making you swallow hard. He just gave you one last look before flicking his tongue around the wound and continuing his suction.

Your fingers reflexively gripped his hair again and Miguel let out a low rumble from his throat that vibrated up your thigh and into the bullet. The sensation was such that you suddenly turned your head to the side, closing your eyes tightly until you saw stars. The tears that had welled up started falling, determined.

Miguel's hot breath washed over your bare, rosy skin, turning visibly purple with the repeated suctions Miguel left in his path. His normal teeth were biting into your skin around the bullet to create the pressure that would eject it.

You locked your fingers in his hair again, and felt his hands tighten their grip on your thigh as a low hmpf vibrated against your skin again. Then he drew in harder, and pressed his teeth in deeper, and you felt your finger beading with blood as your teeth pierced your skin.

And then, at last, you felt the bullet come out. A deep sigh poured from your lungs as you eased your hand from his hair to wipe away the tears that had rolled down your cheeks. He stepped back, his eyes looking into yours, his cheeks and nose all covered in blood, and between his reddened teeth was the crushed bullet.

You looked at him like this, your cheeks heating up violently. He spat the bullet out to the side, then looked back at your thigh. He breathed heavily, clenching his jaw as he let go of your thigh, bringing one of his hands up to wipe his cheek with the back of it.

"Put some webs on it, that should be enough to last us until we get to HQ."

His eyes scanned yours, tired, reddened, a tear still running down them. He wiped it away with the back of his index finger, letting it fall onto the fabric of his suit. The gesture was gentle, almost like a caress as his finger gently traced your cheek.

"You did great, muñeca", he said, his voice soft, softer than you'd ever heard it.

The nickname gave you a warm, soft feeling in your lower stomach. He straightened up, his mask in hand, the other stretched out towards you, ready to be seized.

No comment on the pulled hair? You were afraid he'd mention it, or were you afraid he wouldn't mention it at all.

"Can you stand up?" he asked.

You looked at your thigh for a moment, then did as he instructed and pulled a few webs over the still open wound. Then, looking up, you grabbed Miguel's hand to help you up. You breathed through your teeth, the pain was still there, but now that the bullet had been dislodged and Miguel's pain-killing venom was coursing through your veins, the ache was lessened.

You were swaying slightly and Miguel's reflex was to place his hand on your waist to steady you. He gave a retentive tt-tt.

"Try to stick to the webs, do as little walking or running as possible," he said before putting his mask back on, which you in turn did. "Ready?"

You bobbed your head, putting your weight on your good leg, "ready.

With a nod, you both took off.

Soon you found Pavitr who had managed to catch the husband who, on closer inspection, had one of his eyes as white as a half-cooked egg. Perhaps this explained his random aiming. In any case, he was huffing and puffing like a rhinoceros.

"It's about time," Pavitr yawned, "your leg?"

You gave him a thumbs up.

" Where are Gwen and Hobie? " Miguel asked.

"Further down the river like you said."

"Well, you can go back to HQ, we'll take care of the rest- can you go on?" he said, turning to you.

"Yep, the only thing that could stop me would be myself."

"Was that the philosophical moment?" asked Pavitr. "That deserves a few lyrical songs, doesn't it?"

"It's pathetic," admitted Miguel as he left.

You followed him, Pavitr entering a portal to return to 928.

"Are you trying to destroy our pseudo-friendship?

"Pseudo-friendship?" he chuckles, "you mean how I removed that bullet with my teeth, and you-"

"Ah, the amnesia's getting to me!" you cut in, continuing along the road faster than him until you reach the river where, hanging from a lamppost on the quayside, the bride was dripping wet and stripped of her weapon. She seemed simply stunned, and Gwen and Hobie were standing in front of her, still tense from their fight.

You approached the two lads, smiling at Gwen who had finally succeeded in her training.

"Good job!" you said, raising your fist to her height, which she banged in a friendly manner, doing the same for Hobie.

"Hobie?" called Miguel in the distance.

"Don't move," said the latter, "it's like with bears, if you don't do anything they'll leave."

"This is the right way," affirmed Gwen.

"Where's the weapon?" asked Miguel, who had finally reached your level.

"It fell into the water," he replied simply.

"What?" asked Miguel.

"Relax, I'm just messing with you. It's behind you," he said, pointing with his chin at the wet weapon on the ground.

"So, how did it go?"

"I wouldn't go into details," Hobie sighed.

"What are you trying to accomplish here?" Asked Miguel.

"I don't want to listen to you; malicious criticism hurts my self-esteem and praise leaves me sceptical."

Miguel sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, murmuring "Voy a matarlos."

"I hope one day you'll understand what I've just said," he whispered, climbing up the lamppost to unhook the bride and place her in another multi-dimensional cell.

"Did you hear anything?" you asked ironically.

"Oh no, I didn't hear anything, did you?" questioned Gwen to Hobie.

"I've got an ear infection."

You smiled at this conversation, watching Miguel fiddle with his watch.

"How's your leg, by the way?" asked Hobie.

"I've still got the bullet, I'm going to be ringing airport buzzers for the rest of my life."

"Huh?" exclaimed Gwen.

"Just kidding, everything's fine."

"Why do you have to be like that? In situations like this, 'I'm fine' is the standard response," she huffed.

"I'm on a strict diet of misplaced enthusiasm and gut-wrenching regret." You affirmed.

"Huh huh, diets are bad," Hobie remarked. "It's just another way for capitalism to prove that their system is superior to you."

"Well, come on, let's go home," Miguel called.

His eyes fell on you for a moment, and in the space of that glance the vision of his crimson eyes, his fangs glistening with your blood smeared across his cheeks came back to your mind. You entered the portal, and soon enough, as you got into the lift, the horizon formed as far as the eye could see, with towers sunk like daggers into the belly of the sky, and so high that, from sleep, you could plunge into the clouds.

And now you couldn't think of anything else but Miguel.

part two >> late night training

#madschiavelique ⟢ ݁ ˖‧˚₊ ☁︎#miguel o'hara #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel ohara #miguel x reader #spiderman 2099 spiderverse #astv miguel #miguel astv #astv #astv x reader #spiderman atsv #miguel x you #miguel x y/n #miguel spiderman

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hannsluvely · 1 year ago

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after hours

after hours : a live action buggy x fem!reader fanfiction

for some odd reason, you have no idea who he is. and he fucking loved that.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

chapter one | caution. chaos. coconut. his pov;

I didn't like to put a label on things; doing so made things too specific, too real. And for me, I preferred for things to seem as unspecific and false as possible.

I preferred for things to be simple. There is beauty in simplicity.

Maybe that's why I found her to be so gorgeous.

She was simple.

There was not a single thing I didn't know about her. I didn't need to go out of my own way to find out her favorite color or food - she told me (though not directly). She told them. She told everyone. She was rather open about herself while I kept everything private. I had my reasons to remain rather anonymous and to stay out of the spotlight and thrive in the shadows while she glistened in the spotlight. She was an open book.

But I still wanted to read her.

I wanted to study her.

And maybe that's why I traveled to the North Blue - to be closer to her. But I wouldn't admit that aloud. I would seem rather insane if she knew, and I wasn't insane. My mind operated differently to others. I was often classified as different and odd, especially by my peers when I was still in school. I was teased to be the quiet kid, picked on because of my nose. I was deemed to be the one most likely to commit some type of horrid act. They weren't wrong, but no one likes to be judged for how they truly are.

She didn't judge me.

Well, of course, she didn't even know me.

But she wasn't the type to judge. Which made my appeal to her even more strong and wild. I was finally able to watch her up close, months after first discovering a rare form of art like her.

The bar was packed, much to my dismay. I liked things to remain quiet despite my love for disarray. I was able to think when it was quiet. I’ve always had thousands of thoughts racing through my mind, so much so that it was difficult to pick a single train and hop on board. But when my eyes landed on her, my mind settled.

She was sitting alone in the corner of the bar, a large round booth all to herself. She had a small yet cute smile on her round face as she sipped on a beverage. Not alcohol- no, she hated alcohol, which is why I cut back on it. I wanted to be the best version of myself for her. Well, whenever I got the courage to talk to her, that is. She made me cower in fear, in anxiety. Someone so timid and fragile as her made someone like me- a pirate, a killer, a clown fall to his knees. I was a fool for her.

Lifting up my drink, I took a sip of the carbonated juice, grimacing as the alcoholic tang was nonexistent. I scoured and gave in, waving down one of the waitresses to add something to my drink. Maybe then I would be able to think straight and finally be able to talk to her. I needed something to fog my judgement and give me the balls to go talk to her- although my dick was confidence enough. God, the way she made me feel was impeccable. She made my pants tighten when she took a sip of her drink. I watched her pink lips suck on the straw as she kicked her feet and examined a newspaper on the wooden table. I squirmed in my seat and leaned back, a deep sigh leaving my lips.

Once the waitress topped off my drink, I waved her off and continued to sit by myself, admiring the maiden who sat by herself. By herself? God, I still didn’t get that. How was she alone? How was she sitting by herself in a bar as crowded as this one? She had friends, many of them. She had family, too. But why must she sit in silence and all by her lonesome?

I huffed and itched at the back of my neck, my hand dragging down to grab my chin and cover my nose. I clenched my jaw and pondered the possibility that my ego would actually allow me to stand up, walk over to her, and sit across from her. Maybe I could buy her a drink? But nevertheless, I remained glued to my seat, downing at least three glasses of whiskey. I lost track.

I lost complete track of time that whenever I finally came back to, she was standing tall, slinging her coat back over her shoulders, and starting for the door. I gulped and turned, my eyes following her. But before she could leave the bar and disappear for the night, a tall, stout man blocked her exit. I squinted my eyes.

“And where do you think ‘yer going?” The pirate smirked, his arms folding over his chest. His belly bounced as he laughed. “Going so soon?”

“Please let me by,” She instructed, trying to budge past the weighted man but to no avail, he stood still. “What is it you want?”

“To see you undressed.”

I grabbed the edge of the table, feeling my body grow hot. It wasn’t because of her, though it mostly always was. She had an effect on me. But this man, he angered me, fucking enraged me. I could feel my blood beginning to boil as he continued to harass both her and me.

“Oh, come on, what’s a sexy little lady like you got going on tonight?” The fat man hummed, reaching forward to grab hold of the leather backpack that hung over her shoulder’s. She shoved him away and backed up.

“I’ll find another exit,” She announced and turned on her heel, starting to head to the back of the bar where other patrons parted through.

“Come on!”

She walked right past me, speeding down the aisle. I closed my eyes and inhaled the sweet, delicate scent of her perfume and shampoo. Vanilla and coconut. Fuck me.

“I can walk you home!”

She stopped in her steps and faced the obese pirate, her arms folding over her chest. “Fuck off, you pig!” She spat, eyes rolling as she started to turn around once again but she stopped, and looked at me.

Oh my god, she looked at me.

At me.

“Baby, can we go?”

I blinked. What?

“Please?” She asked, looking at me with such desperation in her eyes that a tent started to form in my pants.

What? What was she doing? I didn’t know whether to accept or deny. Why was she doing this? Was she delusional? Stupid? Hallucinogenic?

“I know you wanted to have a bit more to drink but I feel much safer walking back with you. You can come back after,” She smiled softly and stepped toward me, her soft hand resting on my shoulder. She then leaned down, inching closer to me. Her lips grazed my ear, hot breath making my skin redden. “Please go along with it,” She pleaded.

“Ah, so you have a mate, huh?” The stout pirate laughed, taking a few hard steps towards the two of us. “That’s okay with me.”

Her soft eyes darted from me to the pirate and then back to me. She looked so enchanting when in distress.

“Hey.” I grabbed her wrist and squeezed it. “Yes, of course, darlin’. Come on.” I moved her arm and she backed up, standing straight. I dug through my pocket and tossed as much spare change I had onto the table then scooted up. My hand grabbed hers tightly, not wanting to let go. She looked at me, her eyes sparkling with confusion but I just led her down the aisle, my free hand wrapping around her shoulder. “You look lovely tonight, by the way. It slipped my mind whether I told you or not.”

“Oh, uh…” She looked down, her face growing as red as the nose on my face. “Thank you.”

“Yeah,” I whispered and as we approached the door, the pirate seemed to be cowering in fear as he finally recognized who had the honor of taking this lovely maiden home. And it was me.

“I-I’m sorry, sir, I—“

“Step aside,” I growled.

“Yes, s-sir, I’m sorry. Of course!” He was about to piss himself.

I faked a smile and as soon as he moved, I pushed the door open and allowed her and I to walk down the narrow wooden staircase and back onto the dock. To my disappointment, she pulled from my grip and grabbed the straps of her backpack, letting out a deep sigh as she folded over. “Jesus,” She whispered.

“Are you okay?” I asked, taking a step to approach her.

My hand rested on the small of her back and I smiled softly though the red paint extended it from cheek to cheek.

“Thank you for doing that.”

“Oh, uh?” My eyes furrowed. “It’s no problem.”

“You’re not gonna try to get in my pants, right?”

“N-No! No, no. No.” I lied with a reassuring smile.

“Okay, good,” She grinned. “Guys are so weird. I swear the ugly ones are the ones that are most obsessed with me. I attract the weird ones.”

I clenched my jaw. Ouch.

“I’m sorry if I interrupted you. You—“

“Don’t apologize. It’s okay,” I shoved my hands into the pockets of my coats and I dragged my foot. “Are you gonna be okay?” I tried my best to act uninterested in her but my body was bouncing and I wanted nothing more than to throw myself onto her. She was divine when she was distressed.

“What’s your name?”

“Uhm,” I swallowed. “Buggy.”

“Oh, that’s new. I’ve never heard of that name before. Is it a stage name? To match your makeup?”

“Makeup?”

“You look like a clown. Is that your real nose?”

“Nose?” I grimaced and nodded my head. “Yes. Yes, it is real. Any other questions?”

“No, I’m sorry,” She smiled and let out a deep sigh of relief. “Thank you again, honestly.”

“You need to start watching out for yourself. If I wasn’t there, you’d have been his next plaything,” I gagged at the thought.

“Why were you there?”

“Huh?”

“You look like a pirate. So what made you sit by yourself in a bar? Where’s your crew?”

All these questions. I smiled. I loved her curiosity.

“I was a pirate. Uh, taking a bit of a break.”

“What for?”

So I can follow you around and learn every single little thing there is to know about a beautiful goddess such as yourself. “Personal reasons,” I lied. I dipped my head down and traced my foot along the wooden planks, chewing on my inner cheek. “What’s your name?”

I knew it, I just wanted to hear her say it.

“It’s Y/N. I know, it’s not nearly as cool as yours.”

I laughed aloud, bursting into a fit of cackles and giggles. “What? You’re insane. Thanks for the flattery but try to find a souvenir keychain with a name like mine.” I wiped a fake tear.

The dimming sun finally disappeared past the ocean’s horizon, leaving Y/N and I surrounded by dimly lit lanterns and the settling sea crashing waves against the old dock. I stood still while she seemed to be trembling. It was rather cold. “Uh,” I started to slip my jacket off. “Do you need it?”

“No, no, I’m good. Thank you, though. I’m gonna start heading back now,” She announced as she looked over her shoulder, squinting. “It’s getting really late.”

“Yeah, uh, it is.”

“Well, Buggy, it was nice meeting you. I’d give you a hug but no offense, you reek of beer,” Y/N smiled.

“It’s whiskey,” I remarked.

“It’s all the same to me.” I know it is.

“Do you need me to walk you home?”

“No, I’m good. We’re still strangers and I don’t feel safe with someone I’m unfamiliar with knowing my address. No offense, though.” She said ‘no offense’ a lot. And I already knew her address. I even had access to the spare key she often left underneath a clothed doormat. “Thank you for the offer.”

“Don’t mention it.”

She nodded and smiled, showing her gorgeous teeth. Her cheeks were pink, dusted by the cool air. Her hair wafted off her shoulders as the breeze picked up. Her aroma caught my attention once again.

“Can you turn around? I don’t want you seeing where I’m going.”

She’s adorable.

“Yeah, alright.”

And so I did. I turned around, making her feel a bit more at ease. I swallowed, staring straight into the endless ocean ahead of me, listening to the sounds of her soft footsteps slowly disappear.

When I turned around, she was gone.

And so was the sweet smell of vanilla and coconut.

#buggy x reader #buggy smut #op buggy #buggy x you #buggy x y/n #one piece #one piece live action #x reader #captain buggy #buggy one piece #buggy the clown #buggy the genius jester #buggy the flashy fool #buggy

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noisydelusionlove · 4 months ago

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Chapter 17: A Date With Soap

Pairings: poly141xOC

Warnings: military inaccuracies, Oral (F receiving, M receiving), Smut

A/N: Trying my hand at adding more of Soap’s Scottish into the fic. I’ve been reading a lot of Soap fics and realized I wasn’t really adding how his Scottish actually sounds. I don’t know if it works, so we shall see! Please put your age on your blog if you’re going to interact. I love you! Also i’m still sick AF and my son has walking pneumonia, so my house is a hot mess right now. I’m also going through hella personal shit (i.e toxic/messy divorce) so thank you to everyone who loves my story so far, it’s honestly helping my mental health so much to get back into writing <3

Aurora laughs as Johnny practically drags her outside and to a car he had snagged the keys to. The pair are silent as Johnny drives towards the mountain area of the base. After a bit, he stops on the side of the road and smiles. “We’re walkin' the rest o’ the way Bonnie.” He says as they climb out of the vehicle. Aurora follows Johnny curiously. After a while, they stop at an old watch tower. “Up ye go Lass,” Johnny says as he points up. Aurora rolls her eyes as she ascends the ladder. “Quit looking at my ass Johnny.” She teases, earning a small growl from the man climbing below her. When she reaches the top she stands up and looks around. The inside of the watchtower has been transformed it seems. There is what appears to be a sniper’s nest set up, two riffles lying side by side. There’s also a basket and a cooler sitting off to the side. Aurora turns to look at Johnny curiously.

“I know ye used to be a sniper, and ye loved it. So I went ahead and set up some targets. Thought we’d have a wee shoot, have a chat, then dig into the lunch I packed, aye?” He says, a small blush on his cheeks.

“Right here, Lass,” he says, patting the edge of the sniper’s nest he’s set up. The rifle lies in wait, resting against the sturdy wooden railing. Aurora raises an eyebrow, catching her breath. "You brought me up here just to shoot things, Johnny?" She says, but a smile is hinting at the corners of her lips. He flashes a grin, clearly enjoying the moment. "Aye, but it’s not just any kind o' shooting, is it? It’s your kind. Thought ye might fancy a bit o' a challenge again." He says, although there is a pink tint to his cheeks. Aurora rolls her eyes, but there's a soft smile tugging at her lips. "A challenge, huh?" She glances at the scattered targets Johnny’s set up, a mix of distant silhouettes, hanging plates, and some more difficult, smaller targets in the distance. "I haven’t picked up a rifle in a few years, Johnny. I’m a medic now." She says, a sad tone to her voice. He shrugs, his grin widening. “Ach, Lass, ye can’t forget how to shoot that well. I’ve seen ye in action in the videos in ye file. Ye’ve got the eye of an eagle.” He steps a little closer, voice dropping just low enough for her to catch the flirty edge. “And let’s be honest… ye miss this, don’t ye? The focus. The quiet before the shot.” He says as Aurora looks up, meeting his eyes.

Aurora doesn’t respond immediately, feeling the familiar pull of Johnny’s charm. His energy is contagious, his teasing playful, and if she’s being honest, she’s starting to notice how easy it is to fall into his banter. But there’s something else too, something she’s trying to ignore, but as her heat approaches it makes it so much harder to ignore. Still, the memory of being behind a sniper’s scope, that calm, focused state of mind, it’s tempting. It’s something she hasn’t experienced in years, and there’s a part of her that misses it, even if she won’t admit it out loud.“Alright, let’s see if I can still hit anything,” she says, grabbing the rifle. Her tone is light, but underneath it is a quiet determination. Johnny watches her with a smile as she sets up the rifle, her posture already perfect, the way she positions herself at the edge of the nest. He leans against the railing, his voice softening. “Ye never lost it, Lass. I’ve seen enough to know that.” His voice is low, an almost purr.

Aurora looks down the scope, adjusting the settings with a practiced hand. She picks her first target, a metal plate about a hundred yards away. Without hesitation, she pulls the trigger. The thunk of the bullet hitting the target is quick and clean. Johnny claps. “Och, ye’re still a bonnie shot, Lass. I knew it.”Aurora lowers the rifle, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “One shot, Johnny. Don’t get too excited.”But Johnny, of course, is already beaming. “Aye, one shot, and it’s better than most folk could do in ten tries. Now go on, show me what else ye’ve got.”She takes another shot, and another, hitting each target perfectly. There’s a rhythm to it, a sense of ease and precision that comes with years of experience. Johnny watches, leaning in slightly, his gaze focused on her. He’s genuinely impressed, though he doesn’t hide the fact that he’s enjoying watching her in action.“You’re makin’ it look easy, Lass,” he says, his voice full of admiration. “I knew I wasn’t wrong about ye.”Aurora finally lowers the rifle, casting him a glance. “You think I’m that good, Johnny?”

He steps closer, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Aye. And ye know it too, don’t ye?” His voice dips into something softer, more intimate. “I can see it in the way ye focus. It’s like ye’re in a world o’ yer own, just ye and the target., ” He pauses, taking a half, step closer. “It’s a sight worth seein’.”Aurora chuckles, though there’s a warmth in her gaze. “You just like watching people do what they’re good at, don’t you?”Johnny grins. “Oh, Lass, don’t flatter me. I’m just watchin’ someone who’s got it all. Precision. Grace. A little fire, too.” He winks, his tone playful. “And aye, maybe I do like watchin’ ye.”She narrows her eyes, but there’s something else beneath her teasing, an acknowledgment, perhaps, of the connection they’re forming. “You’re insufferable, Johnny. But… I don’t mind it.”

Johnny’s grin widens, but he doesn’t press further. Not yet. He knows the ground he’s treading, how hesitant she’s been about the idea of diving into anything serious with him, or anyone in the team, for that matter. The pack is close, knit, and it’s clear they all share an unspoken bond, one that isn’t just about teamwork. There’s an undercurrent of something more, something that’s grown since they all started working together. He knows Aurora feels it too, but she’s been keeping her distance, unsure if she wants to jump in with both feet. Johnny’s voice softens. “Go on, Lass. Let’s see if I can keep up with ye now.”Aurora glances at him, the challenge in her eyes. “You sure about that?”He picks up the rifle with a confident grin. “I’m always up for a challenge.”

Johnny lines up his shot, adjusting his stance as he focuses on the first target, a steel plate not far from where Aurora hit hers. He breathes in, steadies his aim, and fires. The shot rings out, landing just a hair off, center from the target. Aurora watches him, a small smile curling her lips. “Not bad, Johnny.”Johnny’s eyes gleam with a playful challenge as he shoots her a glance. He takes another shot. This one’s much closer to the bullseye. “Alright, alright,” she says, teasing. “Maybe you do have some talent, Johnny.”Johnny grins, his confidence unwavering. “Don’t worry, Lass. I’m just gettin’ warmed up.”

They continue trading shots, their playful banter filling the space between the cracks of the gunfire. Aurora finds herself drawn into the rhythm of it, her heart a little lighter each time Johnny flirts or cracks a joke. He’s easy to be around, even when he’s pushing her buttons, and maybe that’s what makes this so hard to fight. The day draws on, the sky turning from the bright morning sun to the afternoon glow. At some point, the banter quiets, and there’s a moment where Johnny’s gaze lingers on her a bit longer than normal.

Aurora’s pulse quickens, not from the shots, but from something else, something she hasn’t fully admitted to herself. She’s starting to feel it, that pull toward Johnny, and, truthfully, toward the others in the pack too. There’s a warmth, a sense of connection she hadn’t expected when she first joined. She wants to chalk it up to her heat hormones, but she wonders if it’ll still be there when her heat ends. She feels a pull to Ghost that she can’t explain. With Kyle, it’s easy, like long-lost friends. With Price, there's an edge of comfort and trust there, But with Johnny, there’s something else. Something sharper. Something she’s afraid of diving too deep into.

Johnny’s voice breaks the silence. “Ye know, Lass, ye don’t need to hold back with me. I’ve seen the way ye look at me. And I’m not the only one in the team who’s feelin’ that pull outside of just the bedroom stuff.” He says lowly. Aurora freezes for a moment, her heart skipping. She glances at him, her voice quiet. “I’m not sure what I want yet, Johnny. You know that, right?”His expression softens, but there’s no frustration, only understanding. “I know, Lass. No rush. Just… don’t think ye need to run from it.”She looks away, her breath catching in her throat. “I just want to get through my heat, and then reassess Johnny. I want to be able to think without my hormones clouding everything.” She sighs. Johnny gives a small nod before nodding towards the cooler and basket. “Fancy a bite and a wee chat about it?” He says with a smile. Aurora nods as she follows Johnny to the basket. Johnny opens the basket and takes out a blanket, sitting it on the ground before motioning for her to sit.

Aurora takes a seat on the blanket and watches as Johnny follows suit. He opens the cooler and begins pulling out sandwiches, sodas, fresh fruit, and a small cheesecake and from the basket, he pulls out potato chips.

He hands Aurora her food before beginning to eat his own. After a few moments of silence, Johnny clears his throat. “So, have ye given any more thought to who ye're gonna pick for yer first time, then?" He says, causing Aurora to almost choke on her drink at his blunt question. She clears her throat as she looks over at him. “I am not sure honestly. Kyle thinks I should pick Ghost because he thinks that’s the most logical pick if I ever decide to take an Alpha from this pack.” She says as she stares at her drink. Johnny can’t help the smile that springs to his lips at her words. “I won’t lie and say I wouldn’t love to see ye bonded to my Alpha. I think we both ken how much I want ye to be a part of our bond, Lass. I cannae hide how much I’m lookin’ forward to finally gettin’ a hold o’ ye during yer heat." His voice is almost a low growl as he looks at her, causing Aurora’s cheeks to tint pink as his scent begins to darken, as if his mind is already conjuring up images of her under him and Ghost, which, it probably is. Aurora tries to hide her embarrassment as she smells her scent and begins to sweeten with arousal.

Aurora lets out a small squeak as Johnny suddenly leans in, wrapping his hand around the back of her neck to pull her lips in for a rough kiss. She releases a whimper when she hears Johnny growl. In seconds he’s on top of her, pushing her back to lie on the picnic blanket spread underneath them. The kiss is desperate, a clash of teeth and tongues before Johnny breaks from her lips to kiss a trail down her neck. Aurora releases a whine as Johnny sucks on her neck, surely leaving marks as he slots his hips between hers, his obvious erection grinding against her through the thin fabric of her leggings. “Ye ken what Ghost’ll do to ye, Bonnie? Ye ken how fierce he can be? Aye, he’s nae the sort to hold back, that’s for sure.” Johnny growls into her ear causing Aurora to let out a small whine. Johnny continues kissing and nipping at her neck as he grinds himself against her, his clothed erection managing to rub perfectly against her clit, causing pleasure to well up inside of her. Aurora releases a whine as her hips begin to move, grinding herself more against Johnny.

”O ye’re prolly soaked right now aren’t ye Kitten.” He growls out as he bites a little more roughly on her neck, she’s sure he’s left a mark as she releases a small moan. “Just want to cum don’t you Bonnie?” He chuckles as one hand grabs a handful of her hair forcing her to look at him. “it’s all about consent. Do ye want me to make ye cum Kitten?” He says, staring directly into her eyes. Aurora lets out a small mewl and Johnny chuckles darkly. “Nae, I need words.” He says with a playful smirk as Aurora feels tears welling up in her eyes with the need to cum. “Please, Johnny.” She whimpers. “Please what Kitten?” He purrs as she whines again. “Make me cum.” She gasps out and Johnny releases another chuckle as he lets go of her hair to move down her body. “Thought ye’d never ask.” He mumbles as he quickly pulls her leggings down, flinging them across the watchtower.

In an instant Johnny has her legs over his shoulders, his large hands engulfing her thighs as he holds them tight, pulling her pussy down until he’s face first. He licks a long stripe up the center of her folds causing her to gasp out. “O ye taste just as good as I imagined, and I was right ye’re soaked.” He hums before giving small kitten licks to her clit. Aurora’s hand flies to find purchase in his hair, eliciting a growl from Johnny as she slightly tugs, moving her hips to grind on his face. Johnny is merciless as he alternates licking and sucking on her clit, eliciting loud moans and whines as Aurora feels her pleasure building. Johnny moves one hand down to run a finger over her entrance, making her gasp slightly before he slowly pushes inside.

“I almost forgot how tight ye are.” Johnny growls as he begins to curl, searching for that one spot, when he finds it Aurora lets out a loud moan and Johnny can’t help but growl. He continues licking at her clit as her thrusts his finger, hitting that spot every single time that has her seeing stars. When he adds a second finger Aurora is biting back a scream at the feeling. “How’s that feel Kitten?” Johnny growls. When Aurora doesn't respond he moves his mouth to deliver a sharp bite to her thigh. “Feels good, full.” She whimpers and Johnny chuckles. “If ye feel full now I don’t know how you’ll take Ghost. He might split ye in two.” Johnny growls, the image of Ghost impaling Aurora on his large cock almost enough to make him cum in his pants.

Johnny continues to suck at her clit as he thrusts his fingers at a rapid pace as Aurora’s moans grow into almost screams. “Almost there huh Kitten? I can feel it. Let’s have it, cum for me pretty girl.” He growls and with one last hard suck to her clit Aurora is screaming as she cums all over his fingers and face. Johnny slows his movements as she rides out her orgasm, smirking as he sits up and makes a show of licking his fingers clean.

. Her cheeks are bright pink as Johnny begins pulling her leggings back up her legs. She lifts her hips to allow him to pull them up all the way. Aurora watches in shock as Johnny moves to finish eating his sandwich, his erection obvious. “You don’t expect anything?” She says quietly as Johnny shakes his head. “I know you’re going at your own pace Bonnie, it’s not the first time I've had a hard-on. It’ll go down.” He says with a smile as Aurora laughs and nods.

She scoots closer to Johnny, leaning slightly against him as she finishes eating. “I have a question, Johnny.” She says quietly as he looks at her. “If I do decide I want Ghost to be my first. How do I even approach that with him?” She sighs as she takes a bite of her sandwich. Johnny smiles. "How 'bout ye decide, let me ken, an' I’ll handle tellin’ him." Aurora looks at him for a moment before nodding. “If I do decide. I need you to make sure he knows I don't want him to mark me, at all, not during that, not during my heat, nothing.” She says quickly and Johnny nods. "He wouldn’t do that without yer express consent anyways, Bonnie. Aye, he’s an Apex Alpha, rough around the edges, but he believes in consent. Trust me, it took months before he’d even kiss me without my express permission." He says with a smile and Aurora nods.

”I have another question.” She says as she pops a chip in her mouth. Johnny nods as he takes a bite of fruit. “So, so far, you and Kyle have both done stuff for me without expecting anything in return. Why?” She says with an eyebrow raised. Johnny chuckles as he smirks. "Honestly, Bonnie? Some o' us just enjoy seein' the other person enjoy themselves wi' what we’re doin'. It's a braw feelin' kenning ye've caused that." He says as Aurora nods.

Once they’ve finished eating Johnny smiles as he packs everything back in the basket and cooler. "Well, let’s head back. I’ll take ye back, an’ I’ll get a recruit tae come clean this up." He offers his hand and Aurora takes it as he pulls her off the ground. They climb down the ladder and head back to the car before heading back to the task force building. Johnny bids her goodbye with a kiss before heading off promising to see her at dinner.

Aurora sits on her bed as she contemplates. She was intrigued by Johnny's explanation of him and Kyle giving her pleasure without wanting anything in return. She wonders if she would feel the same way if giving one of the pack members pleasure would make her feel that sense of pride. With a bite to her lip, Aurora grabs her phone to send a text to Kyle.

Feral: Hey are you busy?

Kyle’s response is almost instant.

Gaz: Nope whats up?

Aurora sighs as she lays back on her bed as she contemplates the question she wants to ask.

Feral: At the risk of being blunt do you think John (Price) not Johnny would let me give him a blowjob?

Aurora practically throws her phone as she hits send, regretting it almost immediately. Her phone begins to ding in rapid succession. She picks it up to see Kyle’s response

Gaz: OH

Gaz: EXCUSE ME

Gaz: Do you think any man on this team would turn down getting their dick sucked by you?

Gaz: Have you lost your fucking mind

Gaz: Of course he would let you

Aurora laughs as she looks at the messages, shaking her head.

Feral: I’ve never done it before….so im nervous…but I feel like if i’m giving my virginity to Ghost (not decided) then the other Alpha deserves something

Gaz: Of course, I get that, but you dont need to feel like you have to Princess

Feral: No, I want to…I think it would be interesting to see an Alpha enjoy the pleasure I give him

Gaz: but you're nervous?

Feral: duh

Gaz: What if I’m there?

Gaz: I could talk you through it

Gaz: It is MY Alpha afterall

Feral: You just want to watch

Gaz: well, yeah

Gaz: What do you say? After dinner he always goes to his office for a cigar. We can do like the kneeling thing and ill help you ask

Feral: yes, okay, yeah

Gaz: I’m excited ;p

Feral: Dont make me regret this

Gaz: See you at dinner Princess

Aurora sighs as she sets her phone down and glances at the clock, one hour until dinner and two hours until she gives her first blowjob, no pressure right? With a sigh, she begins looking up articles on her phone, blushing as she types in ‘how to give a good blow job’, before she knows it there is a knock at her door and she stands up, opening it to a smiling Kyle. “Ready for dinner Princess?” He smirks and Aurora just shoots him a small glare. “Don’t enjoy my awkwardness too much. I still kicked your ass today.” She growls and Kyle smiles as he holds his hands up in defeat. The two head off to the mess and fill their trays, sitting with the others.

As they are eating Ghost, John, and Johnny notice that Aurora is a little fidgety. Johnny assumes it’s what happened between them earlier and shrugs it off until he sees the wide smile Kyle has on his face. Ghost looks from Aurora to Johnny, not missing the fact that he can smell Aurora all over Johnny, it doesn’t take a genius to realize something happened between the two of them. When John finishes he bids the group goodbye and heads off to his office. Once he’s gone Johnny turns to whisper to Kyle. “What's got ye smilin' so big?” And Aurora shoots Kyle a glare as he smirks.

”Our dear Omega is going to bless my Alpha with a new first tongue.” He says as Aurora growls at him. “Kyle!” She whisper yells as he starts laughing. Johnny and Kyle look at Aurora curiously and then look at Kyle. “She’s going to suck his dick, relax. I’m pretty sure we all know who’s in the running for her virginity.” He says as Aurora groans and goes to slam her head into the table, but Johnny moves quickly to place his hand on her head preventing that. “It’s alright Kitten.” He whispers, but it’s obvious he’s trying not to laugh. Once Aurora’s tray is empty Kyle smiles as he grabs her hand. They throw their trash away and head off. Once they leave Ghost turns to Johnny. “Who’s in the running for the Omega’s virginity?” He asks Johnny, apparently clueless. Johnny blinks as he stares at his mate. “O boy, be glad ye’re handsome Simon because sometimes I wonder bout ye.” He laughs as he heads off too, leaving a confused Ghost.

Aurora wrings her hands together nervously as she walks down the hall with Kyle. When he notices Kyle places a comforting hand on her back. “Calm down Princess. I can promise you Price won’t embarrass you or make you feel bad or anything okay?” He smiles, and Aurora calms slightly at his reassurance. When they arrive at John’s door Kyle knocks and waits for the gruff “come in.” from his Alpha before opening the door. When John sees Aurora and Kyle standing there together he smiles as he sits the file he had in his hands down to give them his attention. Kyle shuts the door behind them and John raises an eyebrow as he twists the lock.

”Alpha” Kyle purrs, causing John to sit up straighter as he eyes the two in front of him. “Yes, Kyle?” He says, trying to hide the growl in his voice, a natural reaction to being called by his title. Kyle smirks as he walks behind John, draping his arms across his shoulders as he leans in to whisper in his Alpha’s ear. “Our little Omega wants to do something for you it seems.” He purrs, and John’s eyes glance at Aurora as she watches the scene unfold. Her scent is unmistakably sweeter, a sign she is aroused by watching the display Kyle is putting on. “And what would our little Omega want to do for me?” John says, looking at Aurora but speaking to Kyle. “She wants yours to be the first cock she sucks, isn’t that nice of her.” Kyle purrs, smirking as a growl releases from John’s chest at his words.

”but she’s nervous, so I’m here to walk her through it. I’m going to teach her.” Kyle says as he places a small kiss on John’s neck. “Why don’t you come over here and sit on our Alpha’s lap Princess? No need to rush right into it, let’s share a few kisses first.” Kyle smiles as he reaches over John to hold a hand out to Aurora. After a moment Aurora slowly begins to move, coming to a stop in front of John nervously. “Come on sweetheart. I won’t bite.” John growls as he taps his lap, indicating for Aurora to sit on his lap. Aurora bites her lip as she slowly swings a leg over and settles down, straddling John’s lap in his desk chair. John growls as he feels Aurora slightly grinding against his already hard length, held captive by his cargo pants.

Kyle hums in approval as he looks between his Alpha and the much smaller Omega. “Be gentle with her.” Kyle purrs as he watches John reach a hand up to tangle in Aurora’s hair to pull her into a slow and sensual kiss. Aurora releases a whimper at the intensity of the kiss, her hips moving naturally to grind against the bulge she feels under her hips. John groans as he grabs her hips, stilling her movements as he continues to kiss her. Kyle smiles as he leans against John’s shoulder watching the two makeout up close. John’s other hand slowly moves p to grasp Aurora’s breast through her t-shirt and sports bra. Aurora lets out a gasp and John takes that moment to slip his tongue into her mouth, tasting her. He releases a growl as his tongue touches hers. After a moment John pulls back, staring at Aurora with an intense look she’s never seen in his eyes before.

”Alright Princess slide off his lap and onto your knees on the floor and let's get started.” Kyle growls slightly, smiling as Aurora slowly moves to sit on her knees on the floor between John’s spread legs. Kyle reaches across John’s chest to undo John’s belt and fly, slowly sliding the zipper down before John lifts his hips a bit so Kyle can slide the pants to his thighs before he does the same to his underwear. Aurora stares in surprise as she comes face to face with John’s hard cock. She has never really seen one in person so she’s shocked at how large he is. Kyle chuckles when he sees her wide eyes. “That’s an Alpha cock, Princess. They’re typically much larger than others.” Kyle smirks as Aurora’s cheeks turn a dark red.

”Go ahead, you can touch him. it’s your chance to explore, see what makes him feel good.” Kyle purrs as he watches Aurora lift her hand to slowly wrap it around John’s hard length. Her small hand barely wraps around it, and when her hand encloses around the middle of it John lets out a groan of pleasure, his eyes closing slightly before they open again, not wanting to miss a moment of the sight of the small Omega enjoying him. Aurora slowly begins to move her hand up and down the length of him, feeling every vein under her palm with excitement. Whenever John releases a groan of pleasure he’s confidence soars a bit. After a moment Aurora notices the beads of precum leaking from his tip. She eyes in curiously as Kyle chuckles.

“You can go ahead and taste him, Princess, do whatever feels right.” He encourages, and immediately Aurora leans forward to lick at his tip, tasting the salty precum there. John lets out a growl at the feeling of her tongue on him, his head leaning back slightly as his hands open and close on the arms of his desk chair, restraining himself from touching her in case he rushes her. After a moment Aurora slowly leans forward again to lick a stripe up the side of his cock, her eyes on his face as she watches it contort in pleasure, a satisfied hum leaving her throat before she takes his tip inside her mouth, giving it a small suck before twirling her tongue around it and letting go. “Sure it’s your first time sweetheart?” John grunts out and Aurora smiles up at him, enjoying his praise as she repeats her action, going down a little further each time until half of him is in her mouth.

Kyle leans forward and places his hand on the back of Aurora’s head to slow her down, resulting in her slowly bobbing her head along half of John’s length as John groans and growls in pleasure. “Use your hand for what you can’t fit in your mouth just yet.” Kyle purrs as he threads his hand into Aurora’s hair, controlling the speed of her bobbing on John’s cock. Aurora lifts her hand to wrap around the other half of John that she can’t fit in her mouth, moving it in tandem as she bobs on his length. “That’s a good girl, now see if you can go a little deeper, breathe out of your nose.” Kyle coos as Aurora slowly begins to take more of John in her mouth. “Ooh, do you not have a gag reflex?” Kyle says excitedly as he notices Aurora can almost fit John’s entire length inside her mouth and down her throat.

John lets out a throaty groan as he feels himself hit the back of her throat. “Swallow,” Kyle says quickly and Aurora swallows around John’s length causing him to growl and dig his fingers into the arms of his desk chair, almost teating holes into it. “If you want to let him enjoy it, you can let him just fuck your throat Princess. Think you can?” Kyle coos as Aurora looks at him and blinks before humming her approval. Kyle smiles as he removes his hand from the back of her head, crouching down so he's at eye level with her mouth and John’s cock. “You heard her Alpha. Just tap his thigh twice if you want him to stop.” Kyle says as he smiles. Aurora hums as John moves one hand from the desk chair to grab her ponytail.

Aurora stops moving as John begins to thrust into her throat, slowly at first, but when he sees she’s comfortable he begins to let go, thrusting more roughly and faster as he chases his orgasm. Loud growls and groans leave his lips as he throws his head back. “If you don’t want me to cum in your mouth you need to tap me Love.” He growls looking down. He’s shocked when he sees Aurora staring back at him, tears lining her eyes as she doesn’t move to tap him. In moments John’s shoving her head as far as it can go, and with a loud growl, he’s cumming down her throat. He holds her there as he finishes before slowly letting go. Aurora sits back and looks up at him as John reaches a hand out to wipe the tears from her face.

”You okay sweetheart?” John asks, his voice filled with concern. Aurora smiles as she nods and gives a content purr, which John chuckles at as he shakes his head. Kyle smiles as he leans over, placing his lips on Aurora’s and darting his tongue into her mouth, kissing her as he practically shoves his tongue down her throat before pulling away with a purr. “Tastes like my Alpha.” Kyle smiles and Aurora laughs as she shakes her head. John gently rubs his hand over Auroa’s face before petting her cheek and neck. “Go get some rest Love.” He says sweetly and Aurora nods as she heads back to her room leaving the Beta and Alpha in his office.

When Aurora gets in her room she grabs her things heads to the shower and thinks about the day and everything that happened, before she goes to sleep she sends a text to Johnny.

Feral: I decided. Tell Ghost I want it to be him…but no marking…and ask if he can try to not break me I guess…goodnight

<<<Previous Chapter

Next Chapter>>>

Masterlist

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sashaisready · 10 months ago

Text

This Must Be The Place: Chapter 3 - Head in the clouds

Biker!Bucky x Femme Reader

Back at your beloved late grandmother's home to pack up her house, you have a run-in with the town's biker gang 'The Howling Commandos' and find yourself entangled with the metal armed President.

Series Masterlist

Warnings for: drunk minor character, violence by a minor character to reader (she's okay!)

Thanks so much for the response to this story so far, so glad people are enjoying it. As always I appreciate reblogs and comments. Thanks! Also sorry for anything I get wrong about biker clubs/rules/rituals etc - just pretend that's how it works in this specific AU!

You’d been working at the bar for a few weeks and had just started to find your stride. You’d already whipped Tom, the blundering bartender from that first night, into shape by teaching him a few tricks of the trade. You’d even showed him how to make a couple of simple cocktails. Not that they were ordered much in a biker bar, but always good to have them in your back pocket. Sure, Tom would spill the syrup all over the bar and break at least one glass every shift…but he was trying. He was the brother of one of Bucky’s buddies and it was almost sweet the way Bucky wanted to help him out – even if it meant turning a blind eye to his often less-than-competent performance.

You’d also gotten to know more of the club and had learned about some aspects of the motorcycle club (or MC as they referred to it) and how it worked.

There was Steve of course, the no-nonsense blonde from that first night, Bucky’s righthand man. He was Vice President. Steve had been a little frosty with you initially but had warmed up and the two of you were becoming friends. You understood he was just a little protective, and that meant he was careful with outsiders and like to vet them first. He was strategic and careful, always one step ahead to ensure that the club were safe from potential threats. He didn’t always say much, but it was clear you’d know if he had a problem with you – so you settled into a quiet understanding with each other.

Bruce was the Treasurer, he was sweet and smart and easy to talk to. Sam was the Road Captain, he was amiable and easy-going, he teased you a little, but it wasn’t with any malice. You gave it right back to him, of course.

Nat, the beautiful redhead you’d seen playing darts, was the Sergeant-At-Arms, which apparently meant being the enforcer and keeping things in order. This had initially surprised you until you saw Nat in action whipping them into shape after some of them had a bit too much to drink one poker night at the bar – she was slightly terrifying, taking no shit from anyone. The whole MC respected (and were slightly terrified of) her… (maybe even Bucky). But the two of you got on well and she was sweet as pie to you, and you were always happy to have another friend.

Thor was the club Secretary, possibly the largest man you’d ever seen – well named. Until now you’d always associated secretaries with typing and pencil skirts – no more. Although seeing Thor in a pencil skirt would certainly be something.

Parker…or Peter, as you found out was his first name, was a recent prospect who had become a full member. He was still finding his way a little, and the others were still ribbing him, but he was sweet and enthusiastic, and you liked him a lot. The dart incident was all forgiven, although he still tiptoed around you a little despite your insistence everything was fine between the two of you.

You were still getting to know the other members – Scott, Clint, Loki, Drax to name a few…Then there were the hang-arounds – not members. Some were prospects but some were just buddies of the club. But Steve was very discerning about who they associated with, he would weed out any sycophants or creeps who just wanted the glory of an MC on their side. It was a whole new world, and you were still learning.

There were also a gaggle of girls who hung out at the bar most nights. They were sweet, some of them were involved with various members, some just wanted to be. All very pretty, very fun. They would drink and play bar games and keep the mood light. Perfectly nice to you, decent tippers.

It hadn’t bypassed your notice that Bucky, as President, was their ultimate target. They’d follow him around, laugh uproariously at his jokes and hang off his every word. Amber, who you’d sussed was their de facto leader of sorts, seemed to have staked some sort of claim. All blonde hair and long legs, skin that looked like an Instagram filter and tonight wearing a, frankly, gravity defying halter top. She’d give the other girls a certain look if they got too close to him and they’d dutifully scatter. Your instincts told you she was not someone you wanted on your bad side.

Bucky didn’t exactly deflect her advances. He’d grin at her with amusement when she would drape her long-manicured nails across his arm, whisper something in her ear that would make her giggle and playfully bat him away.

Which you were fine with.

Obviously.

It wasn’t like you had developed a huge crush on Bucky since you’d been working here, or anything like that.

You didn’t steal glances at him when he moved across the bar, his large, toned arms always bare under his kutte – one flesh, one metal. Some threadbare tee worn underneath, straining against his chest and impossibly flat stomach. Didn’t notice the way he’d absentmindedly brush his hair back out of his eyes, scoop it into a loose bun or small ponytail as he chatted. Definitely didn’t feel a little rush of giddiness when he’d lean over you to get to the cash register and you’d get a whiff of his cologne…

“Sugar? You still with us…?”

Your head snapped towards the intrusion, Bucky’s smile tearing you away from your little daydream as he leaned over the bar. Sometimes it seemed like he could read your thoughts.

“Uh, sorry,” you recovered, wiping down the bar with a washcloth. “Was just thinking I need to do inventory”.

He chuckled, “you work too hard, Sug”.

You smiled at one another for a moment before you saw Amber snake her hand around Bucky’s arm. “Buuucky”, she whined. “Come play pool with us,” she said pleadingly.

He looked at her then back at you, opening his mouth to say something before-

“Can I get a beer here or what??”

The three of you glanced down the bar towards the voice. A broad man in a trucker hat stood sullenly at the other end of the bar, gesturing dramatically at his empty bottle.

“Of course, sir, coming right up”, you chirped a little more cheerily than he deserved.

Bucky frowned. You knew that frown well already. He didn’t like the demanding customers who liked to bark their orders.

“It’s fine,” you told him softly as you pulled another bottle from the fridges. “I got this, you go play pool”.

He continued to frown but seemed to relax slightly at your words, looking over at the man sternly as he got up and Amber squealed excitedly at her victory.

Ugh.

“Just come get me if he gives you any shit” he said harshly as Amber tugged on him.

“You know I’ll give him shit right back if he does,” you winked.

“See? She’s a pro. Let’s GO” moaned Amber as she smiled sweetly at you before shoving him towards the pool table.

Bucky looked back at you for a second before the others cheered at his arrival and Sam handed him a cue. Amber had her hand on his back, rubbing it up and down.

You sighed and moved to hand the new beer over to the customer. You smiled and placed it down in front of him and in response he wordlessly tossed a bill from his wallet onto the bar. Charming. You peeled the money off and gave him his change from the register, then did your best to look busy as you kept an eye on the activity by the pool table.

Honestly, you didn’t know what was wrong with you. You were a grown woman, Bucky was your boss and you’d be out of here in no time anyway. Why were you feeling jealous of another woman about a man like this? You weren’t at school anymore. Grow up. The house was coming along nicely, it wouldn’t matter for much longer. You’d get over your crush and move on. You got the impression Bucky had a whole rotation of women…and that was perfectly fine. None of your business. Everyone knows getting involved with your boss is a terrible idea anyway…especially when that boss heads up a biker gang.

The next few hours passed uneventfully with a solid but not overwhelmingly throng of customers, the occasional whoop and cheer from the pool table as the club played and showed off. You chatted with Nat for a while as she perched on a bar stool, then Vis and Wanda came by to see you which was sweet of them. Over in the corner, Amber was treating Bucky like a soldier back from battle solely because he’d potted a few balls.

The bar thinned out and only a few customers remained. You were at the bar by yourself just refilling the straw holders when a slurred voice interrupted you.

“Another fuckin’ beer” said the demanding customer from earlier, barely able to keep upright as he slammed his hand onto the bar.

What? No way had you served him that much. He’d had about 4 beers all night…What on earth-

“Sir…” you responded as he swayed and wobbled.

Just then, a small glass bottle fell out of his jacket and clunked hard onto the wood below. Ah, yes. That’ll be the culprit.

Your eyes flickered to the gang across the room who hadn’t yet noticed the small disturbance. You were tempted to call them over, but you didn’t want them thinking you couldn’t handle a single drunk guy.

“Sir…you’ve had enough. You need to go home,” you admonished. “You’ve brought outside liquor in here too and I’m not serving you anymore. You need me to leave, alright? I can call you a cab if you need-”

“Another beer…” he repeated, as if you hadn’t said anything.

“Sir, I told you – no. Now please leave,” you folded your arms, the annoyance of dealing with him all evening boiling over into anger. Maybe a little Amber frustration was there too.

“Ano-”

“No,” you cut him off. “Enough. Please go…”

“Listen here, bitch…” he pointed a dirty fingernailed hand at you. “If you don’t get me another beer-”

“You’re not getting shit, so save us both the trouble and get the fuck out before I get Security to throw you out. Hell, I’ll do it myself if I must” you spat back.

He stared back at you agog, seemingly surprised by your change in attitude. The confusion quickly shifted to rage, and it took a moment for your reflexes to catch up with your brain as he suddenly curled his fingers around the discarded glass bottle and-

You ducked, but unfortunately, a tiny bit too slowly. The bottle bounced off your forehead and hit the bar, shattering and sending little shards of glass into your arm. You stepped backwards in surprise and stumbled, crying out in pain as your lower back hit the bar shelf behind you.

You heard the stampede a second later, a flurry of leather and denim enveloping the bar as the man seemed to levitate – but in actual fact he’d been grabbed by Thor and unceremoniously hauled up by his collar. You briefly heard him stumble apologies, but the sound faded fast as Thor pulled him towards the door, flanked by Sam and Steve.

“Oh babe, I’m sorry we left you” said Nat who was leaning down in front of you and checking out your injuries. “You’re okay. I promise”.

You looked down at them too, your arm was bleeding slightly but didn’t look too rough. You couldn’t see your head but could feel a little lump forming. You didn’t feel pain, not really. The adrenaline of the shock saw to that.

“Why didn’t you call us over?? Jesus Christ, Sugar” Bucky chastised as he jostled past Nat and delicately moved your hair out the way to look at your head. You widened your eyes in surprise as he moved his face to yours, measuring your reflexes with his finger in front of your vision.

“I didn’t realise he’d flip…he was just drunk” you mumbled, slightly dazed for more reason than one. “I just told him to leave. I’m fine…”

“No, you’re not, you’re bleeding,” Bucky scoffed, carefully inspecting the cut on your arm. “And maybe concussed”.

“Bucky…” you frowned.

“Don’t ‘Bucky’ me. You could’ve got really hurt. Why are you bouncing customers? That’s our job”. His tone was angry, condescending.

“Jeez I misjudged it, okay?” you scowled. “He seemed like a mouthy drunk is all. Don’t talk to me like I’m a baby..”

“I’m not! I just-”

“You were busy! I didn’t wanna interrupt…”

“Just playing fuckin’ pool, Sug! Not too busy to stop you getting brained by a bottle…”

“Alright, break it up you two,” Nat interjected. “We don’t need more trouble tonight”.

Bucky scowled but shut up regardless.

She squeezed your hand. “Let me take you in the back, we’ll get you cleaned up. And then let’s get you home, alright?”

You smiled at her, grateful for her kindness.

“No…I’ll take her” Bucky said. “Get over here…”

“Bucky…” you said with insolence.

But he just ignored you, grabbing your hand from Nat’s and dragging you to the back room.

“Buuuck,” whined Amber from across the room. “We still gotta finish the game”.

“Sam can take my shots” Bucky grumbled, continuing to pull you along without looking up.

“But-”

“Amber, what?! Can’t you see I’m busy here?” he spat, looking daggers over at her. “Ask Sam”.

She went quiet, then pouted and harrumphed. Bucky ignored her and kept going.

“Fuck, Sug,” he muttered. “What are we gonna do with you?”

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x you #james bucky barnes #this must be the place fic #biker!bucky #motorcycle club au bucky

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chrollosbm · 1 year ago

Text

Sunflower Fields: a Choso Love Story Chapter Eleven

art cr: shijoula on x

You're broken from a past relationship, thinking you only deserve the worst. Choso comes along, making you realize you deserve the world and more. Will your ex-boyfriend let you go without a fight? (Choso x black!reader, yandere Choso)

Previous Chapters

pls support me on ao3, it would mean the world to me

Choso was currently standing cluelessly in a bar he’d never frequented, let alone heard of, in a pile of bodies with people he would never, ever, even associate with. The place was full of obvious college students who’d just hit the legal drinking age, or were either too young to be in a bar in the first place. The bouncer seemed sketchy to begin with, barely checking IDs as he chatted up younger women who were barely adults. He felt gross, gross to be standing in here as the air was muggy, it smelled like it hadn’t been cleaned in ages, and the music was absolutely terrible.

But, he was doing this for you. This small, crowded establishment that was driving him insane was right across the street from the far more luxurious club you were in. Thank God. He felt like he would have a heart attack if he knew you were in attendance of this low class bar, knowing you were way better than this.

Choso couldn’t even spend five minutes in this setting before he realized he couldn’t take much longer, so with great effort, he pushed through the sea of bodies and made his way outside, to the front of the trashy spot where he found a vacant bench to sit on. He sighed as he sat down, legs sprawled out in a manspread position, annoyed with his plan to begin with. He could’ve just done this from the start, as he had a clear view of the club from here, although it was more risky as there was a higher likelihood of him being caught by you. He deemed it worth the risk though, as he only wanted to protect you. You would understand that, right?

A feminine voice snapped Choso from his thoughts. “Mind if I sit with you?” The voice said, and he turned his head to find a pale woman with long brown hair, dressed in club attire, a cigarette hanging from her mouth, waiting for his answer.

He simply shrugged, not bothering to change his position to make room for the stranger. He couldn’t bring himself to pay attention to anything but the surroundings of the establishment you were in. The streets were filled with loud, drunk people, the night’s lights were bright and sounds of laughter, screaming, and music filled the air. Choso hated it. He hated the amount of people, the noise, the smell, everything. Once again though, he was out here doing this for you, to stand guard, to be sure you wouldn’t come into harm whatsoever.

The scent of cigarette smoke and vanilla filled Choso’s lungs as the strange woman sat down next to him, taking another puff of the cancer stick, the aroma surprisingly not foul smelling. He had immersed in smoking as a teen as part of his rebellious phase, only stopping because of the growing dent in his pockets due to the habit. He never picked it up again after that, as he knew it was bad for his health, and he didn’t want his younger brothers to pick up the habit as well.

A hand holding out a pack of said cigarettes was now in his view, distracting him from his surveillance on you. “You smoke?” She asked, offering him one.

Choso turned to look at her and shook his head. “Not anymore.” He answered, taking one anyway, actions contradicting his words.

The woman gave a chuckle and pulled out a lighter to light the cigarette currently hanging from Choso’s full lips, before taking one final drag of hers, tossing it carelessly in the already littered street afterwards.

“I’m Shoko.” She said, monotone laced in her voice, and Choso mentally rolled his eyes.

Not his type. Not you.

“And I’m not interested.” Choso responded, not caring about the clear lack of manners he was giving to this stranger that was kind enough to offer something of her possession to him, something he was currently relishing in. He could physically feel the stress lifting from his body with each inhale, suddenly feeling less tense about the entire situation. He had a full view of the entrance and exit to the club, so he would know when you left. He needed to relax.

Her loud laugh interrupted Choso’s thoughts and he cringed, annoyed at the volume of her roar. You were the only one whose voice he loved hearing at that amplification. “Oh, relax.” The woman he now knew as Shoko’s voice was still filled with humor and he wanted to leave immediately. He didn’t want to entertain this conversation any longer.

“I’m not trying to get into your pants. Yours has something in it that I’m not too particularly fond of.” Her face read disgust as she looked the man up and down, a smirk on her face as she reached his eyes again.

Choso’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, suddenly feeling a twinge of guilt for his bluntness a few seconds ago. A twinge.

“My bad.” He said, casually, exhaling the smoke from his lips with an ‘o’ shape, away from the woman’s stature, a small smirk remaining on his face from the tranquility of his old habit and the fact he’d just mistaken the woman next to him for flirting with him. It happened pretty often that he rejected others, so it was just a habit, not cockiness at all. He tossed the still-lit stick into the road, mocking Shoko’s previous action. “I’m just used to rejecting women is all.”

It was her turn to shoot her brows up in shock at his statement and she folded her arms and placed one leg over the other, bouncing it up and down, her knee-high boots moving in the air. “Cocky bastard, I see.” She let out nonchalantly, causing Choso to let out a genuine laugh at her boldness before she continued. Who the hell was this crazy woman? “I think we’re gonna be friends.” She finished with a smile and he tilted his head in confusion.

Friends? Choso didn’t really have friends, more like acquaintances, coworkers, and you. His brothers were his friends, but he knew that didn’t really count. He didn’t really trust anyone enough to have close companions, afraid that everyone ended up leaving, anyway. The man had always struggled with that part of himself, as he of course had some fear that you could leave him at some point. He of course wouldn’t let that happen, like he’d pondered before, he would die before that dilemma occurred. Choso was afraid of what he would do if you expressed or gave off any sort of disinterest in him, knowing he wouldn’t let you go, no matter what he had to do to stop you from leaving him.

As scary as the thought was, he knew he would take drastic measures to make sure you stayed his, even if that meant corrupting some of the morals he wasn’t even sure he had.

He needed you and you needed him. You two were going to be connected, forever.

“So, what are you doing out here all alone?” Shoko asked, calming his sinister line of thinking. Choso stared blankly at her, not sure exactly what to say. He couldn’t just outright say he was tracking you, keeping tabs on you even though you weren’t aware of his actions. That would come off as stalker-ish. Choso wasn’t a stalker, he just wanted to confirm your well-being. “I’m meeting an old friend. Although, it is getting kind of late for my liking.” She let out breezily with a sigh when Choso didn’t answer quickly enough, and he mentally sighed, knowing he wasn’t in the spotlight anymore.

He quickly composed himself at her statement before responding, taking a piece of his makeshift bang from his signature buns to twirl in his fingers, feigning nonchalance. “Oh nice. A girl?” He smirked at her and she scoffed, rolling her eyes.

“Boy, do I wish! Just going clubbing with one of my friends from high school. Haven’t seen him in a while and he’s been going through it because of his ex or some shit.” She shrugged. “Oh, I think that’s him now!” Her voice was filled with enthusiasm as she pointed to the familiar man walking down the street and Choso couldn’t believe his fucking luck.

Walking only twenty feet from him, was Suguru fucking Geto. The man who broke your heart more than once, cheated on you, betrayed you, stalked you.

Suguru was stopped in front of Choso before he knew it, a cocky expression on his features, looking down at the sweet woman he was meeting for the night. “She bothering you?” He asked Choso jokingly, obviously having no idea who he was and it took every fiber in Choso’s being not to knock him out on sight. Choso was livid, he knew it by the heat inside his body, no matter how freezing it was outside, it felt like a hot summer day by the way he was sweating. His knuckles were paler than usual with the way he was clenching his fists, ready to swing at any given moment. He couldn’t though. How would he explain this to you? He just so happened to be at a bar across the street from the club he knew you would be at? No, you wouldn’t believe that for a second. You were too damn smart for your own good.

Wait a minute. How did Suguru know you were here?

“Okay then…” Choso’s eyes snapped to the man as he spoke when Choso didn’t answer, knowing his face read nothing but pure hatred from the sudden unnerving aura in the air. “Let’s go, Shoko. This guy’s a fuckin’ weirdo.” Suguru continued and Choso absolutely lost it at the man’s bravery, obviously having absolutely no clue who he was dealing with.

Choso let out a disgusted scoff before standing to his feet quickly, choosing to land mere inches from your stalker’s face. “That’s fucking hilarious coming from you.” Choso’s words came out venomous, wicked really, as he looked him in his eyes, standing tall and proud, not caring how confused the man before him seemed.

“The fuck…” Choso heard from the bench where Shoko sat, obviously bewildered at the observation before her, head flicking from left to right. “You know my friend?” Her question was directed at Choso, who ignored her inquisition.

Suguru was clearly disoriented at the man before him’s menacing spirit, completely thrown off guard at his statement. “Yo, I don’t know who the hell you are, but back the fuck out of my face.” He moved closer to Choso, words contradicting themselves, chest equally as buff, almost touching his, with a haunting look plaguing his features, one that would’ve scared the average man. The being you were dealing with was not your average man though, Choso was a lot of things, he had a lot of positive traits that included caring, protective, kind, and intelligent, but there was a demented side to him, a side that contained vile-like behavior, vengefulness, manipulation, and acrimony. It only showed when he or a loved one was threatened or hurt, and as said before he tried to keep it under wraps, it wasn’t a side he wanted you to ever see.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Choso asked, cutting to the chase. Fuck the BS, he needed to know why he was here, about to attend the club you were currently in, celebrating your birthday. He continued when Suguru’s face quickly filled with skepticism. “You here for her? On her birthday?” Choso nodded his head across the street and not soon after, all the blood seemeed to rush from Suguru’s face.

When silence filled the air, nothing to be heard but their shallow breaths, Choso’s heaving getting louder by the second, Shoko cut in, finally seeming to catch on pretty swiftly. “Oh, you did not bring me here to help you stalk your ex-girlfriend, did you?!” She asked the gobsmacked man before Choso, who still had nothing to say. “Answer me right now, Suguru Geto!” Her voice came out, forcefully and the man she was speaking to’s jaw clenched tightly, obviously caught in his seemingly master plan.

“You her new boyfriend or something?” Suguru spat at Choso, ignoring his concerned friend who threw her arms up in defeat, before fuddling in her leather jacket to grab her pack of cigarettes, muttering something about her “friend” being shitty as usual. Choso would have to agree, maybe even taking it further to describe him as something far more cruel.

Choso smirked at him, almost laughing in the man’s face at his apparent stress. “All that matters is that you aren’t. She’s done with you. While you’re busy still pining after her, stalking her, she’s moved on, very happily at that.” Rage suddenly filled Suguru’s eyes, a burning fire seemingly in them as Choso continued, loving the way he was riling the man up with just words.

—--

The scene across the street from the club you were in, completely oblivious to the situation, was a sinister one. But, you were inside, trying to have the time of your life, but seemingly not being able to for a few reasons.

Number one: Andrea left quite some time ago. As usual, she could not handle her liquor. Before you all left the pregame at your apartment, she was already off her ass. She then proceeded to order three rounds of tequila shots, one after another, before she bolted off to the bathroom, prompting your older sister to run after your best friend, who was almost equally as drunk, but kept it under wraps with her super responsible oldest sister powers, as she called it. They didn’t spend too long in said restroom until Kento was waltzing into the establishment, an irked and distressed look covering his features. He took her home shortly after, but not before sending money for an Uber, since he was supposed to be your ride home. He sent more than needed, but you knew it was because he felt so horrible about the situation.

Number two: Not only did your best friend get absolutely hammered, but so did your younger sister. She drank more than Andrea, at both your apartment and the nightclub, but she seemed to overestimate her tolerance, as she was currently leaning on your older sister for support, still trying to dance, without any success.

Number three: There was something nagging in the back of your head. You didn’t know what, but since arriving, you felt…watched. It was like someone’s eyes were never leaving you and since around the time Andrea left, it got worse, making you feel almost naked. Your paranoia had driven you to search for the reason why you felt so uneasy, trying to lock eyes with the predator, but failing miserably. This was bothering you more than anything else, more than the people in your company irritating you greatly, which was a damn lot.

Your thoughts were interrupted when your older sister, your saving grace, and the only person not causing high emotion in you, Valerie, called your name in concern. You snapped your head to her to find her attempting to hold up your suddenly very drowsy younger sister, Opal, causing you to have those same powers your older sibling claimed to have, sobering up completely to help the youngest out of the club immediately.

Today was not a good day to wear high heels, with them being at least four inches tall and skinny, making it incredibly hard to help guide the grown woman out the night spot. You managed though, with the help of a security who came to save the day.

You were all now sitting outside on the curb, waiting for the Uber Valerie called while you were still inside, only to find out it was twenty whole minutes away. It was almost freezing outside and with your choice of attire consisting of a skimpy black dress that stopped at your mid-thigh, those heels that were open-toed, and only a fur coat that seemed to be your only intelligent choice of clothing on your body, you could not wait that long. You had half a mind to call Choso, but you knew it would probably take him that long to arrive anyway, plus he hadn’t answered any of your text messages in the past fourty-five minutes, so you assumed he was already asleep, (plus you would feel bad for taking the money Kento had so graciously given you just to not put it to good use.)

“How the hell is she in university drinking like a maniac every weekend, but can’t hold it together for a night out with us?” Valerie inquired from next to you, eyes on the scene beside her. Opal was leaning on the security guard for support, basically hugging him, with her eyes closed, ignoring his pleas for her to drink the water bottle he’d snagged from the front counter.

It was cute really, they had only just met, but by the rose tint on the man’s cheeks, you could very well tell he was into your younger sister. At first you thought he was helping out of kindness, which he still could have been doing, but now it looked like he was doing it for something more, with him promising to remain outside with you all until your ride arrived.

And why wouldn't he? Your sister was adorable, with her face almost an exact replica of you and your older sister's, her hair in a huge curly fro, dressed in the girliest, pinkest club attire, including her baby pink fur coat, which was the exact opposite of you and Valerie's. Valerie had chosen a warmer outfit, a tight, midi length sweater dress and high heeled boots, obviously the smarter of the three of you. Her hair was in black knotless braids, as it always was, being that it was easier to take care of since she didn't have the time to do her own hair, with her hands always in someone else's head.

You let out a snort, wondering the same thing as your older sister. “Who knows?” You turned and shook your head at Opal, who was now drinking the water, staring up at the man who was now pleased at her actions, praising her with a smile on his face. “She better get it together before tomorrow night. I’m not stopping the party again just because the two of them can’t hold their liquor.” You finished with a roll of your eyes. It was your birthday weekend, for Christ’s sake.

Your annoyance was cut short when Opal finally spoke, but it was in a panicked tone, and not to you, but the man beside her. “What the fuck is going on over there?!” Her words were slurred, but you followed her eyesight to the scene across the street to see two men beating the shit out of eachother-well one man getting his ass beat. A screech from the woman above them was loud enough to pierce everyone’s ears in a two-mile radius.

“Jesus Christ!” Valerie gasped next to you, covering her mouth as the man on the bottom’s face made a loud cracking sound as a fist connected to his jaw.

Your heart raced with adrenaline at the sight before you as you got up to get a closer look, despite both of your sister’s protests. You really should mind your business, but something was calling you to the scene ahead of you, an invisible force dragging you to the commotion that was drawing a small crowd, anyway. The security guard who helped Opal was running ahead of you towards the disturbance, having to abandon your younger sister for a more pressing matter.

You stumbled across the street, curiosity getting the best of you when you paused halfway there, to find no one other than Choso fucking Kamo getting yanked off of a very bloody man, who still had the nerve to be talking shit after the obvious ass whooping he just caught. The top Choso’s t-shirt was torn, exposing his tattoos and his silver chain, his hair was a mess with one bun hanging from his head, while the other had seemingly fallen. His face was tomato red in comparison to his pale body, and fuck. Why did he have to look so deranged and so sexy?

You snapped out your dirty thoughts and wanted to run over to Choso to figure out what the hell was happening, why he was fighting when you looked down to see that the man he was just hammering into the ground was no other than Suguru fucking Geto.

Your heart felt like it stopped beating with the way it dropped to the bottom of your stomach. What is going on? Why were they fighting? Did they know each other? Who is that woman? What were they doing here?

All of those questions were swirling through your head just as Suguru seemed to notice you, his facial expression turning from murderous to appalled, probably from your surprise appearance.

“Your boyfriend is a fucking psychopath!” He all but roared at you, looking disheveled with blood pooling from his nose and mouth and onto his neck as he attempted to get up, but falling almost immediately, causing the brown haired woman to help him up, grumbling obscenities underneath her breath. Was this his new girlfriend?

Ugh, who cares?

You didn’t know what to think and you weren’t sure how to feel, but for some reason the sight of Suguru on the ground, beat to a fucking pulp by Choso Kamo, pleading at your feet, lit something sinister in you. You didn’t feel angry, or disappointed, or sorrowful even.

What you felt was pure elation. Euphoric at the fact that he was practically crying and begging you to do something about Choso who’d just given him the ass whooping of a lifetime, probably at your expense, and outright in ecstasy at the sight of Choso, only ten feet from you now, a small amount of blood drooling from his gore painted lips, silently suffering, seemingly waiting for your reaction, as he was being held back from the pathetic man under you.

You couldn’t help the sinister grin that began to creep on your face, something that should have terrified Choso, or even yourself, but it didn’t. In fact, his large toothy, amused smile followed yours, and he looked the happiest you had ever seen him.

You didn’t know if that relieved you or fucking terrified you.

Chapter Twelve is Posted

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myownwholewildworld · 6 months ago

Text

wherever you go (a joel miller’s ff) - chapter 6

chapter 5 | series masterlist | main masterlist | chapter 7

pairing: outbreak!2003!joel x f!reader. (it's actually 2004 now)

summary: after months in the wilderness, you finally arrive at chicago. adapting to this new life has its cons, but also its perks. joel's birthday is around the corner, and you have planned for a couple of things you hope he likes...

a/n: hiya! here's chapter six!! it's packed with a bit of everything, especially drama because why not? 🤷 i want to thank you all ― i just realised that the first 3 chapters have hit over 100 notes each! i'm so damn grateful to all of you, honestly. as much as i'm writing for myself, i'm loving how hooked some of you are with this story 😳 also, i'd like to apologise in advance if i have butchered chicago's layout or its history, i did try my best doing some research. as always, thank you all for engaging. i do appreciate any comments, reblogs and/or likes you may want to leave! even asks/requests if you want to! take care lovelies <3 x

warnings: 18+, mdni. mention of Sarah's death. angst. fluff. filthy smut (don't you know me by now?). porn with plot or plot with porn (however you wanna look at it). irresponsible use of contraception (don't do that). consensual somnophilia. dry humping. unprotected piv. masturbation (m and f). creampie. pussy slapping. fisting. squirting. cum play. a bit of assplay. makeup sex. sir kink. “bar” fight. alcohol consumption. blood. stabbing. swear words. mention of past racist events and the precursor to the chicago race riot of 1919. soft!dom!joel. a bit of aftercare. pet names (darlin’, sweetheart). i'm sure i'm forgetting something lol. reader is female, no other description given. reader is mid-late 20s, joel is now 37 (🎉!). no use of y/n. joel’s and reader’s pov.

w/c: ~6.9k.

tags (let me know if you want to be added/removed from the list pls!): @yesjazzywazzylove-blog @pedrospurplerain @missladym1981 @fancyyoouu @smolbeanzzz

Chicago was definitely not what you had expected at all. Shit had gone down really badly in this place. It took you a week to cross the southwest area, keeping close to Interstate 55 as a reference. The worst you had seen was Chicago Midway International Airport. Airplanes had crashed on the runway, the esplanade was a makeshift cemetery even almost a year after Outbreak Day. Bodies piled on top of each other, fires would break out in the adjacent buildings. The control tower was completely dilapidated. And the grounds were full of clickers.

Tommy, Joel and you made it through the worst neighbourhoods. As you covered more miles, Tommy and Joel realised that this had not been the best idea. But you were already there, so the best option was to move forward. You all had to defend yourselves, and each other. Although the Miller brothers took out many attackers ―humans and infected alike―, you also had your good share of action. You didn’t like it, but you were good at shooting. Your clothes were stained with blood and sweat. You endured, and you survived. That was what mattered.

The whole city was in shambles, divided by two different groups: the government and the rebels. The government held the north side of the Chicago River, from River North Gallery District all the way to Old Town ― basically everything to the east of Interstate 90. The rebels, on the other hand, controlled the south ― all the movable bridges along the whole Wacker Drive, from New Eastside to Chinatown. Anything further south or north, and between Interstates 55 and 90, from Little Village to Naperville, was no man’s land.

You ended up on the rebels’ side randomly. Tommy was not very happy about it, blaming the communists for overpowering the government, but it wasn’t like you had a choice. If you tried to cross any bridge to go northwards, you would be shot at with no warning. From both sides.

It took a while to convince the Rioters ― that was how the rebels called themselves. Two weeks later, on the 20th of August, you were given a place to stay near the Art Institute of Chicago, which was also the operations base. You did try to integrate yourself in this society as you knew it was better to have more friends than foes. The Millers, however, kept to themselves ― Joel more than Tommy, as you had expected. No surprises there.

The flat you were in was in urgent need of repairs but was better than sleeping rough. You and Joel fixed as many things as you both could, while Tommy took cleaning very seriously. It wasn’t much, but it was the place you called home for the last month. The only downside was that it only had two bedrooms, so Joel and you sadly had to share the only double bed available, while Tommy had his own room.

You wouldn’t lie to yourself ― the last four weeks had been pure bliss in a sense. Waking up every day besides Joel had become a delightful habit. He had awakened you many a times either in the middle of the night or in the early morning to give him a hand. Literally. And you had done exactly the same thing when you had needed it. You were sure Tommy was sick and tired of you two, but you didn’t care.

You stretched out, still lying in bed. The morning light had not come through the curtains yet, but it soon would. You rubbed your eyes and then let your arms drop to your sides dramatically. You were not a morning person, but your sleeping schedule was all fucked up. You rolled to your other side in an attempt to get comfortable.

Joel was sleeping on his right side. You had noticed he usually did in the same position. When you had asked him why, he had explained his hearing in his right ear was messed up since his suicide attempt. You wished you could have been faster that day to prevent the gun from going off. Ah, the regrets you both had…

His back was towards you, him facing the door. Despite the repairs you all had done to the flat, it was still not the safest. Every night one of you would make sure all locks were engaged and would bar the front door. A few days ago, someone attempted to break in. Since then, all of you would sleep with a firearm nearby.

Today was Sunday ― 26th of September. Which meant it was Joel’s birthday, as well as the first anniversary of Outbreak Day. The anniversary of Sarah's death would be tomorrow too. You had tried to talk to Joel about today, but he didn’t seem to be interested in celebrating at all, which you completely understood. As much as you wanted to do something, you respected his decision. You had only planned for a couple of low-key things, which you hoped he wouldn’t mind.

He had fallen asleep only with his briefs on, the bedsheet draping around his legs. You couldn’t see, but you were damn sure he had his arms crossed at his chest, always on guard. Your eyes dwelled on his upper body, two perfect dimples on his lower back. His shoulders were broad and toned, his waist smaller. He was not the most muscular guy you had ever seen, but he was perfect the way he was. His calloused hands had shown you multiple times how good he was for you, despite what he thought of himself.

You couldn’t resist, your mouth dry. Your fingertips traced the curve of his neck, then his left shoulder down to his elbow. Your hand caressed his left hip and slipped down to his front, following his V line. Your fingers touched the elastic of his briefs ― and something else.

You gulped down the knot in your throat, your heart beating harder in your chest, when your fingertips brushed over the damp tip of his cock. Joel’s morning wood was so prominent, his glans had slipped out of his underwear and was showing. You wetted your lips as you stroked him carefully. A deep, almost guttural growl flowed from Joel’s chest.

You got closer to him in bed, your nipples grazing the skin on his back even through your pyjamas. It probably wasn’t the best time ― you knew he was tired, but you wanted him so badly. Liquid fire was pooling in your furrow, knowing his erection was right there for you to play with.

Your internal battle didn’t last long.

You pulled down his briefs to free his warm dick. You didn’t need to look to know his shaft was resting against his happy trail, the head touching his belly button. With no hesitation, you wrapped your fingers around his cock, squeezing him delicately. Then you slid your hand down his meaty column, holding him firmly, in a very slow but strong pump.

He groaned, still asleep as far as you could tell, as you started pumping him ― more heat and excitement gathering in your pussy. You dunked your fingers in your panties, touching yourself. You were already wet, the mere thought of making him yours was enough. You kissed his left shoulder at the same time he uncrossed his arms ― his left hand over yours, feeling the rhythm you were imparting on him.

He was awake.

Joel didn’t remember what he was dreaming about, but he was sure it wasn’t this. When he looked down and saw your tiny hand trying to muffle his cock, he closed his eyes with a sigh. That felt damn good. He was knackered after last night’s patrolling shift, but this was exactly what he needed to decompress.

He turned around, his back flat against the uncomfortable mattress. His eyes were pinned on yours, your sweet hand upping the speed. You leaned towards him and invaded his mouth with your devilish tongue. Joel moaned in the middle of the kiss ― his brain completely switched off. He could not think straight when you were handling him like that.

Quickly letting go of his erection and mouth, you got rid of your pyjama shorts and your underwear. Then you doubled down your efforts with the handjob ― his throbbing cock was calling for you. You could see a few drops of precum sliding off his veiny shaft, which you swiftly gathered with your thumb to rub them against his leaking slit. You felt his dick pulsating hard for you ― your cunt palpitating at exactly the same time, anticipating. Your bodies were fully synchronised.

You then climbed on top of him, his balls welcoming the touch from your puffy lips. You rolled your hips against his, looking for that friction you so much loved, and took a deep breath before taking off the top of your pyjamas, throwing it to one side. You bended down, your mouth looking for his, so thirsty.

“Good morning, handsome”, you whispered as a greeting.

“Mhmmm”, was the only thing he managed to hum, sleepy.

You smiled and broke off the contact, straightening your back. His rough hands slid from your knees, across your thighs, to your butt. He clasped your ass cheeks with assertiveness. With no more words than those, you took his steely cock in your hand and lifted your hips. You glided his glans over your damp fold a few times, your cunt beseeching to be stuffed.

You guided his tip to kiss your entrance and descended on his dick slowly, very slowly, the palms of your hands flat against his lower abdomen to steady yourself. You closed your eyes, head tilted backwards, and whined loudly. Each inch was a blessing. Once his cock was entirely inside of you, you peeked back down at him and did a circular motion with your hips. His eyes were so intense you couldn’t look away while you started riding him.

Joel closed his eyes unwillingly when the muscles in his lower belly cramped. He didn’t want to miss a single second of this, so forced himself to open them again ― he loved seeing how the pleasure transformed your beautiful features. Your half-lidded eyes, your lips parted, a river of pearly sweat coming down in between your bosom. Your perfectly round breasts bouncing in front of him. He was a lucky bastard.

He liberated your ass, his hands drifting to your bust, holding your tits. While he kneaded that tender flesh and coddled your nipples, you covered his hands with yours. You were still jumping on top of him, albeit more erratically, as you felt an orgasm hit you with full force. You mewled as your needy pussy discharged the seed of your pleasure all over him, hugging his hard erection, strangling his cock, encouraging him to come with you.

Joel was so damn close to coming, his nuts contracted with equal parts of pain and lust. He could feel your gush soaking his dick. He was about to lose his goddamn mind ― he needed to stop. His hands abandoned your breasts to place them on your butt to help you lift it up, so you would release his cock before it was too late.

“No, it’s okay. Fill me up, please, sir”, you wailed, your palms against his chest, your hips grinding against his.

Joel glimpsed at you with doubt. It was like you could read his mind, because you knew what he was thinking. You smiled softly, your wet pussy palpitating around his cock. You forced your inner walls to contract against him as you leaned forward to kiss him.

“I’ve got the morning after pill. Please, please, Joel, come inside, I beg you. Trust me”, you wept, laying down on top of him.

He thought himself mad for believing you, but he did. Because he was mad for you, regardless of what he tried to convince himself of. He lifted your butt up off his lap with his hands ― with the help of his legs, the heels of his feet against the bedsheets, he thrusted into you like a madman while you remained still on top of him. Drilling your weeping cunt, as hard and fast as he could. He just wanted to know how it felt just once; he wanted you to milk him dry.

Joel fucked you like there was no tomorrow, the room echoing with the squishy sounds and the impact of flesh on flesh. He was fucking you so hard that you came again at the same time he spilled his spent in you ― Joel groaned like you never heard him before. The slick warmth you felt inside made you smile, your face buried in the curve of his neck, your nipples brushing his. With his pulsing dick still inside of you, you bit the skin on his neck, leaving a mark behind.

“Happy birthday, sir”, you whispered in his ear.

That was your gift to him. And to yourself, because you had wanted this from the very first time he impaled you in the forest. You had had to trade a few bits for the morning after pill, but it was worth every single one of them. You felt your cave so clogged with him and his cum, you thought you had descended to hell.

You both stilled, catching your breaths. His dick was still twitching, housed by your greedy, soaked cunt.

A minute later, he sat up on the bed, bit your mouth and lifted your butt up, his cock becoming free. He quickly laid you down in fetal position ― resting on your righthand side, back slightly curved, head bowed, your knees bent touching your breasts. He placed a hand on your left hip and tilted your pelvis a bit forward, so he could inspect your heart-shaped ass and your puffy, reddened pussy framed by your inner thighs.

Just in time to see his cum gushing out of your hole, dripping across your perineum and then going downwards, skidding through your butt cheek. One of his digits caught the semen before it hit the bedsheets, retraced its steps back and shoved the cum back inside of you with the push of his finger.

“You can’t waste my gift to you, baby, it’d be so fucking rude of you”, he purred in your ear, his voice coarse and warm at the same time.

He laid on his side behind you, moving his index in a circular motion, looking for your g-spot and finding it. He stroked it dextrously, sliding it in and out slowly. You closed your eyes, and fisted the bedsheet in your hand, trying to hold onto something. Your mouth shaped a perfect ‘O’ when he bottomed out, quickly adding a second finger. And a third. Then a fourth.

It didn’t take long for your pussy to adjust to such delightful intrusion ― your inner walls felt like clay, reshaping around him. Joel could feel you relax around his fingers and took the chance, introducing his thumb in your pussy too. Now his entire hand was buried in your fluttering cunt, down to his wrist. He remained still for a hot minute while your muscles loosened up to house him.

Then he slowly started to pump his fist inside of you, back and forth, building up a steady pace. Joel bit your shoulder and then kissed it ― his tongue tasting the saltiness of your sweat.

By that point you couldn’t stop moaning very loudly ― the whole building was probably listening to your whoring screams as Joel fisted you relentlessly with his whole hand. Each push propelling his cum further inside of you as if he wanted it to take. He was thrusting you so harsh, your entire body was rocking back and forth on the bed. He was fucking you senseless just with his hand ― and you were loving every single second of it.

Your sticky cunt couldn’t take it for much longer ― it was wet, pulsating, contracting, overstimulated, yearning… Your pussy literally was his, and only his. The orgasm had been building up for so long now that when you let it go, weeping at the top of your lungs, it hit you like a motherfucking truck. Your whole body went into shock while you squirted ― you were shaking due to the force of your own release. For fuck’s sake, you could barely breathe.

You whimpered again when he removed his hand and rubbed your wetness all over your delicate folds. Before you could form a coherent thought, he spanked you on your crotch so firmly it tingled ― you almost died and went to heaven right there and then, biting into the pillow underneath your head. He kept on slapping your quivering cunt until your sensitive clit twitched one last time with devastating pleasure, contracting your uterus so the last trickle of cum oozed out of you. He caught it with his thumb and brushed it gently against your asshole, caressing the tight ring, until you fully relaxed.

You sighed, unable to move. You even felt dizzy. Your limbs felt so limp you didn’t think you could sit up, so you just stayed there, melting against the bedsheets. You hadn’t realised your eyes had welled up until a few tears ran down your cheeks. Tears of complete, utter joy ― there was no other way of describing it.

You were so damn grateful for this man, you swore to yourself you would never let him go. You had been with others, but none of your sexual partners had been so fucking attentive. Joel would always make sure you were completely satisfied, without fail. And that said a lot about him.

You rolled onto your back to look at him, wiping away the tears with a satisfied smile and dreamy eyes. He was still lying down on his side, his elbow against the bed, his head resting on the palm of his hand. He returned your smile ― such gesture transforming his rugged face. So gorgeous it tugged at your heart.

“Y’know, it was supposed to be all the way around today ― me fucking you until you begged”, you confessed, although it was not a complaint.

He grinned, his hand possessively cupping your mound. You parted your legs slightly so he could massage your sensitive furrow. It felt so calming after all that pussy-slapping he gifted you with.

“As redundant as it sounds, plans rarely go according to plan, sweetheart”.

Understatement of the fucking year, you thought.

You just laughed while his hand was still kneading your sticky flaps. Joel kissed your forehead before he took out his hand from in between your legs, your damp, intimate skin being swept by the cold air.

“The morning after pill?”, he asked a minute later.

“I got it from Kelsey, it’s in date. Don’t panic, it’s okay. I have three days to take it. Which made me think… I don’t need to do it straight away, right?”, you glanced up at him, a wide smile on your lips.

“Mhmm, I mean, it would be a waste otherwise, I guess”, he replied, tucking a stray hairlock behind your ear. “But I need a minute here, darlin’. You work miracles, but even I have limits. Wait up”, he mumbled grumpily as he palmed his left wrist, and then got out of bed while he tucked away his member back in his briefs.

Joel headed towards the en-suite bathroom. He came back out only a few seconds later ― you could see panic in his eyes. You sat back up on the mattress quickly.

“What is it, Joel?”, you asked with worry, kneeling on the bed.

“My wristwatch, I can’t find it. I am sure I left it by the sink before I came to bed last night. I can’t lose it. I can’t”, he was now frantically searching his bedside table, panic growing in his tone.

You bit down your lip, because you knew where it was. In the drawer of your nightstand. You had taken it in the middle of the night because your second present was getting it repaired for him today.

“I have it”, you whispered, shrugging with an apologetic smile.

“What? Why?”, he approached you, extending his hand towards you, his tone so serious. “Give it back now”, he almost growled at you.

His reaction took you completely off guard. Why was he so possessive over a broken watch? Trying to understand the sudden change in Joel, you opened the drawer and took it out.

“I just wanted to get it fixed for you, as a gift”, you didn’t understand what was happening.

“You have not fixed it, have you?! Because if you have―”, he snatched it off your hand, inspecting it.

You frowned ― his attitude towards you was completely off. What the hell was going on?

“Don’t you dare touch my fucking things, is that clear?”, he snapped.

You looked at him blankly, speechless. Then your own temperament started to shimmer under the surface.

“Wow, wow, wow ― Calm the fuck down, Joel. It’s just a broken, useless watch―”, you stopped yourself because of his perplexed look.

“Shut up. It’s not just any watch. You don’t fucking understand”, he yapped.

“I would try and understand if you just fucking explained it to me?!”, you shouted at him while you got dressed. “What is your fucking problem, Joel? What’s up with that watch? I don’t read minds!”.

“Forget it”, he grumbled, strapping the watch to his wrist before putting his trousers on and grabbing a T-shirt, heading towards the door.

“That’s it? You just up and leave?”, you repressed the urge of throwing a pillow to his head.

“I’ve got stuff to do”, he muttered.

A few seconds later, you heard him opening the front door. Then he slammed it shut.

It was around lunchtime now and you had not seen Joel since this catastrophic morning. While you had the impression that Joel’s reaction was due to something he would not speak about, he had no fucking right to treat you that way. You were just trying to do something nice for him, that was all.

You walked through the main hallway of the Art Institute of Chicago. It was rammed with people running around ― some armed, some not. You didn’t think that humanity would prevail in big groups in such circumstances, but it did.

The Rioters had established some sort of order. People had tasks to do, everyone working together to build up a community. Chores were allocated according to people’s skills. Joel had been put on patrolling shifts, Tommy was helping with carpentry and other building jobs, and you were in the hunting group. As much as you hated pulling the trigger, you were a very good shot. All thanks to your good old Texan father.

You were on your way to check with the group if there were any plans of going out today when you got interrupted.

“Hey”, someone tapped you on the shoulder.

“What’s up, Joyce?”, you looked at the older woman when you turned around.

Joyce was around fifty five years of age, maybe more, and was the kindest soul you had ever met. She had welcomed you to Chicago like a mother a daughter. Joyce showed you around, explained how the Rioters worked and guided you in the right direction. Because as good as everything looked, there was still darkness lurking around.

She was also the best cook ever. Like, no jokes, she could transform a tasteless rabbit in the most flavourful stew your tastebuds had ever been in contact with.

“I just finished cooking, do you want some stew?”, she asked with a warm smile.

Your stomach growled at the mere idea.

“Fuck yeah”, you replied ― your duties could wait, surely.

“Watch your language, kiddo”, Joyce reprimanded you.

“Sorry, sorry”, all that time you spent with Joel was showing.

You followed her to the canteen and patiently waited for Joyce to pour some stew in a bowl. You then went with her to a table where more people were sat down. You didn’t know any of them, so Joyce introduced you. You were damn sure you weren’t going to remember one single name by the time you walked out the door.

“So, you’ve never heard the story of Eugene Williams?”, one of the men asked rhetorically to a younger fellow across the table, who shook his head in reply. “He was a black kid in 1919, when racial segregation was still in place here in Chicago. The summer of 1919 was so hot the kid wandered off to the white side of Chicago beach without realising. A man threw stones at him until the kid drowned and died. That was what ignited the Chicago Race Riot of 1919 ― and why we, the resistance, go by the Rioters”.

You listened to every word while you ate your meal. After hearing that explanation, many things made sense. Although they named themselves the Rioters, there were no riots in the streets ― actually, people seemed happy here, given the circumstances.

“That’s right, Walter, younger people need to learn about the past, so those mistakes are never repeated again”, said Joyce.

The conversation then moved on to present times, the people talking about the continuous fight against the so-called government.

Joel got the afternoon patrolling shift that day, which he thought was a killer, considering he did the night shift last night. But it was good in a sense ― it would keep his mind occupied. You had angered him so much this morning, it had set his mood for the rest of the day. The thought of you erasing that memory had maddened him so bad, he had to walk out before he said something he would later regret.

That watch was the only anchor chaining him to what little remained of his humanity. A gentle reminder of what could have been but wasn’t. Every day he wondered how Sarah would be doing in this new world. And most days, he was just somewhat grateful she wasn’t here to see what had become of civilisation. The unspeakable horrors she would have witnessed and suffered but didn’t ― it was very little consolation to a father, but it was better than nothing.

He absentmindedly touched the watch on his wrist, ensuring it was properly fastened.

Joel was stationed with other people in front of Bataan-Corregidor Memorial Bridge. In those long, never-ending hours, there was no activity on the other side of the bridge, but they had to remain vigilant nonetheless. By the time the next group showed up, it was already half eight in the evening.

Joel headed towards the headquarters to sign off and go home. He was already on edge, thinking about what he would say to you to appease you. Because he was damn sure you would be waiting for him, ready to pick up the fight where you both left it. As Joel walked past the canteen, he heard a familiar voice.

Tommy was on his feet, yelling at a man, his accusatory index pointing to the guy. Joel rolled the eyes to the back of his head ― he was sure his brother was so drunk he would probably not remember any of this the next day. Joel shook his head with disappointment ― some things would never change, not even when the world had gone to shit.

He planned to ignore the situation and get back home to you, when a fight started. Joel groaned in despair, debating what to do. But a man chose for him ― he saw how a bloke approached Tommy from behind, knife on hand, and he knew he had to do something. Joel quickly closed the distance in stride and grabbed the man from the neck of his shirt, pulling him backwards until the dude stumbled with his own feet.

Madness broke out, the whole canteen becoming a battling ground. People were fighting each other over absolutely nothing, throwing punches in the air.

“Tommy!”, he shouted angrily, while the younger Miller turned around and simply smiled.

That fucking pissed him off big time.

“Are you fucking out of your mind? How much have you been drinking?!”, Joel wanted to punch his brother so bad, he really had to control himself.

“Not enough”, he babbled.

As Joel approached his brother, ready to fight him if necessary, the man he had pushed away from Tommy tapped his shoulder. When Joel turned around, the dude punched him in the face and then stabbed him in the lower stomach.

Joel froze for a second, his back slightly curved, his brain coming to terms with what just had happened. He looked down while his hand gripped the handle of the knife. He knew not to remove it because it was the blade what prevented him from bleeding out. Then Joel glanced back up at the same guy and, without thinking, he removed the knife from his flesh and sticked it on the man’s shoulder with a growl.

Joel’s wound started to bleed like a pig in a slaughterhouse. Not that he noticed anyway, because hell literally broke loose.

It wasn’t late late, only ten in the evening, but none of the brothers was around when you returned home, which was weird. You could understand if Joel was avoiding you, but Tommy? You frowned as you called for them, shutting the main door behind you. Nothing, no reply at all.

Before you could walk to the living room to see if there was a note or something, someone knocked on the door.

You looked through the peephole. Joyce was standing outside, worry wrinkling her aged face. You opened the door.

“What’s the matter, Joyce?”

“It’s Joel, he’s in the infirmary”, she whispered while placing a soft hand on your forearm.

You just stared at her, bewildered.

“Huh? The where?”, you repeated, while her words started to sink in, your stomach contracting with fear.

“Come with me, kiddo”, Joyce took your hand, guiding you through the apartment building.

The next time you blinked, you were in an outbuilding outside the headquarters. Joyce palmed your hand with hers, in a calming gesture, while she took you to the far end of the shelter. The old lady planted you in front of Joel’s bed, and let go of you with a “take care”.

You stood there for a long minute, still trying to grasp what the hell had happened. He was asleep, his head slightly tilted away from you ― or so you hoped he was. Joel had no shirt on, a bloody bandage covering the right side of his abdomen. You got closer, your heart pounding in your throat.

“He’s fine, it’s just a scratch”, you looked up, befuddled.

Tommy was sitting in a plastic chair on the other side of the bed. He was crouching forwards, his elbow against his knee, head pressing against the palm of his hand. Tommy then smiled, which completely perplexed you.

You were about to reply, but suddenly Joel did instead.

“Fuck off, Tommy. Get your ass somewhere else”, he gritted his teeth.

You hadn’t noticed it yet, but you had been holding your breath, because suddenly you felt a stone being lifted off your chest. You glanced at the younger Miller, who had gotten up with a smile. When he walked past you to go outside, you smelled it. The stench of alcohol made you wrinkle your nose unconsciously.

Joel wrapped his fingers around your wrist to get your attention, so you turned around to look at him, so confused you couldn’t even form a sentence. Joel had already adjusted the pillow on his back so he could be somewhat sat up.

“It’s alright, no need to cry”, he said raising one of his hands to sweep away your tears.

You had not realised you were crying. Giving it a second thought, you probably had been since you left home. You pursed your lips and nodded, quietening your sobs.

“What…?”, you muttered, resting your cheek against his palm before placing a kiss on it.

“Tommy got into a fight in the canteen. He’s so drunk he probably won’t remember a thing tomorrow. A man tried to stab him, and I got in the way ― that’s all, sweetheart. No serious damage, just some stitches”, he tried to calm you.

You wished Tommy was still in the room, because you would have loved to slap the shit out of him for being so irresponsible. What the hell was he thinking? Joel was hurt because of him, and he had just left smiling as if it wasn’t so serious.

“Just leave him be, it’s worthless trying to speak to him in such a state”, something in Joel’s voice told you this wasn’t the first time he had been in this situation.

“Are you sure you’re fine? Joel, please, don’t lie to me―”, you mustered, trying to keep your tears in check, as you caressed his cheek.

He heavily sighed as he scooted over to one end of the tiny bed, leaving enough space for you to join him. You got on the gurney quickly, nestling against him, your arm across his chest in a half embrace. His body heat calmed your nerves a bit, although your hands were still shaking.

“I’m fine, I’m not lying. They won’t let me leave yet though, the nurse said I need to stay here for a couple of hours, until she’s certain the bleeding has stopped”, he explained, his fingertips tracing the shape of your right shoulder.

“I’m not going anywhere”, you said with a small voice, your left cheek against his chest.

Joel didn’t fight you on that, so you stayed by his side. His left hand was resting just below your face, his broken watch strapped around his wrist. You bowed your head a bit and kissed his knuckles.

“I’m sorry about this morning, I thought fixing your watch was a nice thing to do, considering it’s been broken since I met you”, you tried to explain yourself, but Joel hushed you by cupping your chin so your eyes would meet his.

“You have nothing to be sorry about. I know you meant well. It’s just…”, you heard him gulp down, as if the next words were extremely painful to say out loud. “Sarah fixed this watch for me on my last birthday. It’s been stuck at 2.40 AM since… since we both got shot. One of the bullets broke it”, he recounted in a husked voice, his brown eyes focused on the timeless sphere.

Then it hit you. That was Sarah’s time of death. And, unknowingly, you almost ruined the last memento Joel possessed of his daughter. His most precious treasure. You felt sick to your stomach at the mere idea of being responsible for such a thing. Had you known, you would have never even considered doing what you had planned.

“Gosh, Joel, I’m sorry. I swear to you I didn’t know”, you breathed out desperately.

“I know, baby. I should have told you that instead of getting angry and for that I apologise, but I just couldn’t…”, he clenched his jaw, and you tried to soften his expression with the touch of your fingers.

“Don’t apologise, please”, you kissed his bearded jaw and remained in comfortable silence for the next two hours, until Joel was finally discharged.

The next day you both stayed home. Tommy had tried to apologise when he came back to his senses, but Joel was having none of it. The younger Miller eventually understood that his brother just needed space until he decided to forgive him and gave up in his efforts. You were alone with Joel all day, making sure he was okay and helping him clean the wound. Those stitches were going to leave a nasty scar on him, but it was better than the alternative. It was healing well, no signs of infection, for which you were so pleased ― probably more than him. You almost had to tie him to the bed so he would stop fidgeting around ― Joel was going to get the wound open again if he didn’t remain still for a bit.

You knew Joel was just trying to keep his brain busy because this day marked a year since Sarah was wrongly snatched from his life. That was why he was so taciturn and quiet today, and you let him be for the most part.

When he sat down on the couch in the afternoon, you just nestled against his body, in silence, his arm affectionately enveloping you.

Nighttime came around soon enough, and you both got into bed. Joel spooned you as soon as he laid down behind you, his right arm hugging you, his chest against your back. You soon fell asleep in his warm embrace, feeling protected and content.

Joel woke up a few hours later, one of his recurrent nightmares haunting him. He grumbled in displeasure and got out of bed to change the dressing over the wound. He did so efficiently and returned to bed, slipping under the bedsheets quietly.

Another hour went by, and he was still awake, his eyes on the ceiling.

He rolled onto his left side and saw you sleeping peacefully, in the exact same position you fell asleep. You had not moved one inch. Joel smiled softly as he got closer to you, sliding his arm around your waist and dragging you over to him, looking for your soothing warmth.

Unconsciously, you wiggled your hips to bury your butt in his bulge, and Joel contained a pitiful moan. Your perfectly round ass was innocently embedded in his groin. Now he was sure as hell he was not going to be able to fall back asleep. Irremediably, he pressed his manhood against your buttocks again, looking for that friction.

Joel felt his cock tense up, an erection taking hold. He freed his manhood, slowly pumping himself ― his leaky tip brushing your asscheek until a wet patch adorned your panties. Even if he wanted to, he couldn’t resist. You were all curled up, drooling on the pillow, faintly snoring, your knees slightly bent. He cut the distance between you and shoved his dick in your thigh gap, his shaft rubbing against your pussy covered by your underwear.

Sweat gathered on his brow as he rocked his pelvis back and forth, your thighs sweetly compressing his cock ― the tip feeling cold when it overhung on the other side. Joel kissed your shoulder, his hand gently placed on your hip to steady himself.

“C’mon, baby, wake up”, he husked near your ear, gently nibbling your earlobe.

You hummed, half awake. You felt your body being rocked, your eyes fluttering open and looking downwards. Through half-lidded eyes, you saw Joel’s glans sticking out through your thigh nook, then disappearing from sight to reappear again. You smiled pleasantly, shutting your eyes, as you felt your needy cunt melt for him. You pursed your lips with delight.

“Can I have my birthday present again, sweetheart?”, he whispered in a constrained tone.

You nodded, scatterbrained.

You were drenching your underwear so bad, there was a visible damp, darken spot right in the middle. Joel pulled back from in between your legs and pushed the bridge of your panties to one side. He lodged his cock in between your puffy lips, sliding it through your entire slit a couple of times to douse himself with your fluids.

“You’re soaking wet, baby”, he muttered as you let out a soft moan when Joel pressed his tip against your dripping hole, your flesh parting as the Red Sea.

Then Joel slowly pushed his hard cock in inch by inch down to his balls. His right arm hugged you, poising you in place and sneaking his hand under your pyjama top to hold one of your full breasts. He stilled for a second, feeling your cunt sheathing him like a warm glove. He thrusted once, twice, thrice. You lost count after that, Joel plunging into you from behind, gaining erratic speed. You grasped the bedsheet in your fist, your spit pooling on the pillowcase.

You placed a hand on your mound and a few seconds later, you slipped it under your panties. With the palm against your clit to cause some grinding, you could feel Joel coming in and out of you in between your index and middle fingers. Your gushing cunt started palpitating around his slick cock, your inner walls squeezing him hard as you came, mewling like a kitten in heat.

Joel quickly followed you, his cum filling you up, breathing roughly behind you. You tilted your head towards your right to look at him over your shoulder. He kissed you, first gently, then more demanding, while his dick was still throbbing with the last wave of his release. Joel pinched your nipple before freeing your mouth.

“There you go, sweetheart, so you don’t forget who you and your tight pussy belong to”, he groaned as he pulled out of you.

“Thank you, sir”, you said gratefully.

Joel put your underwear back in place and pressed the palm of his hand against your wet panties, his cum trickling out with yours and swamping the piece of clothing even more, saturating it, almost as if you had pissed yourself.

“Go back to sleep, darlin’”, he kissed the nape of your neck, his hand still lodged in your thigh gap, hard pressed against your satisfied, clothed pussy. You loved how possessive he was of you, literally claiming your cunt for himself at every chance he got.

With a pleased sigh, you tucked your hands under your head and fell back asleep within seconds.

The earth was round again.

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taevbears · 1 year ago

Text

To Be Loved - 03

Please be our guest

⤑ pairing: namjoon x reader (a bit of reader x jungkook) ⤑ genre: hybrid au, romance, hurt/comfort ⤑ rating: 18+ ⤑ word count: 6.3k ⤑ warnings: hybrids are seen as sub-human, brief descriptions of abuse throughout the chapter, a bit of angst, the boys are very guarded and kind of mean toward the reader, reader is stress lol ⤑ note: sorry for the delay in this chapter, it's been really hectic these past few weeks being sick and super busy. i'm curious what your thoughts are and what you guys think namjoon is! also, i hope you all have a safe and warm holiday full of delicious food!

Chapters 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 (End)

Dinner is served.

Laid out across the table is a small feast consisting of homegrown vegetables from their garden, hand-picked fruits of the season, grilled fish caught from a nearby river, roasted poultry and cooked eggs, and homemade brew that’s been aging in their cellar. Food that’s clearly been hunted and gathered from around the manor.

“You two are our guests,” Rap Monster says to you and Jungkook from the head of the table, sitting directly across from you. “Please feel free to help yourselves.”

He glances over at the wolf hybrid and gives him a tiny nod. The eldest among the pack picks up his utensils and begins to put food on his plate, and the others soon follow suit, reaching for whatever appeals to their appetites. Even Jungkook begins to pile up on the food he’s been eyeing since they’ve been set down before him, and then passes the dish to you, starving after everything you’ve both been through since you’ve ventured off the main roads.

“This is seriously so good!” Jungkook praises between bites. His eyebrows are furrowed together, as if he’s angry at how incredibly tasty everything is.

“You’re just hungry,” the leopard hybrid remarks, shoulders raising a bit as he puts some fish on his plate.

“Thank you for cooking,” you add softly, though you’re not really sure who to direct it to. Jimin had mentioned that someone named Seokjin and someone named Yoongi prepared tonight’s meal. The deer hybrid only stares at you with a frown, the leopard hybrid doesn’t even bother to make eye-contact with you, and the wolf hybrid merely nods his head without saying anything back.

The table is relatively quiet, but you can tell that it’s a level of silence they’re not used to. Although the pack of hybrids try not to make it too obvious, you can tell they’re all observing you closely.

It starts to make you feel self-conscious as you bite into an apple, not really tasting the food but going through the motions of it.

You hate attention. You’ve always had.

The pressure of everyone’s eyes on you, watching your every move, and judging your every word and action makes your skin crawl, constricts your breath, and knots your stomach. Whenever you’re forced into the spotlight – Kangdae dangling you around like a pretty thing to envy – you keep your gaze on the ground. Your voice starts to tremble. You hear people asking what’s wrong with you.

As your eyes burn on the plate, you realize that’s what’s happening now. The hybrids are making you as nervous as you’re probably making them.

Humans, after all, are the most dangerous threat to them.

“My name is Jimin.”

To your right, opposite of Jungkook, the swan hybrid speaks. He seems to sense your uneasiness and then gestures for the others to follow.

Next to him, the bear hybrid grunts, “Taehyung.”

“Seokjin,” says the wolf hybrid, gnawing on a bone.

“I’m Hoseok,” the deer hybrid pipes up from the other side of the table, across the wolf.

“Yoongi,” the leopard hybrid calls himself, sitting between Hoseok and Jungkook.

Across from you, at the other end of the table, the one you know as Rap Monster merely smiles. The dimples on his cheeks are deep as he looks at his pack fondly before his colorful eyes meet your gaze. “I don’t go by Rap Monster anymore, so you can call me by my real name. It’s Namjoon.”

Namjoon.

Finally, you have the name of the mysterious rapper.

You tell them your name, and Jungkook finishes the round of introductions with his. With one question answered, another one pops up. This time, from you. “How do you all know each other?”

The air shifts with a sudden tension, and you instantly regret the words leaving your mouth. It feels like you’ve come across a taboo topic. Information that, perhaps, none of them feel comfortable sharing with a human. You can see, by some of the emotions that cross their faces, that it hadn’t been easy for them to get here.

“The short story is that I took them all in,” Namjoon explains lightly. “Society isn’t exactly kind to creatures like us. Humans only see us as abominations. A lot of them can be unnecessarily cruel to the things they’re afraid of. To the things they don’t understand. I found them and I offered them a place in my home.”

“Which brings us to question,” Seokjin interrupts, his yellow eyes practically glowing when he looks at you, “what brought you into our territory?”

It’s a question they all seem to be wondering. Even before the car accident in the woods.

The words get stuck in your throat.

Taehyung crosses his arms. He looks broader when he does that. More intimidating. “We don’t allow humans to come anywhere near this place.”

“But she’s not like other humans!” Jungkook speaks up on your behalf, eyes wide as if that would help convince them of his plight. “She’s really nice, and she’s my friend.”

“Jungkook,” you start, your voice barely above a whisper. You want to stop him. To tell him that he doesn’t need to defend you. That you understand their hostility, and that you swear you’ll be gone as soon as the storm stops.

His ear twitches toward you, showing that he’s heard you, but he decides to ignore you.

“I was in bad shape when I met her, but she helped me. She treated my wounds after my owner nearly…” He shudders, unable to finish his sentence. Given the bruises and cuts on his face, and the welts and scars on his body, it’s not hard to imagine what could’ve happened. Or how far his owner would’ve gone to hurt him. “She fed me too. And bought me ice cream and banana milk.”

Seokjin snorts at that. For a brief second, Hoseok and Taehyung look a little amused by his last comment. Whereas Yoongi and Jimin visibly frown as they look more closely at Jungkook’s wounds. Namjoon’s eyes meet yours for a moment, and you feel your heart flutter before he turns to Jungkook and gives him a nod, encouraging him to go on.

“And she’s been trying to find a safe place to take me to,” he continues, turning to look at you. There’s gratitude in his eyes when he does. “We were trying to take a shortcut through the woods, but it was raining so hard and we could barely see where we were going. We’re both just trying to get away from our bad humans.”

By the silence that follows, you’re not entirely sure if they believe you’re a good person yet. That, despite Jungkook trying to defend your honor, there’s still a bit of skepticism over a human helping a hybrid out of the goodness from their heart. After everything they must have gone through by the hands of those who try to control them, you can’t blame them at all for feeling jaded.

“I believe it,” is all Namjoon says. His gaze is fixed on you now, and again, you start to feel nervous at the attention. But… not in an entirely unwanted way. “You were kind to me once before, too.”

For years, the old manor has been something straight out of a storybook. A beautiful, old home, stuck in time, untouched by humans. Deep in the woods and hard to find unless you know your way to it. Forgotten, but with a timeless and enchanting charm.

It begins with Namjoon, who discovers it. And then Yoongi, who helps him rebuild and restore it. Then, they find Hoseok, and for a while, it’s just the three of them. But that all changes when they meet Jimin and Taehyung and take them in at the same time. And finally, Seokjin joins their pack.

One by one, the hybrids have contributed and worked together to make this abandoned place their own. You see the way they protect each other, how they take care of each other. Humans haven’t stepped near their secret haven for years, and yet, here you are – an intruding threat to their sanctuary. A walking reminder of what they’ve run away from.

Yoongi, captured and thrown into a cage, about to be sent overseas in cargo to be auctioned off had he not managed to escape from his captives.

Hoseok, left for dead by the hands of hunters, antlers forcibly cut by the time Namjoon and Yoongi find him barely breathing.

Jimin and Taehyung running away from a shelter that was abusing the hybrids, starving them out, depriving them of basic essentials, and throwing them into tiny, cramped spaces before they’re next in line to be euthanized.

And Seokjin, forced to become a lone wolf after violently losing his home, family, and everything he knows to the greed of humans until he finally found the others.

“If you need anything, don’t be afraid to ask,” Namjoon assures you, clearing the plates away from dinner to wash. “I want you to feel comfortable while you’re here.”

“I appreciate it, Namjoon. Thank you,” you tell him sincerely. He grins at you, practically beaming as his name rolls off your tongue. You can’t help but smile back at him, although shyly.

It’s strange how flustered you feel around him.

“Can we look around?” Jungkook asks, coming up between you and Namjoon. He looks at him curiously as the two of you finally look away from each other.

“Of course. Jimin? Mind showing them around?” Namjoon asks the swan hybrid, who just finishes up wiping down the table.

He looks a bit surprised, but nods his head. “Oh. Sure. Let me finish this up and I’ll be right with you guys.”

“I’ll go with you guys,” Taehyung offers, glancing at you for a brief moment before he finishes up sweeping.

“What about you?” you ask. Not that you don’t mind Jimin. He’s been nice to you. Taehyung as well, though out of obligation.

You were just hoping to spend more time with Namjoon.

“I’ll catch up with you later,” he promises as he looks at the other hybrids, all pretending they aren’t listening to the conversation. “I need to make sure no one else followed you here.”

As requested, Jimin and Taehyung show you and Jungkook around the manor.

The east wing is where you’ll be staying. The room that you woke up in is yours, and Jungkook has his own room near you. Dinner is at the same time every evening, and it is expected that the two of you will join the rest of the pack. There are many rooms that make this place feel like a modern castle: a ballroom with a grand piano, a lounge room with board games, puzzles, a pool table, and old gaming consoles, a conservatory with curtainless windows, table tennis, a seating area, and a greenhouse.

You can see that Jungkook is fascinated with the manor as much as you are. Maybe even more so. His eyes practically sparkle with excitement when he sees a familiar game that he played as a child, or that cheeky smile on his face when he asks if you can dance or play any instruments in the ballroom. You see Jimin and Taehyung eager to show him the cool stuff around the manor too, and you suspect that at one point, they’ve forgotten you’re on this tour as well.

Still, it’s so nice to see Jungkook smiling and laughing. Despite everything he’s been through, there’s still an endearing, childlike innocence to him. A shy, friendly aura that makes him so approachable and well-liked.

You can see him being very happy here. Even if you’re not in the picture.

“What’s over there?” Jungkook asks, curious as he nods toward the west wing.

“Oh, that place is off-limits,” Taehyung explains without giving it a second glance. “No one is allowed to go there.”

You’re a bit surprised by that. The west wing looks completely normal from where you stand. “Why not?”

“It just is,” Taehyung cuts in a little harshly as he glares at you. Your mouth immediately snaps shut, a bit hurt and taken aback by the outburst.

“You’re free to go anywhere else in the manor,” Jimin adds, trying to drop the topic. His voice is gentler as he shoots his companion a warning glance. “Just not the west wing. Understand?”

You merely nod your head, not trusting your voice at this point.

While the hybrids like Jungkook, it’s clear that they don’t feel the same about you. And you’re not certain they ever will.

As the tour continues, you can’t help but notice the other hybrids’ reactions when you come within their personal spaces in the manor. Yoongi stares at you from the high wooden beams on the ceiling. His spotted tail slowly swishes back and forth in distrust as his glaring, feline eyes never leave yours. Hoseok hides from you whenever he hears you approaching. He’s so scared, he’s trembling as you catch his wide-eyed, petrified gaze, and the guilt of almost hurting him weighs more heavily on you. Seokjin covers his mouth to hold back a low growl when you come near his room. His body is tense and his lips are curled back into a snarl. Even Taehyung is only accompanying you to make sure that Jimin is safe. That you won’t harm his dear friend.

Rain continues to heavily pour outside. You wish that the storm would die down already. Clearly, you’re not welcomed here.

A hand touches the small of your back, and you raise your head to see Jungkook giving you a tiny, comforting smile. Just like at the motel stop with the scary men, he subtly assures you that he has your back.

You give him a wry smile back, squeezing his arm in appreciation. It’s a silent exchange that doesn’t go unnoticed by the other two hybrids with you.

“This is our last stop,” Jimin announces as he and Taehyung open the double-doors. Your eyes widen in awe at the sight before you.

A library.

There are two levels, and both have standing shelves full of books. Art pieces that look like they belong in museums decorate the room as well, from busts of philosophers to exquisite paintings hung on the walls. In the center is a large couch that looks cozy enough to sink into, curled up with a good book. It’s a place much bigger and prettier than the tiny book nook in your town.

“Wow…” You step inside, mood instantly lifting as you marvel at the sight before you. You could spend months here, just trying to read through the massive collection. “This is amazing!”

Jungkook looks surprised. “You think so?”

“Is it okay if I look around?”

Jimin and Taehyung exchange looks with each other, but they nod their heads. You disappear into the nearest aisle, browsing around. Your fingers run across the spines of books and their printed titles before landing on the ones that catch your interest. Things that were in your to-read list, things that you’ve just discovered now, things that you fondly remember reading before.

To the two residential hybrids, it’s probably one of the more boring parts of the manor, yet you’re absolutely enthralled by the room.

“Are there any comics?” Jungkook shyly asks, and Taehyung’s eyes brighten a bit as he takes his wrist and shows him where they are. The two leave Jimin alone as he watches you with curiosity.

“That’s funny,” he says to himself before he follows after the other hybrids. “This is his favorite room too.”

Sleep doesn’t come easy for you. Not tonight, at least.

After everything you’ve been through – running away from Kangdae, being on the road for days, looking for the perfect home for Jungkook, being careful to cover your tracks and not get caught, and finally ending up here – you’d think you would’ve been knocked out by now, exhausted from everything.

But as you turn to face the window, the relentless storm outside seems to reflect the turmoil you feel.

The storm won’t last forever. You’ll probably be here for two or three nights. Maybe a week at most. Then, as soon as the rainy days clear up, you’ll be out of here.

But Jungkook should stay.

As you toured around the manor with Jimin and Taehyung, it’s so clear to you that this place could be exactly what you two were hoping to find for him. A place to call home.

The hybrids provide for each other. They take care of each other. And they’ve clearly taken a liking to Jungkook. He’ll have his meals, a warm bed in his own room, plenty of fun things to do, friends to talk to. He’ll be happy here with them.

You turn to face the ceiling, already dreading the inevitable conversation you’ll have to have with him. He’s become your friend, and someone you care a lot about. You just hope he won’t be so stubborn and make it harder for you to let him go.

Especially since the other hybrids don’t like you as much. Or rather, at all. In fact, you’re pretty sure they’re eager for the storm to pass as much as you are so that you can leave their secret haven.

The mean looks some of them give you. The way they snarl and hiss and tremble at your presence. It feels like there isn’t anything you can do about it. Even if Namjoon allows you to stay, even if Jungkook is there to vouch for you, they’ll just hate you no matter what, simply because you’re human.

You sigh. You can’t force them to like you, of course, and you don’t blame them for being weary of you. But the bigger problem seems to be how you’re going to get out of the woods without a car. With your face all over the news. With Kangdae’s family exhausting all their efforts to look for you.

And as you roll to face the door, you think about Namjoon.

He’s as much of a mystery to you now as he was back then. He has a charisma that commands the room, that makes it obvious that he’s the leader of the pack. That alone has all the hybrids respect him and look up to him. And to top it off, he’s also so kind for letting you and Jungkook in, for making you both feel comfortable in his home.

You can’t remember the last time Kangdae treated you as nicely. He was always so selfish and cruel, and you feel foolish to think that’s what love was.

When in reality, ever since you finally left him, you realize you know nothing about love at all. You thought, if you stayed with him long enough, you could learn to love him. That you could learn how to be loved back.

But the pitiful ache in your heart only makes you realize that, at least with Kangdae, there was never any love at all.

And yet, Namjoon…

With a finality, you throw the covers off of you. Since you can’t sleep, you decide to do something else to force your thoughts away.

You try your best to avoid the creaks on the floor as you quietly sneak out of the room. The halls of the east wing are dark, but luckily, you aren’t met with any grumpy hybrids just yet. As quietly as possible, you shut the door to your room and try to navigate through the shadowy hall, trying to remember where exactly the library is located in the huge manor.

However, your endeavor is halted when you hear voices at the end of the hall.

“You could be a little nicer to her,” Jimin begins, standing near a window where the moonlight illuminates his face. The tone in his voice sounds like he’s disappointed.

Standing before him is no one other than Taehyung. “She’s human.”

“She could be—” Jimin starts, but lowers his voice. You barely hear him as he tells Taehyung, “I think she’s it.”

His eyes widen a little, seeming to know exactly what he’s talking about.

“You think she’s—” An abrupt silence follows when they sense they’re not alone. Both of them turn to you. Even in the darkness, you think they can still see you. Then, Taehyung confirms they can when he asks, “Little human, where do you think you’re going?”

“I can’t sleep,” you reply honestly. On cue, the rumble of thunder ominously rolls in, sounding like the roar of a beast. You’re vaguely reminded of the sound that spooked Jungkook right before the accident, and you wonder if whatever it was is still out there.

“Are you afraid of the storm?” Jimin asks with a tilt of his head.

“It’s not that.” You don’t mind the rain or the sound of thunder, especially if you can stay safe and cozy indoors, sheltered from the bad weather. Under other circumstances, you might even enjoy the ambiance it brings in the background of a good book. “I think I just want to read something before I go to bed.”

“Are you afraid of us?” Taehyung suddenly asks you. His eyes glowering as he waits for your response.

But you look confused. “What do you mean?”

“Do you think we’re monsters?”

“Taehyung,” Jimin warns with a frown. He turns back to you, opening his mouth as if he’s about to tell you to just forget about his friend’s question.

“You’re not monsters,” you tell him seriously, without hesitation, without looking away. Your answer surprises not just the two hybrids before you, but also the ones in the shadows, listening in. “None of you are.”

You love books.

From the stories that your parents would read you to sleep, to the short stories full of childlike adventure and wonder, and later opening up to genres of drama, horror, fantasy, and romance. Even now, you love immersing yourself in the worlds of writers, escaping and overcoming trails that aren’t your own, and imagining yourself as the main character with every page you turn. It’s something that you can’t get enough of.

You love the weight of a book in your hand, the smooth texture of paper beneath your fingertips, and the earthy, musty smell of aged and worn pages that’ve been sitting on their shelves. You love being so captured by a story, you forget everything else around you, hung to every inked word across the page until the final conclusion.

Entering the library for the first time, surrounded by one of your favorite things, brings you a comfort that you haven’t felt in a long time.

Kangdae never understood your fascination with books. He couldn’t relate to that interest at all, finding it boring and a waste of time. It got harder to indulge in reading when you were with him. There were always chores to do after a long day at work that he never bothered to help with, or spontaneous trips and outings that he’d drag you to just so he can ignore you for his friends and other pretty women throughout the night. Even the books you do own, Kangdae never respected them – he never did with any of your belongings – throwing them when he was mad until the pages were bent and torn from the bindings, or using them as coasters or to spill his drinks on.

Finding yourself in a place like this brings you back to a time before you ever met Kangdae. Where no one really knew you, and you could quietly indulge yourself in the stories you’ve always loved.

Of all the books in the library, one of them catches your eye.

It’s your favorite one. The one about a far-off place with daring sword fights and a prince in disguise.

Your eyes widen in disbelief as you hold the book in your hands, flipping through the pages. It’s been well-kept, as have all the other books here. Unlike the copy you had at your home, ruined beyond repair. As you skim through the pages, the story immediately jumps out at you. The descriptions make it easy to imagine, and the flow of words make it hard to put the book down.

Even though you’ve read this story countless times, it never gets old. Because within the pages, entwined with all the action, adventure, and drama, is a love story.

To be loved and to be loved in return.

You’ve always wished for something like that for yourself.

All you’ve ever known about love is from Kangdae. The misery, the arguments, the fear, the anger. You think that’s just the reality of what love is supposed to be. But at least in this story, love seems nice. Even if it’s only fiction.

“That’s a good one.”

You’re startled when Namjoon appears beside you, looking at the book that you have in your hands. He looks wet, as if he’s been outside. Water drips from his soaked clothes, but he doesn’t seem bothered by it at all.

You smile at him sheepishly and admit, “It’s actually my favorite.”

He returns your smile. Those deep dimples pop up on his cheeks as he offers, “If you want it, it’s yours.”

“Oh! Thank you, I appreciate it, but I really can’t,” you decline, although very touched and almost tempted by the gift. “I don’t know how I can repay you for letting us stay here until the storm passes.”

“You don’t need to repay me anything,” he assures you sincerely. Perhaps to him, he’s just returning the favor you did for him years ago.

“I should at least give you money or something.” You don’t have much on you, though. Just whatever is left of what you’ve been secretly saving up.

Namjoon seems to consider it, but then, almost a bit shyly, he asks, “What about a date instead?”

You’re not entirely sure what Namjoon is thinking when he asks you on a date.

It’s still raining outside. Thunder, lightning, strong winds, and all. Even if you could leave the old manor, there isn’t anywhere to go. You’re surrounded by a thick forest in the middle of nowhere.

Still, Namjoon has you close your eyes.

His big, strong, and incredibly warm hands take yours in his, as he guides you to wherever he plans to take you. He smells like rain, and his clothes are still slightly damp from patrolling outside.

Your footsteps echo together in the quiet manor as he leads you out of the library. You can feel his gaze on your face, making sure you don’t ruin his surprise, and taking in all your features up close. And you bite back a giggle when you hear him bump into things every now and then before quickly assuring you that he’s okay and reminding you not to open your eyes yet.

“Watch your step,” he warns as he takes you somewhere colder. You clumsily stumble over the step anyway, nearly falling if it isn’t for his hands steadying you.

“Namjoon, where—?”

“Okay,” he says with a baited breath. “Open your eyes.”

Connected to the curtainless sunroom with the tennis table and the comfortable seating area is a greenhouse. You noticed it when Jimin and Taehyung showed you around earlier, but you didn’t have a chance to look inside. Namjoon smiles eagerly as he shows you his private, indoor garden: the bonsai trees that are starting to bloom with flowers, monstera plants standing tall with giant leaves, and bundles of flowers like roses, snapdragons, and lilies.

“Wow, Namjoon,” you say in awe, looking around. It feels like walking into the library for the first time, marveling at the magic the room brings. “These are beautiful.”

“I grew them myself,” Namjoon proudly states, rubbing his neck shyly. “They’re nothing compared to Hoseok and Jimin’s garden, but I thought I should still show you this place. I like coming here when I have a lot on my mind.”

“I can see why,” you remark. It’s nice here. All the flowers and plants look like they’re well-taken care of, healthy and thriving despite the ominous weather conditions. You come across a flower that you’ve never seen before. It looks like a cross between a lily and a rose, iridescent in color but with a thing of blue and purple. Their leaves and stems shine green like emeralds. “What are these?”

“Pretty, right? I call them smeraldo flowers,” he explains. His eyes light up with the way you admire them. “In the language of flowers, they mean non potevo dire la verità – the truth that couldn’t be told.”

“I’ve never seen anything like them.” You carefully touch the soft, delicate petal of the flower. They almost look like they’re made of magic.

“They’re beautiful like you.”

You look up at Namjoon just then, a bit surprised by the compliment. He seems a bit embarrassed, trying to hide his face as if he hadn’t meant to say those words out loud.

You’ve been called beautiful before. Sometimes, you think your natural beauty is all that Kangdae sees in you. It’s the only reason he ever tried to pursue you. But hearing it from Namjoon, who seems sincere with his words and intentions, it feels different.

It feels nice.

“I don’t know about that. These are very beautiful flowers,” you reply with a shy smile. “But thank you, Namjoon. You’re really kind.”

“I know the other guys are having a… difficult time adjusting to you. We haven’t had a guest here in a long time, especially a human one,” Namjoon tries to justify on their behalf. “They’re not bad, though. None of us are. So, you don’t need to be afraid while you’re here. But if you ever feel lost or scared, you can always come here. This place, these flowers, they bring me comfort. I hope they do the same for you.”

“Thanks Namjoon,” you repeat with a small smile. He really is so kind to you. “And I get it. Don’t worry. I don’t know what any of them have been through, but I don’t blame them for being cautious of me.”

Although you haven’t had many encounters with hybrids before, you know of the mistreatment they’ve endured from humans. How they’re treated like outcasts, and are constantly on the threat of being enslaved as laborers, entertainers, or pets. You see them protesting for their rights, and how laws constantly change to their disadvantage.

But if you’ve learned anything while being with Jungkook, it’s that he isn’t too different from you. He likes to sing and dance to music while you’re driving, he snores in his sleep, he loves the taste of banana milk and ice cream.

It hurts a little, but you understand why they’re weary of you. Why the hybrids aren’t able to easily trust you the way they can trust Jungkook, even though he’s just as much of a stranger to them as you are.

“You really are different from other humans,” Namjoon states with intrigue. The look in his colorful eyes is full of warmth and sincerity.

“I don’t think I’m doing anything different than what any decent person would do.”

“It’s because not a lot of humans treat us like decent people,” Namjoon explains again with a sad smile. “You know, you humans are so fascinating to me. You build grand cities with tall skyscrapers, you create beautiful art pieces that evoke feelings and different interpretations to your work, you write countless moving stories of wisdom, fantasy, and poetry. I wanted to be a rapper because I felt like I needed my voice to be heard in this world. All the anger I felt about being born a hybrid, all the sadness and loneliness I felt from being shunned away, all the fear of never being able to be heard or accepted. I went to the underground to prove that I can be as good as the humans are. That my voice is just as worthy to be heard as theirs.”

“It is worthy,” you tell him firmly. “I still remember the night I saw you perform so clearly. You were the best one out of all of them. Even better than some professional rappers in the industry these days.”

He looks away bashfully, but quietly replies, “Thank you. I’m glad you think so.”

“After the incident,” you start, both of you recalling that night when people discovered that he was a hybrid, “I was hoping that I’d see you again.”

“I had hoped to see you too.”

The confession is soft, but you still hear it over the sound of rain and thunder. In the greenhouse, standing in the garden where loneliness is in full bloom, you feel something stir inside you. Something warm. Something real.

You can’t place your finger on why. But you start to think about the meaning of love.

And you have to wonder, has Namjoon been thinking about you this whole time? Does he remember that night he met you as clearly as you do? Is that why he’s so welcoming to bring you into his home? Is that why he’s been so kind to you?

“Namjoon?”

“Yes?”

His eyes are so mesmerizing, you don’t realize the rain has stopped. That the roars of thunder and flashes of lightning have suddenly died down. That all you can hear is your own heartbeat in your chest as you look up at the handsome man before you.

“What kind of hybrid are you, if you don’t mind me asking?”

For the other hybrids, it’s obvious what they are: Seokjin is a wolf, Yoongi is a leopard, Hoseok is a deer, Jimin is a swan, Taehyung is a bear, and Jungkook is a bunny. But Namjoon, who mostly looks human, you have a hard time figuring out what he could be.

“I’m a beast. A miserable, ugly beast.”

Your brows furrow slightly. “I don’t think you’re—”

“But I am,” he interrupts with a frown. He looks at you seriously. “Trust me. You don’t want to see me in that form. You’ll be scared.”

You want to disagree. But you can tell that he doesn’t want to talk about the side of himself that he seems to hate so much, so you drop it. “Sorry for bringing it up.”

“No, it’s okay. I knew you’d be curious.” He sighs and rubs his neck again, seeming a bit torn with himself. A clash of thunder sounds from the distance, as if the storm is about to pick up again. As if the anger and sadness in the skies reflect Namjoon himself. “It’s just… if I had it my way, you’d never have to see it. You’ll always remember me the way that you see me now.”

You nod your head in understanding. Perhaps that’s why you’re also forbidden to go into the west wing. Maybe the truth of what kind of beast he is lies in that area.

Your gaze turns back to the smeraldo flowers. Under the moonlight, they almost look like they’re glowing with an ethereal and tragic beauty Flowers that mean an untold truth. Somehow, that makes you feel a little sad.

“Whether you’re a beast or a human, you’re not a monster, Namjoon.”

He smiles at you sadly. “I wish I could believe that. But thank you.”

The spontaneous “date” comes to an end, and like a gentleman, Namjoon walks you up to the east wing and stops in front of your bedroom.

Before you go inside, you turn to face him. “I had a nice time, Namjoon.”

You mean it, too. Quiet nights in, looking at beautiful flowers in the garden, sharing book recommendations in the library. It’s the perfect night for you.

“You don’t have to go after the storm ends,” Namjoon suddenly tells you. “You can stay here if you want. Both you and Jungkook.”

“I don’t know, Namjoon. Your pack—”

“I’ll talk to them. I’m sure they’ll come around to the idea,” he starts, looking like he wants to add more to it. Because, for some reason, you’re very special to him.

“It’s not just that.”

He’s already done so much for you already. There’s no way you’ll be able to repay him.

“How about we make a deal?”

You pause, looking at him with hesitance. “What kind of deal?”

“I don’t want your money, or do anything that you won’t feel comfortable with,” he quickly assures you. “The woods are dangerous, and the storm isn’t going to stop anytime soon. At least here, you’ll be safe. You’ll have your own room, you can have dinner with us, you’re free to wander the east wing and use the common rooms. All I ask is that you go on another date with me tomorrow night. And the night after, if you still decide to stay.”

You think about it. It seems like the best option for now.

You’ll still be hidden from Kangdae and the people looking for you. You’ll be safe from the wolves and other predators lurking in the deep, dark woods. You won’t have to say goodbye to Jungkook so soon, and you can spend another night like this with Namjoon.

“Why would you want me to stay when I’m human?” you ask him.

“Humans are fascinating. You’re fascinating,” Namjoon admits with a shy smile. “I just want to get to know you more.”

“I don’t think I’m that interesting of a human.” You can’t build skyscrapers, you can’t create masterpieces, and you can’t write stories the way your favorite authors do. “You’ll be disappointed.”

“I won’t. Because you’re you.” He seems so sure of that.

You smile a little at that.

“I’ll consider it,” you decide, heart fluttering as you half-joke, “I feel like you’re trying to make me fall in love with you.”

“You won’t,” Namjoon softly says, also just as sure. The way he looks at you makes your heart ache. “Why would someone as beautiful as you ever love a beast like me?”

Thank you for reading ♡ Comments & reviews are greatly appreciated!

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ceilidho · 3 months ago

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Do you have any advice for a novice writer who can’t for the life of them figure out how to begin a story and/or scene? I’ve been slowly working on a novel in my free time for the last couple of years, and I feel like I have a decently solid plot and outline, but every time I go to start the actual process of putting words on paper I always get stuck. I’ve gone back and read the first few pages/chapters of other fantasy books to see how published authors do it, but I can never seem to find the right words or starting point that feels authentic and fitting to my own work. It always feels so clunky and out of place, and although I try to follow the ‘rule’ of starting the story in the middle of the action/a moment of change so that it doesn’t feel boring, nothing I come up with seems to help things flow into the beginning of the plot :/

ugh that's hard because actually forcing yourself to write is truly the hardest part. a lot of it is just nerves. like genuinely you're just experiencing stage fright.

that's why i love using tumblr as a micro-writing platform. when i make stupid little posts here, it feels low effort and i don't attach any anxiety to it, and actually that helps a lot when later on i take bits and pieces of stuff i've written here and add it to larger works (if you were following me when I was actively writing "landscape with honey" or "superstore" you'll remember i took a lot of asks that i'd already answered and just shoved them into the fic).

i highly recommend making a word cloud or vocabulary list for yourself if you're trying to cultivate a specific atmosphere as well. i have one on my phone for random words that i want to use.

then i think it might be helpful for you to try and break it down piece by piece. like if you have a scene where a character is packing a suitcase in order to catch a train, just focus on the first part where they're packing their belongings. there isn't a 'right' way to start a story or write something, so don't beat yourself up because the paragraph/sentence doesn't match perfectly what's in your head. the first draft is always going to be rough as well.

try to think of it like when an artist starts a piece. usually they start with simple shapes that they slowly add on to. you can think of your first draft kind of like this:

(image source)

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therealslimshakespeare · 9 months ago

Text

Am I Still Your Favorite Escape?

Gale & Maureen -requested? ✔️

As a new year and a new unrelenting malaise settles over the prisoners in camp, Maureen Kendeigh finds the journey from viewing Gale Cleven as her prize collector’s item to the man others suspect she loves most harrowing indeed.

Note: y’all wanted handjobs and I gave ya one, with a twist, and yall wanted more of what Maureen is thinking during this time and so you got it. Along with 6k of other dynamics and plot and feelings, buckle up 👐🏻

Warnings: 18+ smut, female fingering, some cum play, semi public sex acts (not trying to be exhibitionists, but the place is packed ok?) erectile disfunction, not the most supportive attitudes towards partners feeling out of sorts, BUT ALSO!! Please note the typical universe warnings apply with an addition in this chapter being a discussion about terminating a pregnancy, those discussing it disagree strongly and due to religious beliefs one refers to it as “murder”. No action is taken in this chapter. There are hints of Buck x Bucky in this one, although can anyone actually define for me wtf was going on!? Because by Buck x Bucky I just mean they’d die for each other and that’s stronger your average marriage and Bucky maybe should look away when his friend gets some midnight loving, lol.

Maureen had been enthused at the outset. Not that she cared that much for subversion, but she enjoyed the feeling of mischief that their new task carried with it. Camp had proven dull, worse in many ways than she had even expected. She had expected there to be work if not recreation, and while there was some, then the winter months came all too soon and nothing about their shelters or their clothing were suitable for sustaining outdoor productivity.

Which meant she -and the others, she supposed it was only right to admit the others were no better- she had been cooped up in here during a never ending snowstorm outside, watching Gale sand his little board in a room muggy with pungent sweat and stale breath. They were packed on top of each other in here and any attempt to get fresh air earned one a case of frostbite.

That bit of wood was going to become a radio, Gale had told her, and she believed him. With all her heart Maureen believed him. But there came a day when watching Gale fiddle with a safety pin stuck atop a board became unarguably boring. So much so she had begun to insist she be allowed to help Brady and Crank haul in the hot water and assist in what went for “cooking” in this place. Johnny didn’t let her near his precious concoctions after having ousted Benny from the same, but he did let her hand him bowls and generally act useful at mealtimes.

She kept him entertained with stories of picnics in exotic places, safari’s where they cooked out of the back of her father’s jeep. Brady had them eaten all his terse quips about her not knowing how to manage in straitened circumstances and instead asked her endlessly about rhinoceros habitats. It served to entertain her for awhile, too.

Bucky had recovered after a few weeks abed, his movements remained stilted and she could still carry more water than his ribs allowed -a point she made to him daily as he swatted at her from his bunk- but as he recovered he became preoccupied.

Ida had also recovered, though not as thoroughly, having gone well over a week without so much as drinking water in her insensible state. She was weak, feverish and upon at last being plied with nourishment, she puked it right up. It was little cause for concern considering her illness, but as she grew stronger and her stomach remained contrary, some unease began to grow. By Christmas her brother Johnny had taken over the cooking in an endeavor to make something palatable but the woman was hardly the sort to be picky over her victuals. Benny and Brady’s watery soups were alike and they both came up within fifteen minutes of being eaten.

So then, their little room smelled of sweat, breath and vomit. Her brother and Hambone made mention of Crosby, it provided levity for a few days and Maureen was fast to join in. Until Ida had her at a private moment, the men in the hall or else out with latrine duty, and then she asked Maureen if she’d had her menses.

Offended at the implication that Gale Cleven would allow her any more than a mouth or handful of himself, Maureen hotly insisted she had. Three of them in fact, since arriving. She had the bloody rags to prove it.

It wasn’t until a few weeks later, when there began to be a very segregated group of men hovering and debating amongst themselves that Maureen began to second guess such an inquiry as more than moralistic judgment. Their Red Cross packages arrived with canned goods and bland crackers. Bucky began to bargain for the latter with a gambler's gusto -before inevitably handing his loot to Ida. Ida herself began gambling fiercely, for smokes.

Ida had never smoked in her life.

And now the place smelled even stronger of one more cigarette, sweat, breath and vomit.

The smokes seemed to help her, or at least, Maureen noticed her puking less by New Years. The early part of the new year brought new misfortunes, the confiscation of Cleven’s prized radio and a rash of miscarriages amongst the women. A rash was perhaps an exaggeration -only three or four, by Maureen’s count, and between her’s and Ida’s and Cleven’s discreet insistence, such incidents were passed off to the wary guards as heavy menses.

Maureen realized then that those were pregnancies from their guards, a possibility that she had not considered as she had not had reason to worry about it. That is, until Ida Brady caught her again at a moment alone, and asked her in the closest thing to feminine fluster that Maureen had ever seen her in, if she’d ever had reason “in your expeditions, as it were…” to possibly “eliminate a -poor decision?”

Being quite puzzled by this inquiry, and only picking up on the vague aspects -something she admitted to Ida straight away- Maureen admitted she drank most of her poor decisions away, a strategy that hadn’t failed her yet and she wished was at her disposal in this frozen mud pit.

“I’m speaking of- romantic decisions. Poor ones.” Ida had tried again, yearning for understanding in her voice.

Maureen remained nonplussed.

“A child, Maureen a-a pregnancy have you ever?” Ida hissed out at last.

“Gosh no.” Maureen sputtered, “I’m not a full idiot. Why would you ask? I strike you as enough of a harlot?”

“I’m merely looking for -remedies.” Ida pinched at her nose, a motion Maureen was familiar with watching in Gale when he was overwhelmed.

“Who needs it?” Maureen scoffed, quite sure that the odds didn’t stand many more girls suffering from the same, the poor food and rough conditions having ensured it for them.

Ida took her hand away but closed her eyes, mouth folding to a straight line. “I do.”

“Oh fuck.” Maureen plopped down beside her on the bunk in disbelief, they both stared at the opposite wall and its identical beds with rumpled bedding and starlets pasted on the walls. “Fuck.”

“They’re getting very stupid about it.” Ida said at last.

“What do you mean? Who?”

“The boys.”

“You’ve told the boys?” Maureen cried out, infuriated.

“They guessed, already, for God’s sake must even this be about you, too, Kendeigh?”

“What’s that supposed to mean!”

“It means while you’re bored and very vocal of it, some of us might die-“

“-we could all die in this shithole-“

“-or! Or worse,” Ida cut in fiercely, “have someone die for us by being idiots. Bucky is full of schemes of -of running off into the sunset. I suppose after he levitates us over the barbed wire with his magic carpet. I don’t know, but I- Maureen I know that if I go on much longer, it won’t just be me in danger. They’re either going to risk something terrible or get punished for not reporting me.”

“So what?” Maureen asked dully, having been excluded from an obvious inner circle regarding the issue and having now been accused of being trivial in her own sufferings, it smarted and she could not deny the flicker of unfairness she felt over it. “Want me to shove a coat hanger up you? The others too chicken?”

Ida visibly recoiled beside her, putting more space between them in the bunk. “I’m not going to- to kill it.”

“What kinda remedy doesn’t?” Maureen sassed, if they were to talk no longer in flippant pleasantries, she could do that.

“I’m just asking for help.” Ida’s jaw wobbled, her voice a wreck of desperation and Maureen could see with a small and ugly bit of satisfaction that the woman was truly close to losing her grip. It was satisfyingly human. As was her reaction to a remedy after asking for it.

“You come to me because you think I’m loose enough to know, and then you have the nerve to be appalled when I do.” Maureen pointed out, “That what all the smokes are for?”

“Yes.” Ida put her head back in her hands.

“Just won’t budge; huh?”

“No.” her voice sounded like she might be crying but there was no telling with those hands in the way.

“It would be stubborn.” Maureen muttured, thinking of the goddamn Brady family as she knew them. “Why won’t you get rid of it? You want to get rid of it-“

“-I don’t understand why it’s hanging on!” Ida’s wail came out garbled between her fingers.

“So let’s -unhang it.”

“I can’t. Kendeigh -I can’t.”

“I know it’s risky, but I know you’re not scared of dying.” Maureen muttered, attempting to understand.

“Candy I cant, I can’t murder it.” her voice had dipped into a sacrosanct whisper.

Maureen huffed in confusion, a substantial amount of pragmatism warring with what tiny bit of sympathy the threat left her, “It’s a German’s, at this size no more than a blo-“

“It’s a life!” Ida snarled back at her so viciously Maureen contemplated the likelihood of her having gone fully mad, “And it’s mine.” she rebutted, pointing to her chest fiercely.

“So you’ll let Bucky and Gale die for you, die trying to get you out of here but you won’t try to fix it yourself.” It was how Maureen saw it, and if she were to be accused of suggesting murder, she might as well have her side put out there, too.

“That’s how you see it?” Ida muttured, looking utterly defeated.

“If Gale dies over this, I’ll wring your neck myself. Keep smoking.” she advised with a shrug, “Maybe catch an elbow to the gut if you can.”

Ida pulled her hand away again to look at her, she’d definitely been crying then, red nosed and watery eyed, but she looked less aghast now than she had at the mention of the coat hanger. Maureen didn’t think she wanted condolences about it, or a pat on the back. Come to think of it, Ida was getting plenty of that sort of doting from the boys. No, Maureen didn’t feel like she needed that from her, and something sour and twisted in her heart made her loath to give it.

It worsened as the days went by, as Maureen observed their once innocuous routines with new eyes, noticing the boys' furtive plans, their hovering concern, their brought in provisions -offerings fit for a queen. It was understandable to show such care for her in her state, and ostensibly no one deserved it more than Ida Brady. But it left Maureen feeling adrift, like an afterthought, someone whose greatest challenge was their boredom. And ever looming were those great risks the boys bantered about like it were all a low stakes game of cards.

She plays thirty to forty sets of cards with Hambone, decimates Benny at chess, cleans the pans, even mops the goddamn floor. All to keep busy, perhaps even to spite Ida whose one assigned task is the floors. She cannot be accused of boredom or idleness if she has done all her own tasks and others’ besides.

In her spare time she would like to go with Bucky, to be of use in collecting things for Gale’s new little project, his precious crystal radio, but where women go -there go guards and attention and soon, the sheer mischief of the naughtiness of Gale’s construction wanes as she is left laying in her bunk watching him wiggle a clothespin around for the fifth day in a row. She had been so understanding for the first four. Even though she had contemplated a tiff with him over not informing her of Ida’s state as soon as he knew, she had been merciful and instead settled for holding the copper wire for him and brushing his cheek when he didn’t actively shy away in concentration.

He mumbles about needing to give it his full attention, about her needing to keep a lookout, about the danger of getting caught. She asks if it’s worth it then, anything that might get him killed is her enemy, even if it’s a little clothespin on a board. He looks at her like she’s from mars, unable to fathom why she wouldn’t understand its necessity. And he doesn’t come to bed until an ungodly hour of the night and immediately, upon settling in their bunk he is asleep, much to her chagrin.

She would have liked a kiss, a hand between her legs even more. She would have settled for those whispering little chats they’ve indulged in ever since Bucky laid atop Ida and all rules were broken -they’ve shared a bunk and as the winter gets worse, no one bats an eye. In fact, everyone’s stacked two for one, male and female alike. Brady and Hambone snicker and whisper in their bunk every bit as much as she and Gale do, Maureen is sure of it.

Instead Gale falls asleep. And he does it again and again, night after night. Bucky rummages on his own for supplies. Brady frets over Ida. Only so many people can play makeshift bat gammon in the hall. It does not pass the time. And Maureen grows ever more restless.

She feels expectantly happy when Gale’s work is finally complete, his finished product constructed and the moment of truth comes. They crowd around and wait with baited breath as his finger tunes it. And Maureen knows she is fully awful for her relieved feelings when it does not work. He can’t be killed for it if he scraps it. And he will come to bed at a reasonable hour now it is useless. The shake of his hand makes everyone else feel helpless in the face of his ever steady composure cracking, but while Maureen has no acceptable remedy for Ida’s plight, she does for Gale’s, and she waits for darkness with the relieved excitement of a child on Christmas Eve.

Gale does indeed come to bed, the radio not fully scrapped but heartily abandoned and hidden with its various parts in sundry places. And when he slips beside her, his nose is cold and he touches her like he has missed her. He pulls the covers to their chins, tucking them in with a small giggle, she is suffocated by it and yet he persists and this has gone on all winter until now it is their inside joke and he does it just to make her laugh, and when she laughs so does he, a honest little giggle of a thing, and she misses him worse than ever even as he pressed along the length of her.

It isn’t safe yet, not everyone is asleep but she bides her time with kissing him and he returns her caresses ardently, a thorough press of his lips and his tongue unreservedly sliding into place alongside her own, his hands warming up as they clasp her neck, turning her head upon their pillow. She wonders if they are loud even at this, but she was never the one to care, it’s Gale who objects and who hushes them, who makes them wait, who insists on being courteous even in hell, who only allows himself to lap at her when the place is abandoned or else full of the atmospheric noises of masculine snores.

Maureen does not mind waiting for him, or rather -she does, but he is implacable about it and when she attempts to persuade him otherwise she is oftentimes swatted and put in her place like a wayward child. Such correction holds a charm of its own when it is Gale Cleven administering it, but tonight she feels close to madness if she does not get her way so she allows him to kiss her as the quiet and steady breaths around them herald the unconsciousness of their brethren. She grows bolder, throws her leg over his hip and tugs at his buttons, hands rucking up his shirt and parting the heavy flaps of his coat. He is as burdened with layers as a Victorian maiden and Maureen enjoys the hunt for warm skin, the way he looks as ravished and expectant as any girl while she gropes at him, when she finally reaches him he always shudders, a full bodied thing that jerks even his neck.

Tonight she parts his layers feverishly and he mutters her name, again and again and his hands are clumsy at her shoulders and no progress is made on discarding her own clothing but she pays it no mind, she is direly hungry for him. Any touch of him, to make him shake and melt and pay tribute to her.

“Maureen.”

She finds the button of his trousers right at his heaving naval and she exults at the feel of the fine trail of hair beneath her fingertips.

“Maureen.” his voice grows urgent and she doesn’t heed it, he counts on her never heeding it.

She wiggles her hand beneath the waistband of his boxers and skims the hairy plane of his pelvis before laying her hand on what she needs and -he is as limp as a dead mouse. She holds the chubby thing for a good long moment, very much like it were some useless rodent she had caught and must now dispose of, and she is filled with confusion.

“Maureen-“ he mutters again against her unmoving lips and she realizes with misery she mistook his pleading for a different sort.

It is not that she’s never felt him soft, on the contrary, there was a long time in the early days -when she wanted him and he wanted a promotion- that her hand would find its way between his legs, in a jeep or a bar, beneath the table while he helped her with her calculus. Once she felt him she became mildly obsessed, he was always tucked to the right and he was so substantially long and full beneath her palming, even in repose, that her determination to have him was only further cemented by it. Again and again her hand made it into his lap and again and again he would rebuff her, sometimes with startled propriety, occasionally with long suffering disbelief, more and more with almost parental disapproval.

Each reaction had been as satisfying to Maureen as if he were swelling into her palm. And soon enough, he was doing that, too. His hand growing a beat too slow before he grabbed her wrist, his mouth still twisted in dry reproof but his eyes began to burn. He was unbothered no longer and it was not much longer after that he was not even resistant.

Ever since, she could count on him to perk, to respond, to validate her own want of him with his own for her.

The fact it was in many ways a tortured surrender on his part only drove her madder, made her desire burn brighter, made the succumbing of the good, the right, the proud man all the more intoxicating. And again, as if they’d never shared all that, he was now as warm and floppy as a dead dormouse.

“Maureen.” he begged, half expecting tears again like her first night in the stalag, wincing as her hand squeezed him meanly, jerked at him a few impotent times in an effort to fluff him.

Her hand withdraws and he holds his breath, ready for a scene or a rebuke. His gut twists miserably, at fault twice over and yet -not really. But that never mattered with Maureen. He says her name again but she is still and deflated, and after a moment, she merley rolls over, giving him her back.

That is how he knows she is hurt, were she angry she would not have shrunk from being crueler than a few angry tugs. The silence is new and it makes Gale’s stomach swoop in an odd terror, like his next decision might rescue them both or plunge them off a cliff.

“Maureen.” He tries again, his hand on her shoulder, squeezing and trying to turn her back.

Her shoulder jolts up sharply to displace the gesture. “I’m not cold.” she informs him as she rolls further away towards the wall, and her tone is icier than the weather outside. He’s stunned, she’s never once ignored him, no it’s always ever been an escalation of her demands for his interest. Hell, even in Africa she had said she was cold and the presence of her head on his shoulder disrupted his tan, he got no end of grief from the boys about it.

Confused and mildly hurt himself, although he doesn’t know why, not beyond some tickling sense of unfairness about being blamed for being a bit out of sorts in the place, Gale takes his hand away and moves to lie on his back, to keep from crowding her. He thinks that in the morning he will explain to her how he is preoccupied with the radio, that his gut feels in constant free fall from the plans to escape, that everyone is riding on him for this thing to work and he just proved tonight he’s perfectly worthless at it. Nothing but buzz in his ear echoes around in his head and he replays the sound of that failure again and again, justifying her frustration with him. He thinks he’ll explain this all to her in the morning. And also-

-that he is cold.

He’s so damn cold from the anxiety and being still at his work at the table for so long his hands and legs go numb that he simply cannot imagine feeling bothered at this moment, cannot imagine it and it would seem that neither can the little guy. He doesn’t deserve a reward, not for fucking up at the one thing they’ve got going for them. He catches Bucky’s eyes when he rolls over, having taken up night shift over Ida due to insomniatic tendencies. He wonders strongly if Bucky would be as disappointed in him, if he is already. Just wait until next morning, Gale thinks, when I get to admit I’ve got no second plan. If it doesn’t work as is, no amount of fiddling is gonna make it better.

That settles heavy in his gut but does nothing for the swooping feeling, there is merely a loadstone in his belly, plunging downward in a perpetual free fall, and in his dreams the accompanying soundtrack is radio static.

There is a tiny sliver of freedom in the morning -and it does not come every morning- when Maureen has noticed there is still and quiet yet the morning routines are in place. Lazy and weak, the prisoners do not rise with the sun, although some stir and moan and try to meet the new day head on. The guards unlock the doors and yet many choose to lay abed. So many in fact that Johnny Brady ceased making breakfast at that hour as with so few ready to eat it, the ordeal became a waste. He does often fetch water for morning pit baths and teeth brushing, the occasional splash on the face to wash off the sleep.

Maureen has often contemplated these little slivers of time as a chance to break free. Not of the compound, that endeavor holds no fascination to her, but rather out of this combine and out from under the watchful eyes of people who know her all too well. Or think they do. They don’t, they very obviously don’t. And she’s losing all sense of who she is to be known by as the days go on.

She listens as Johnny gathers the buckets and milk pails, always gentle with the clanking metal, vestiges of the considerate boy his mama raised still clinging even in this place, and he hands an allotment to Hambone who is awake with him and less considerate.

Then there is the hushed flurry of beratings and the sleepy protests of trying one’s best.

They leave together, and they leave the door adjar as usual, to come back in quietly if needed. They’ll be gone for at least fifteen minutes, then they will come back and then Brady will leave again to run his two goddamn laps around the compound while that testicular looking bald headed doctor clocks his pace. Maureen doesn’t think Johnny likes running track or ever did it before, but he and Ida both took it up, the latter probably to get rid of the child and the former maybe to stay warm. The doctor didn’t care about the timing of Ida’s laps and soon she began to grow too large to risk attention by keeping Johnny company.

Now Johnny runs his timed laps alone and the only motivation Maureen can imagine for it, beyond the over-familiar assessment of his limbs by the doctor, is the chocolate he earns from it. Priceless sugar to keep up his specimen’s strength in this starving place.

Chocolate Johnny regularly gives to Ida. Though for Christmas he made them all a mashed chocolate pie on a tin plate and it had honestly been the kindest and loveliest Yuletide treat anyone had ever given any of them.

Maureen has considered running with him, trying her luck and seeing if she can win chocolate herself. Maybe that would make Gale smile. She doubts the doctor would care, he’s curiously uncaring regarding the existence of females in camp.

Maureen knows all these sounds of morning routine by heart, can track the progress of each stage of the routine while feigning sleep, motionlessly facing the wall.

Gale has no need to feign, it would seem. He is not snoring but he is whimpering and muttering in that annoying way of his that only occurs when he’s in deep. She used to think it cute, she now thinks it helpful to judge if he is able to catch her at her scheme.

-useless fucker with his useless radio and his useless cock, making her feel useless-

Careful as a cat, and with as much grace, Maureen rolls herself upright, and uses the slats of their upper bunk to balance her weight, keeping the mattress from giving a tell-tale dip. She swings from one slat to the next, carefully crouching when the movement jars the whole frame but Benny stays asleep below her and Gale makes no move to arrest her. It’s a feat to drop soundlessly to her feet after such a climb in a full overcoat, but she manages it. Her boots are under Benny’s bunk and she fetches them with no small amount of terror, but despite his shifts and erratic movements, he does not catch her.

She takes the boots into the hall, which is gratefully empty, and fastens them there. Taking her woolen cap from her coat pocket, she puts it atop her head while tucking in her hair, and fastens her scarf high over her nose, and knows that she is about as inconspicuous in form and feature as the next man. When Brady is bundled similarly his eyes appear as gentle as a woman’s and Maureen knows her own are no longer half so beguiling, not with their pale lashes and absence of cosmetic relief.

Perhaps she’s grown so wane and bland Gale has even lost the ability to pretend attraction. He always was fastidious about cleanliness and order, fussy and volatile when she took him unawares. In fact, when she had first managed to get so far as to undo his pants, to fondle his half hard length, to pull him from the slit of his drawers, to tug his shaft to orgasm, it had been beside the antiseptics. And that had some sort of parable in it, she thought now. Recalling how she’d had to talk him down off a panic as soon as he had shuddered and given her the sought after reward, hot and sticky and plentiful as only a virgin’s would be. He was not comforted until gauze and betadine was used copiously to clean her hand, and the nurse was later puzzled as to why when she entered only one had needed treatment, but both left stained with the orange stuff.

Back then a word, a flick of her eyes would have Gale in full pursuit, bodily if not mentally. She could wage a war with his ever so impeccable spirit and win it with the help of his own flesh. Now? Now he couldn’t even respond, not even pretend it. And he’d tried to warn her and she’d thought he’d been begging and she realized he wanted to stall her, keep it from her, one more thing.

These thoughts carried her dozens of rows down, combine after combine, lost in a flurry of snowflakes that were turning gradually pink as the sun rose. It was beautiful here before all the footprints ruined it.

At the far end of the sector, outside the last combine before the fence that separated them from the Brits, Maureen spotted a huddle of men gathered around a fire pit. She hadn’t known those were even allowed, not doubting that its proximity to the fence had some other subversive reason beyond warmth, and if she thought it then the guards must have. Yet here it was alright, jugs hung over it from a makeshift spit and crackers impaled and being toasted on the same. Maureen’s mouth watered, as much at the thought of genuinely smoke flavored food as she did at the heat. She was still undecided as to her course of action when a loud guffaw, followed by a familiar and harsh curse made her startle.

Polish airmen -or, at least by way of America. They would be sat out in the cold at dawn and they would toast their crackers. Maureen had frequently used her brief passes from Thorpe to terrorize other officer clubs, finding the joy of it a great distraction and some of the girls had joined her at it. She was usually greeted in such escapades with shock or even disgust but the men’s flailing helplessness in the face of a female serviceman always served as a full quota of contentment.

No one had terrorized her back as good as she gave until the Poles. And then they had bought her a drink, and lamented with her that she had not become a fighter pilot. Because Maureen still held a flame for the small craft, resentful that her decent piloting had been considered too poor for the clunky birds, for she knew she wasn't all bad, it was merely those awful forts and their terrible bulk. The Poles had agreed and bought her another drink, and tried to seduce her to their squadron. That had been a happy night and she’d come back to barracks so late as to break curfew, and chatted Gale’s ear off in drunken joy about her wonderful time and her new friends.

Maureen now eyed the fire in the snow and the group of foreign speaking men around it and tugged off her cap, allowing her hair free. And she sauntered up with calculated aimlessness, as if she were indeed only checking out their s’mores to ridicule them compared to her combine’s delicacies. It was effective, they defended their crackers vehemently and she remained derisive, this called for a demand that she try them and so she did and admitted they weren’t too bad but were too dry to be gotten down her throat. So they then passed her coffee and she had to squat to receive it and then she was given a seat to finish it and before long, she was one of the huddle and her feint at leaving them was argued against so heartily she knew she’d won, and so she stayed and played cards and told stories and drank hot water with boys who had been born over here but were in many cases educated not far from her house. And when afternoon came and went she stayed, and when evening fell and the guards became stricter with the perimeter and their fire, she snuck in with them into their combine and there played drinking games despite the violation of curfew.

For the Poles had liquor in this hell hole. And that, Maureen thought, was the true measure of a great nation, their capacity for ingenuity and irrepressible spirits.

Gale entered his own combine in the falling dark with the persistent press of a gun barrel at his lower back, right about at the kidneys, he figured. It was the only thing possible to persuade him to keep from looking, and the others were filing in right ahead of him, saving him a bullet their only motivation for abandoning the search. The guards locked the door after them, and Gale’s chest heaved in panic at the thought of her out there somewhere and locked out and him locked in.

“Fuckin’ Kendeigh.” Murph grumbled but without any heat,

taking himself to his barracks.

Bucky kept pacing up and down the hall with his hands in his hair, snapping at anyone who dared clog his promenade. “Jerries said it was time for bed -so get in your goddamn beds!”

“Why would she do this?” Gale begged him again and Bucky huffed again at it, furious for him.

“She give you grief last night?” Bucky asked wisely, the loyalty in his voice soothes Gale, as does the structure of his sentence, it suggested it wasn’t his fault. And Gale wanted to believe that and he just as strongly he knew it was wrong of him.

He had been in the wrong and he didn’t deserve Bucky’s sympathy for this or the damn radio. They’d been talking of repairs every spare minute of this day that hadn’t been taken up with trying to find Maureen. And while Bucky could remain as adamant as he wanted, that it wasn’t his fault that his radio didn’t work -it didn’t change the fact that his failure now meant Bucky was gonna try something awful instead, like climbing the fence with a pregnant woman on his shoulders. And it was all because Gale couldn’t fucking make a connection. Just as he couldn’t connect to his own body for Maureen and now she’d probably gone over the fence too, or got shot trying.

“So fuckin’ unless.” He dug the heels of his palms into his eyes and mashed the tears away.

“She call ya that?” Egan barked, and Gale didn’t need to see his frown to know he was about to track down Kendeigh to punch her, not rescue her.

“No, don’t need a dame to tell me what’s what.”

He didn’t see it coming so he was reasonably startled when he found his hands dislodged from his eyes and his face suddenly collided into the weave of a musky sweater, Bucky’s hand gripping the nape of his neck like he were a child. That hand was so damn large Gale could imagine he was young again and his father was holding him. “Somethin’s gonna come to you,” this reassuring rumble was light years away from his father’s belittlements and he shuddered, “I’ll get you new wire or somethin’ but just- ain’t your fault, Buck, and that goddamn parakeet needs snow down her pants if she can’t see it too.”

No one pretended to sleep that night, even once the lights were out. Ida sat up in her bunk with her brother beside her, a telling lack of sympathy being expressed for Maureen’s self inflicted plight. Ida had spent her own time at the radio and while it hadn’t done much good, it had gone some way to reassure Gale she didn’t see anything amiss. It ought to work.

Small talk was kept carefully low in the bunks, and Bucky kept a firm position on Gale’s bunk, sitting upright with his legs slung over his friend’s boney knees, affectionately trapping him in a lying posture. Bucky had taken to entrapments here in camp, perhaps the barbed wire inspired him.

They had already given Benny his fair share of chiding for not going out with Maureen that the morning, although Brady’s report of her absence in the time he had fetched water plainly represented someone not wishing for accompaniment -or, as Brady so helpfully reminded of the obvious, her desire to obey Cleven’s long standing order on the matter.

It was probably close to 0100 when a great commotion sounded outside, followed by a crash bang of the combine’s main doors being thrown wide and the rhythmic tread of jackboots had everyone pouring out of their bunks and standing at the ready, -they weren’t sure for what, but it wasn’t something you wanted to be caught lying down for. Gale wrenched open the door, expectancy already perfectly in place on his face until he caught sight of Kendeigh, hauled like a child between the guards and one of their captains met his eye with unimpressed disdain.

“This we found in wrong sector.” he explained, gesticulating to Maureen with a gloved hand, “Sleeping under combine steps. I have told you, Major, I cannot guarantee safety of your females when they are alone, something happen to them, you blame me but I told you! Cannot guarantee.”

“Understood.” Cleven gave him his soberest nod, feeling ill and angry and watching warily for the next move, wondering when he could get his lost package back, yet not wanting to appear eager.

“Discipline, major, discipline!” The Captain insisted and Gale felt Bucky’s heat searing at his back as he pressed forward, taking the German’s eyes away from Gale’s, preventing something rash.

“Oh believe me, sir,” Bucky drawled as he pressed forward, the guards posture confidant and lax, “discipline will be met.” he took the brave step of gripping Kendeigh’s coat flap in his hand and tugging her forward, a movement that yanked her free of the gaurds’s grip.

“Met?” the officer was confused, anger and annoyance tinged his repetition.

Bucky shook Maureen meanly by her coat in emphasis of his statement, “Discipline!” he agreed, insistent.

“Well?” It appeared the officer intended to wait until it was meted out.

Bucky stalled and Gale caught Maureen’s panicked eyes even as her nose flared rebelliously with measured breaths, trying to get on top of it all. Gale felt himself pushed to the side abruptly, having to catch himself on the door as Ida Brady strode past him into the hall, the book she’d been perusing still clutched in her hand.

“Child.” she muttered loudly for the officer’s benefit before raising her book and striking Mauree square across the face, one cheek and then the other as the blow sent her staggering, sharp thwacks with the flat side of the volume.

Maureen took the reproof with good grace and a stunned whimper, Bucky’s still supportive clutch on her jacket keeping her from making a fully pathetic scene and melting to the floor.

“Go, in, get in bed.” Ida snapped her fingers, pointing to the door and when Maureen took a second too long to collect her spotted vision, Ida raised the book again and Maureen needed no more incentive, knowing if Ida did not deliver it the guards would.

She tumbled over the barracks threshold like a bedraggled orphan, hair snow drenched and cheeks throbbing, her jacket muddy and undone.

“Well done.” Johnny Brady greeted with montone venom and only Benny Demarco’s well placed foot tripped her and prevented her from clawing his face off in long suppressed spite.

She landed inelegantly on her face, elbows bent just enough to catch herself from a truly ugly splat, she was gathering herself for another spring when the troop of her officers sounded and the door closed and quiet fell over the place, lethal and accusing.

So the Germans had let her off easy then. Maureen drug herself up to her knees and suddenly wished she hadn’t, it felt too close to contrition.

She staggered upright, ignoring the indignity of having to push up on Brady’s knee to do so. Once on her own two feet she raked muddy fingers through her hair and smiled at her superiors, tired but dandy. They looked pissed and that was to be expected.

“The hell did you go?” The others seemed to acknowledge Gale had some right -or maybe it was responsibility- to address her first and it was leveled at her even more scathingly than she had braced for.

“For fresh air.” she chimed, leaning against a bunk brace, arms crossed easily.

“Sleepin’ out? Sneakin’ out?” Gale stormed on and Ida actually took pains to bypass him and climb into her own bunk, her merciful discipline administered she seemed to wash her hands of the business, “Flagrantly disobeying my expressed orders! Answer me! The hell were you thinking?”

“I wanted to get out,” she leveled back at him, her smirk grown sharp and practiced and debutant-worthy, “I wanted to be somewhere else besides in this stinking, miserable cabin with its miserable, stinking occupants. Nothing but a bunch of self righteous, maniacally focused dreamers who can’t have fun for shit.”

As soon as she said it, no regret came, only a feeling of utter validation. Indeed, what had changed since she had been gone? Ida was still sick and pregnant, Johnny was still fussy, Benny was still playing at cards, Bucky was still pushing Gale harder than any over the radio and her Cleven was cleaving to the damn thing like it were his god.

“I mean, tell me if I missed something essential!” She scoffed, “Some great development occur? Or was I needed for some great task you all missed me so desperately during? No? Didn’t think so. Because we don’t go anything in here except talk about getting out like it’s actually plausible and I’m sick as fuck of it and I-“ she pointed to herself, voice growing in volume as Gale’s own fury seemed to wane into something shocked and scared, “I have spent my day with men who have ingenuity and good humor and liquor, because they aren’t hopeless fucks like us. The Brit’s have a tunnel started, the Polish have one too along with a bathtub of potato peel vodka, and we have a pregnant colonel! Sto lat!”

It was terribly quiet for a moment, half the cabin's occupants intent on appearing discrete and the other half stunned into a sort of mortified offense.

“You gonna thrash her or am I?” Egan finally broke the tension, his head turning lazily to look at Gale, his mouth was grinning like he was eager and it made Maureen’s bruised cheeks flame. It seemed to be some private joke, Maureen could only tell by the way Cleven’s eyes widened in warning protest at his friend before biting his lip and sniffing harshly. Then the lights cut again and the place was plunged in darkness, it brought Maureen both relief at the obscurity and a strange feeling of terror at the pitch black surroundings. She still hated the dark, ever since those Gestapo cells.

“Take that filthy shit off and get in your bunk.” Gale’s voice so near and so sudden startled her, and it wasn’t rebellion that made her lag in response but he seemed to take it that way, the snap of his finger seeming dangerously close to her nose, and she felt his fingers pluck at her muddy coat, “Now, don’t test me, get in, now.”

She peeled it off and let it flop heavily to the floor before kicking off her boots with the same carelessness, and then taking a step up, digging her frozen toes into Benny’s mattress and hauling herself up to the next level, laying down with a shiver in the cold sheets. The quiet sounds of rustling and bedding filled the place, the others putting themselves away for the night too, but to her relief no one seemed to be murmuring about her. Then the bunk creaked again and the unmistakable feel of someone climbing in beside her made her gasp.

Gale, of course it was Gale, laid himself out atop her, like he planned to keep her there by his weight alone like Bucky had with Ida, and an odd feeling suddenly took possession of Maureen’s chest, one she hadn’t felt all day: she felt undeserving. His head was hard and awkward against her clavicle but she didn’t want to budge him, secretly and utterly grateful he was being kind, that he was not ignoring her. Maybe Ida was right and she was childish but if that were the case, what was to be done about it? She was as she was and she needed him, so tentatively after a few minutes, she withdrew her legs out from under his own and wrapped them around his hips, pulling him close all along her like they were mating, she meant it as a hug and she felt him limp and heavy between her thighs but she did not withdraw.

Gale waited patiently until the snores began, wind whistling outside so loudly it would cover their whispers, and she shuddered to think of herself being petty enough to try to sleep in that icebox. “I need you to tell me what’s wrong.” he rasped at last, raising his head a little and trying to get a read on her in the semi dark. “Maureen, you can’t worry me like that, please.”

“I’m tired.” her voice was weak from the effort to hold back an ugly sob.

“You've been tired before.” he soothed, “What about today? What about last night? What’s all this? C’mon, you can tell me, I need ya to tell me.”

Maureen sighed raggedly, always a sucker for his cajoling voice, more so when she knew she deserved and expected the thrashing. “You don’t need me that way. You don’t need me at all.”

Gale dropped his head a little, his hand reaching up to pinch his nose, humiliation and impotence warring with need to assure her. “I'm sorry about that.” he settled for, “I’m too fucked right now, I admit it. It’s all just, it’s a lot, we’ve all got a lot goin’ on. You too, I know, I’m just not right up there, Maureen. Doesn’t mean I don’t need you.”

“You don’t need me during the day and you don’t need me at night.” she had tried to dissuade herself of this painful reality, truly! -but those were the facts as she saw them and it hurt her worse than him.

“I’m doing this for you!” he begged, his large hand cupping the side of her throat and she would love to think it a caress but he was only trying to make a point, one she contested vehemently in her heart. “I won’t be okay until you’re safe, baby.”

Maureen scoffed, thick and bitter, she had no child, she had no threat, she didn’t need to get out. “I don’t have any reason to get out!” She seethed back, “What’s in it for me? Besides you dead and me too, maybe I’ll get sent back to the Gestapo. That’ll be lark. I don’t need to get out, Major, I need-“

Gale was panting in her face, hot and hurried as her own ire rose with each word, “What do you need?” he goaded, and she could hear him lick his lips.

“I need you to pay attention to me.” she said it.

And to anyone else it would have sounded the most petty thing of all, but to Gale Cleven it was something he already knew deep down when he wasn’t so caught up in the imminent might-be’s of their situation, when he wasn’t needing to save Bucky from himself, or Ida from being put down or Johnny from whatever Greek hell that doctor had enlisted him in. He knew Maureen needed him, not his brains or what he could give, not really, she just wanted his flesh, and he had never bartered in that currency before her, having always assumed it was cheap if not with love. He was not sure he was loved but he knew it was not cheap, whatever it was they shared. And he knew she needed him. Just as he needed her, even though he could not manifest it as he wished.

He could kiss her, though. That he could do.

She did not expect the plush press of his lips when she saw him duck his head against the halo of window light. He kisses with intent and with reproof and the part of her that enjoys his anger begins to thrum to life as mercy and justice both battle in his kiss, his tongue all forgiveness and his teeth implacable rightness.

“Why?” she whines at him, feeling herself need and yet he lays between her legs useless as a girl, “why’re you when you can’t-“ she has insulted him enough today, she trails off with surprising tact.

“Don’t mean I don’t need you.” his voice has gone gruff like it does when he holds her head firmly and grinds his once hard cock down her throat, “Don’t mean your boy don’t want you.”

And that’s all she needed, really.

Along with the feeling of his fingertips walking down her bare stomach, his hand somehow sneaking its way through her layers undetected until now. It awakes a trail of fire down to her core, her core that is already ablaze by his kissing, his neglect, his language.

“My baby.” she moans in ascent, loudly and exultant and a little mournful.

“I gotchue, I got you.” he swears into her mouth and his hand wastes no time in slithering between her legs, elegant fingers cupping her and smearing her arousal around beneath his fingertips.

“Fuck them into me.” she begs, his hand swiping and rubbing at her heat until her hole clenches in desperation, wanting the burn of a stretch.

He is used to her instructions, they’d have accomplished nothing these last months without them, he is able to obey without ceding one bit of control in the kiss and the dichotomy of it, of him, makes her spiral as long fingers plunge, three at a time into her like he’s mad at her, and she cums from it alone with a hoarse cry of shock. He leans up and over her, hair aglow in the dim light and his hand beginning to slam again and again between her legs, forearm hard at work before he brings his wrist to her mouth.

“Bite.” he tells her, an offer and an order and she does, repaying him the vicious assault below her waist where she is tugged apart and jammed at with all too much finesse, his thumb swiping at the apex of her slit everytime he plunges knuckle deep. Gale knows by now the signs of her peak but he pushes beyond it, adds his pinky until all four digits wreak havoc and makes her go again. She uses his wrist out of necessity not to wake the whole place. The sounds of her squelching may have done it for her.

He pets her after, his palm warmed up by his work and it cups and soothes her as she jerks and jolts and settles, and his nose nuzzles her own sweetly, murmuring her name again and again just how she likes it.

“Don’t you ever scare me like that again.” he begs between smooches and Maureen feels entirely too weak to deny him.

“Ok.”

“Promise?” his tone and his hand grow firm again.

“Yeah.”

“Alright.” he sighs beside her and she thinks she could fall asleep now he’s wrung her out. He pets her a few moments longer, as if loathe to pull his hand free. He cups her one more time, collecting her wetness in the crook of his fingers before at last he does, carefully bringing his hand up and out of her waistband. He holds it in front of himself for a brief moment as if debating how to enact his thoughts, and she watches him curiously because he does not lick his digits clean like usual, perhaps she is too soiled tonight, even for his devotion.

Instead she watches him roll onto his back, hand still aloft and glittery with an obscene amount of sticky pleasure and his other hand trails to his own fly, popping the button deftly with his left hand and tugging down the fastening. Her breath catches in her throat, suspense and arousal at the familiar motion making her perk once more. Gale shimmies his clothing down his thighs until she can see him just barely, lying fat and peaceful against his thigh. He deserves a little peace, she thinks, now that she is not so cross with him.

She holds his gaze in startled suspense as he locks eyes with her, wanting her to stare when he moves his wet hand down and wraps it around himself, smearing her juices all over his soft member, clear and creamy swirls rubbed into the pink meat of him, down to his very balls.

“There,” he manages between her kisses as she assails him anew with desperate appreciation, “you’ve still got me. I’m still yours.”

She drags her hand down there to feel the sticky evidence of his promise, to rub and fondle him as he lays dormant in her palm. She has often snickered to him that he is too tidy to ever fully have sex, he has had qualms over even what they do with their hands, their mouths as well. He was pleased she could swallow only for the mess it prevented. She’s often told him he’ll find coupling a filthy business and he oughta brace himself. This tacky feeling under her palm is the closest they’ve ever gotten to the act, her fluids touching him there, drying on him. She appreciates the gesture, more than here heart can bear to ponder: she also knows he’ll regret it.

“I’ve got some amends to make.” she acknowledges after giving him one last kiss and checking that the coast is clear. Egan is doubtless still awake as usual and perhaps Brady, but it can’t be helped and she doesn’t give a damn. “Try to be quiet -don’t think too hard on it, it’s fine if this is all it is.” she preemptively cautions before he can realize what she intends.

She slinks down the length of him, careful not to jar the whole bunk, careful to keep a low profile to the blankets before dipping her head in the little nest of covers shoved around his thighs. Despite her assurances Gale makes a keening noise of confusion when her tongue darts out without preamble and licks up the seam of his balls.

“Maureen.” he sounds half strangled but his hand flies out, not to prevent her, but to pet her lustrous hair. She feels utterly content in that moment and continues her quest to tidy him up.

“You hate being sticky.” she reminds in a whisper before gently sucking on his soft tip, she can feel his belly heaving in relaxed sighs, the connection not fully alive and yet, potent all the same, he pets her hair more firmly and even pushes her head down further and she gets the hint, abandoning his soft cock head for the chubby vein beneath, licking stripes of herself off him.

“I’m sorry I hurt you.” she whispers to the inanimate little thing, remembering how meanly she squeezed it the night before. “I swear we’re still friends.”

Gale vaguely registers her apology to his bits and bobs but he is genuinely more distracted by two glinting shards across the room that have to be Bucky’s blazing eyes. Trained right on him. Holy hell, he feels himself shake and the closest thing to a twitch animates between his legs before he throws his hand over his eyes and pretends he is very alone. He pets her head more purposefully, long, feminine strands slipping through his fingers.

John Egan once put a bet on how long it would take these idiots to learn they were in love. It was once all a bit funny. And now, seeing in a dim haze what appears to be the ritual of making up, it’s not so funny any more. Today could have gone far worse, any attention to the women was bad attention and having Ida have to make a scene while hiding a belly like that was nearly criminal in Bucky’s mind.

But that didn’t mean he wasn’t glad for Gale. No, he was so glad he was half jealous watching, imagining more than even seeing. He wondered if Maureen knew how much she loved him, he wondered how it compared to his own, and he ached like hell.

Next morning Gale woke up with a sore spot on his chest from the weight of her head lying there all night, and to the tinkering sounds of the metal water jugs being jostled. There was a laugh and a responding “shh” and another stifled laugh following. He rolled his head on the pillow and blearily cracked an eye open, taking in Brady and Maureen over their task. Or at least, Johnny was trying while fighting some whispered bit of comedy that Maureen continued despite Johnny’s wheezing protests and incompetent fumbling with his handles.

“You ain’t bein’ quiet, if ya think you are.” Benny’s grumble from the bunk below said what Gale was thinking, but he was too relieved to see Maureen awake, cheerful and integrated again to complain.

“I’m telling him about a Romanian girl in the other sector, met her yesterday.” Maureen stage whispered and Brady began to lose it again, muffling his whole face into his sleeve, milk pail abandoned on the floor so he could laugh. “There’s a fence between and she’s a fighter pilot but she’s seen him at his laps and she wants him.”

Benny stayed quiet a minute before his own laugh started and Gale could feel the vibrations of it from a whole bunk below. “She put in an order or somethin’?”

“Practically.” Maureen drawled, “She was so relieved to meet an American so arrangements can be made for my fellow. She has cows back home Johnny, she’d trade ten for you. Those big Eastern European cows, straight from a storybook, it’s worth consideration.”

“Grab your jug.” Johnny insisted instead in a small wheeze as he collected his own and strode out, looking behind to ensure she was following and beginning to laugh at eye contact. Maureen threw her head back and guffawed that ugly little cackle of hers as she went out.

“I think we missed part of the first act.” Benny observed about the joke from below, Gale didn’t know what talent it was but his co-pilot always seemed to sense when he was awake, no checking needed.

“Yup.” Gale puffed into his pillow, not giving a damn about the content of her material only that some material was back.

Someone else who was shit at playing asleep was John Egan. Gale slunk out of his bed quietly to not awake everyone else and went over to the sprawled out form of his friend, Ida tucked behind his back and the wall, genuinely asleep despite the nicotine she had coursing through her. Gale reached out and flicked at an overgrown curl dangling over his friend's face, the return momentum of it tickled his nose and he sneezed on compulsion.

“Sleep well?” Gale asked as Bucky stared up at him, betrayed and crinkly faced.

“Was.” he accused.

“Talk?” Buck proposed in a monosyllable and he watched Egan’s raw morning eyes shutter closed into something as readable as millponds.

“Yeah, sure.” There was a series of grunts and heaves of effort as Bucky righted himself and finally pushed out of the bunk, “Hall?” he asked while contemplating just how little he wanted to don boots right now.

“Hall’s fine.”

They went out together, it was quiet in the hall despite the awakening rustle in the various rooms off it. It stayed quiet once they’d both taken a wall to lean against because Gale Cleven wasn’t good at broaching topics despite his bravery to initiate their surroundings. Egan had a sense what this was about, but then, things usually weren’t about the thing they were about, they were about another thing reflected in the thing and that’s where he got lost. But watching Gale Cleven take in a breath five times only to exhale and chew his lip got a little tedious, even by his standards for how much he enjoyed watching his Buck at anything.

If this was about being observed last night, Egan sure as fuck wasn’t gonna take the blame for seeing shit in a packed dormitory. Or, combine, barracks, whatever. So, a sentence like -sorry I watched you get licked at like a bowl of milk last night- didn’t reflect his sentiments at all. And he’d never lied to Buck, not once, except maybe about not social engineering his way onto planes during rough missions. So instead he went with an easy going, “Must be nice to almost get everyone killed then get rewarded for it.”

Gale’s eyes sharpened instantly but the harsh retort Egan panted for didn’t come, instead something tired took over and Gale pinched his nose. “We’re all goin’ a little looney in here.”

“Are we?” Bucky hummed combatively, “How you crackin’ up these days?” it wasn't fair his Buck had all this weight on him and a fussy woman besides.

“I’m havin’ an affair with a fellow officer.” Gale recited in a devastated montone, and Egan hadn’t expected such transparency. Not in criminal language.

“Well,” he ceded, “there is that.”

“And occurrences like last night are gonna need to keep happenin.” Gale was informing him and Bucky didn’t know what to do with that, his tone was that of an officer but his soft blue eyes flicked with a plea to be understood. “To keep her -tame. Some sorta sane. She’s like you, she wasn’t meant for this place.”

“Just last week you told me nobody was.” Egan pointed out just to be contrary but he couldn’t help his grin and Buck caught sight of it before he could suppress it, knowing the banter and its innate kinship was back.

“I need you to promise me somethin’.” Gale went on, a nervous hand rubbing at the back of his neck and Bucky perked at the sight of that tick.

“Yeah?”

“I want you to promise to wait a week before you try anythin’.” Gale said, “You said I’d come up with somethin’ and I will, but I need a week Bucky. Give me that, can’t let you leave here without any direction of where to head toward. Wait on that radio, don’t you go off gettin’ yourself shot and Ida, too.”

A week in this place felt like a year, a week with an ever swelling woman felt like an eternity of valuable, crucial time. Bucky ran his bare toes over the splintering wood and tried to focus on the way the wood shards pricked at his frozen toes. “Alright.” he agreed, couldn’t help himself when Buck was looking at him like that and telling him he didn’t want him to die. “Alright.” He repeated more forcefully just to see Gale’s face clear and some old expression of peaceful relief smooth out his worry lines, not as much as Maureen’s tongue could do, Bucky wagered, but it was a little relief of his own he could give. “But you make a poor incentive for obeying you.” he pointed out cheekily, shoving off his wall to advance on Gale and shove a finger in those still full cheeks, “You gonna reward me if I disobey an’climb over on day six?”

Gale rolled his eyes, an expression all too pretty with his cheek distorted by Egan’s rough fingers, his eyes wary and loving all at once, Bucky had missed that look, it was coy as hell and one of his favorites on his friend. “Don’t count on it.”

💋 Hope you enjoyed! Feedback is a writer’s lifeblood, please feel free to scream in comments or the inbox, I love it and wanna hear it all. Trust me, nothing is “too dumb”. Your thoughts mean the world to me.

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n1angi · 3 months ago

Text

Shrouded in Darkness

CHAPTER 5 : RISOTTO MILANESE

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Will Graham x AFAB character x Hannibal Lecter (Polyamory)

Summary:

In the heart of Baltimore, forensic analyst Sidonie Renard navigates the shadows of crime scenes, concealing her loneliness behind a composed facade. Drawn into a web of intrigue, she captures the attention of profiler Will Graham and the enigmatic Hannibal Lecter.

Word count: 4,5k

Chapter Warning: Murder, Blood, Gore.

The morning air was crisp, with a faint chill in Sidonie’s home, a reminder that winter was fast approaching.

The sun was just beginning to rise, casting a dim light through her apartment, with only the glow from the front door offering any brightness.

She picked up the leather bag she had packed the night before, hearing a soft whimper from her dog. Smiling, she crouched down to give Lucy a gentle pet.

“I’ll be back soon, I promise,” she murmured.

Lucy licked her face, and Sidonie let out a small chuckle. After leaving the house, she locked the door behind her and glanced at the two cars waiting outside. Noticing Jack stepping out of his car, she sighed and began walking toward him.

Today, Sidonie was meeting Abigail Hobbs, and the thought made her sigh. Although she was irritated at Jack for assigning her to a task outside her usual duties, her curiosity ran deeper.

There had to be some connection between Copycat and G.J. Hobbs. Why else would the copycat contact G.J. Hobbs if they weren’t somehow linked? Even if Hobbs didn’t know the copycat personally, the killer had to have some knowledge of him to mimic his actions so closely.

Will Graham had mentioned earlier that the copycat case wouldn’t resurface, but Sidonie had a nagging feeling, almost instinctual, that he would.

Whether Abigail could help with the case or not remained to be seen, but it was worth a shot.

“You’ll be in the second car,” Jack told her.

“Good morning to you too, Jack,” Sidonie replied as she walked past him, heading toward the car behind his.

She glanced at the sleek, expensive vehicle and noticed Hannibal in the driver’s seat with Will in the passenger seat. She gave them a nod before opening the back door.

Her eyes fell on a slender young girl with wide, steel-blue eyes that held a mix of confusion and slight tension. Abigail’s pale, almost ghostly skin made her seem even more fragile.

She leaned away slightly to make room for Sidonie.

Sidonie settled in, placing her bag between herself and Abigail, and greeted her coworkers.

“Good morning to you too, Miss Renard. Did you get any rest?” Hannibal asked with a slight smile as he started the engine, following Jack’s car.

“More or less. Thank you for asking,” she replied, noticing Will slouched in his seat, rubbing his eyes. Now, he didn’t seem to have gotten any rest.

Sidonie turns her attention to Abigail, who looks at her anxiously. Offering a gentle smile, she extends her hand.

“Sidonie Renard. I’m a forensic analyst. It’s nice to meet you, Abigail.”

Abigail hesitantly shakes her hand, glancing between Sidonie and the others.

“I thought analysts were supposed to focus on evidence,” Abigail remarks.

“Umm, Yeah, that’s true. But sometimes understanding the bigger picture helps uncover details. Being present gives me a better sense of the situation, so that’s why I’ll be accompanying you on this trip.”

“Then I’m guessing you’ll be around quite often,”

Sidonie offers a subtle smile as Abigail continues to stare at her. She notes how expressive the young girl’s face is as if her emotions are laid bare for anyone to see.

“That’s right.”

Abigail smiles, but it’s clear that it’s forced, born out of discomfort.

Hannibal glances in the rearview mirror, observing them.

“How are you finding the weather, Abigail? I’ve heard it can be quite a change from what you are used to.”

Will subtly raises an eyebrow at Hannibal's question. Was he really starting a conversation with the weather?

“Winter is milder here than back at home… but I’m adjusting.”

“It’s often the small adjustments that are the most challenging, but they can also be the most rewarding,” Hannibal informs. “This trip can be considered as one of those occasions.”

“I just hope… it brings a bit of peace,” Abigail says softly, her voice almost a whisper.

She lowers her eyes, watching her fingers as they fidget. Her shoulders slump slightly.

“It’s not easy to keep hope alive… especially when everything feels uncertain.” Will murmurs, his voice raspy, betraying his fatigue.

“Will is right,” Hannibal adds. “Hope is a powerful ally, Abigail. You are brave for facing what lies ahead, even when the path is unclear.”

“…I’m- I’m just…Everything feels so heavy sometimes.” Abigail admits, swallowing hard. “Hope feels more like a dream than something real.”

Sidonie watches Abigail closely, placing her hand between them and subtly shifting her shoulders.

“You don’t have to force yourself to move forward if you’re not ready. The burden you’re carrying isn’t light. Sometimes… just staying where you are is enough.”

Abigail looks up at her, then down again with a small shrug.

“Yeah… maybe you are right.”

The car falls silent for a moment. Sidonie clears her throat and reaches into her handbag.

“I didn’t have time to eat anything so…”

She pulls out a chocolate bar.

“I brought some chocolate. Would you like some?”

Abigail nods and smiles shyly.

“Do you prefer dark chocolate or something sweeter?”

“I thought only old people liked dark chocolate,” Abigail mumbles.

Sidonie raises an eyebrow playfully.

“Thanks for calling me old”

Abigail gives a faint chuckle.

Will listens, feeling a small swell of emotion as he hears Abigail’s chuckle.

He hadn’t been sure if he could reach that part of her, get her to open up. The moments they shared were subtle, but he hoped that she would get to be happy one day. He genuinely wanted her to have a normal life.

“Mr. Graham,”

He glances at Sidonie, holding out a chocolate bar. He nods grabbing the bar from her hand, mumbling small thanks.

He breaks off a section and glances at Hannibal.

“I’ll decline, as I’m driving,”

Will shrugs and pops a piece of chocolate into his mouth.

“Suit yourself.”

As the group arrives at the airport, the terminals are bustling with travelers and the clatter of rolling luggage. They make their way through the crowd, following signs to their gate. After a swift check-in and security process, they board the plane.

Inside the aircraft, the cabin features muted colors and soft, overhead lighting. Will settles into his window seat and pulls down the shade to block the rising sun. Abigail takes the middle seat, looking weary, and soon drifts off to sleep. Sidonie sits beside her.

In the row ahead, Hannibal, Alana, and Jack find their seats together, exchanging quiet words as they get settled. Hannibal’s gaze occasionally drifts back, observing the surroundings, while Alana and Jack engage in a low-key conversation. The plane begins to taxi, and the engine noise grows louder as they prepare for takeoff.

As the plane ascends, the cabin settles into a gentle rhythm of vibrations and occasional turbulence. Sidonie’s eyes are fixed on the pages of her book, turning them with practiced ease. Meanwhile, Will struggles to find a comfortable position.

After a few unsuccessful attempts to fall asleep, he glances over at Sidonie, noticing the cover of her book. It’s “The Bell Jar” by Sylvia Plath.

“Quite a heavy read for a flight”

“It’s been on my list for a while.”

He raises an eyebrow.

“Interesting choice for this setting.”

“How so?”

“I am guessing you’re not near finishing it,” he looks over the page. “Yeah, not even close.”

Sidonie raises a brow at him.

“No spoilers please.”

He chuckles faintly.

“Such a book is impossible to spoil.”

Her attention turns back to the pages.

“I assume you read often.”

“I wouldn’t say that…”

“That’s what every bookworm says.”

Will shakes his head.

“Perhaps you got me.”

Sidonie smiles faintly.

“Do you read?”

“In my free time.”

“Do you have a favorite?”

“Crime and Punishment, by Dostoyevsky.”

Will nods.

“Classic.”

“You?”

“Frankenstein, Mary Shelley”

Sidonie hums thoughtfully.

“Huh, an Interesting choice.”

Will tilts his head, waiting for her to elaborate.

She places her book on a lap, her hands still holding it.

“Well, if you put it in a certain perspective, both of the characters deal with the consequences of their actions and look into darker aspects of themselves in their way.” she explains “Raskolnikov's surroundings had a profound impact on his actions, while Frankenstein's choices were more a product of his unbridled ambition and intellectual hubris. It’s interesting how both of them are driven to confront their inner demons, despite the different forces pushing them.”

“Huh…That’s a good way of putting it.” Will nods. He hadn’t thought of it that way but found the comparison intriguing. He realizes this is the longest conversation they've had since she arrived almost two weeks ago.

However, his lack of initiative and the irritation that came with Jack’s persistence were the biggest reasons for it. Will leans into his seat.

“Mhh, you have a talent for… connecting dots, even when they seem unrelated.”

Sidonie blinks, realizing she has rambled a bit.

She had felt and knew that Will didn’t think much of her. Perhaps even to say he was not particularly fond of her. But just now, she could tell his tone was slightly warmer and lighter. Even inviting.

“You’ve just described the reason why I’m here.”

“It can be your cognitive capabilities, and… some might consider a personality trait.”

“How so?” She looks at him.

“Well, um, It could mean you're constantly on edge, wary of revealing too much about yourself.” Will says slowly “As if you're constantly guarding yourself.” He pauses as she arches her brow. “Or perhaps you have a deep need to make sense of things, to feel a sense of security.”

"Looks like Dr. Freud is back from the dead.”

Will rolls his eyes, faintly smiling at her sarcastic remark.

“And here comes the humor, a classic defense mechanism,” Will adds in.

“And I’m the one overanalyzing now mh?”

“Touché.”

Abigail shifts slightly in her sleep, her head resting against Sidonie’s shoulder. She murmurs in her sleep, barely coherent.

Sidonie freezes momentarily but then adjusts so Abigail’s head is comfortably supported. Abigail’s face relaxes, showing a hint of relief.

Will watches the scene quietly. The interaction is subtle but undeniably comforting.

Sidonie notices Will’s softened expression.

“Let’s try not to wake her... She has a lot to face today.”

Sidonie tells him as he agrees with a nod.

As she goes back to her book, Will, unable to fall asleep, finds his mind preoccupied with other thoughts, looking forward to returning home.

Two rented cars pulled up at the airport, everyone loading their luggage and heading to their destinations.

The morning sun was dim but bright enough to cast a warm light on the car. The weather was nicer than in Washington, with a chilly breeze rustling the leaves on the ground. Minnesota was greener than Sidonie had anticipated.

The drive was quiet. Will, who had struggled to sleep on the plane, finally managed to doze off with his head resting against the window. Hannibal was driving, looking well-rested, while Sidonie assumed he must have slept during the flight.

In the other car, Abigail sat with Alana and Jack.

Hannibal glanced at Sidonie in the rearview mirror. She had her head propped up with one hand, her eyelids heavy as she looked out the window. The dim sunlight touched her face.

“I can wake you when we arrive, Miss Renard,” Hannibal offered softly.

Sidonie turned towards him, her gaze lazy.

“It’s okay. I prefer to sleep in a bed.”

Hannibal nodded and returned his attention to the road.

He gently pulled up to the motel, as Will had chosen to stay there rather than go into the city.

Sidonie stepped out of the car, and Will looked at her, still half-asleep. He had expected her to stay in the city with the others.

“Hannibal is heading to the city,” Will said, just to let her know.

“I know, but I’d rather get some rest right away,” Sidonie replied.

Will nodded and looked at Hannibal, signaling him to call before picking them up.

They received their keys and went to their rooms on the second floor, two doors apart, and settled in.

Sidonie looked around the room, noting the full-sized bed with white sheets, a small TV in the corner, and a table with two chairs. She drew the curtains and turned on the light. Setting her bag on one of the chairs, she sat on the bed and then lay down, closing her eyes.

The first day of travel had been exhausting, and she needed time to adjust to the new environment. She hoped she could trick herself into sleeping, but after ten minutes of silence and shifting uncomfortably, she gave up.

Getting up, she opened her bag.

Fortunately, she had picked up some food at the airport before their flight. She took out a sandwich and sat down in the wooden chair, leaning back.

As Sidonie unwrapped the sandwich, her mind drifted to a distant memory. She remembered sitting in the kitchen with her mother, a table of similar size between them.

She gripped the steel spoon with the delicate flower carvings. Her gaze fixed on the soup in front of her, which she could distinctly remember the smell of. It was earthy, and fresh, with a hint of onions, garlic, carrots, and celery mingling together. The smell should have felt comforting, but instead, it brought haunting tension to her.

Her eyes slowly drifted to her mum's hands, which were always empty of any jewelry. She could remember the navy dress she wore. She couldn’t quite place if it was old, or if she rarely wore it.

The memory of her face was blurry. All she remembered was her lips; tight and down casted. Her jaw clenched.

Sidonie took a bite of the sandwich but immediately felt her stomach churn.

It tasted acidic.

She spat it out and stood up, grabbing her bag and pulling out a water bottle to drink quickly. Her face showed her distaste.

Had she been given expired food?

Her eyes scanned the package, and the fresh date stared back at her, contradicting the discomfort she just felt.

The sleek, white car pulls into the driveway and Will glances back at Abigail. She looks over at Sidonie, prompting her to open the door. Both step out of the car, with Will and Alana following closely behind.

Abigail's gaze fixes on the large, graffiti-like letters scrawled across the front of her house. The word "CANNIBALS" glares back at her. She stares at it, her brows furrowing, her lip trembling slightly.

Hannibal and Sidonie stand behind her as Abigail slowly moves toward the house. Sidonie takes in the surroundings—a traditional two-story house with a classic suburban look. The muted brown bricks and siding give it a rustic feel, and fallen leaves are scattered across the black, sloping roof.

As Abigail nears the entrance, her eyes fall on a faded, rust-colored stain on the front step.

“Is this where my mum died?”

“Yes.” Will nods.

Her eyes slowly brim with tears.

“I was sort of expecting a body outline in chalk or tape.”

“They only do that if you’re still alive and taken to the hospital before they finish the crime scene.”

He explains as she stays silent for a moment.

“Goodbye, Mom.”

Abigail mumbles softly as she steps into the house. Will lingers outside for a moment, staring into the distance before turning back to glance at everyone else, then heads in.

Sidonie follows, her eyes briefly falling on the faded stain by the entrance. She pauses, staring at it, lost in thought. When she looks up, she catches Hannibal’s gaze. He silently urges her to move along with the others.

They all step into the dimly lit room. Antlers are mounted on the walls, and the interior is dominated by dark wood and deep browns. Sidonie can't help but admit that the decor isn’t to her taste.

Alana stays close to Abigail, while the rest follow behind. Abigail hesitates in the doorway before entering the kitchen. The room has been scrubbed clean, every surface meticulously wiped down by the cleaners. The evidence box sits on the table, waiting for them.

“If you ever want to go, you just have to say so and we will go.”

Alana reminds her.

“Go where? Back to the hospital?”

“For now.”

Abigail notices that all the family pictures, once proudly displayed, have been turned around, their images hidden from view.

“They turned all the pictures over.”

“Crime scene cleaners will do that.”

“They did a really good job.”

She glances at the spotless table and then shifts her gaze to the floor.

“Is that where all my blood was?”

Will nods.

“Yes.”

Abigail faces him.

“You do this all the time? Go places and think about killing?”

Sidonie glances at Abigail and then shifts her eyes to Will.

“Too often.”

“So you pretended to be my dad?”

Will steps forward, moving closer to Abigail.

“And people like your dad.”

“What did that feel like? To be him?”

Hannibal eyes subtly narrow as he observes the exchange between Will and Abigail.

“If feels like… I’m… talking to his shadow suspended on dust.”

“You think you knew him?’

“I tried to know him. I still try.”

“Even after you killed him?”

“Maybe because, I killed him.”

Sidonie crosses her arms, her eyes lowering to the floor.

Abigail nods.

“No wonder you have nightmares.”

“The attacks on you and your mother, they were different. Desperate. Your dad knew he was out of time. Someone told him we were coming.”

Will explains.

“The man on the phone?”

Sidonie’s eyes drift back to Abigail and Will. Hannibal’s gaze follows hers, taking in her reaction.

“It was a blocked call. Did you recognize his voice?”

“I had never heard it before.”

Abigail’s eyes flick briefly toward Hannibal, as Hannibal tilts his head slightly.

“Was there anybody new in your father’s life? Someone you met or someone he talked about.”

Alana asks.

“He may have been contacted by another serial killer, a copycat.”

Will’s voice is gentle as he addresses Abigail, who furrows her brows in visible distress.

“Someone who’s still out there?”

“Yeah.”

Abigail swallows hard, a realization dawning on her that her nightmare is far from over and hope feels increasingly out of reach.

Sidonie walked through the hall and entered the room bathed in soft cream pastel hues.

This was Abigail's room. Her gaze swept over the full-sized bed with dark blue sheets adorned with white flowers, flanked by wooden nightstands. One of them held a white lamp and a photo of Abigail with a friend.

Approaching the desk on the right, Sidonie noted its neat arrangement of books. Above it, posters of horses, bands, and pictures from trips decorated the wall. Two small shelves displayed a few trophies, all earned from horse riding.

The room had a peculiar, somewhat unsettling scent.

As Sidonie examined the trophies, Abigail entered. Her eyes took in the sight of the woman In front of her.

Although Sidonie’s strong, distinctive features and deep, articulate voice were intimidating, just now there was a softness in her demeanor, which contrasted with her usual presence.

“Do you like horseriding?”

Sidonie shakes her head.

“Never tried it before.”

“But do you want to?”

Abigail asks her, and Sidonie glances over with a gentle smile.

“Now that I remember it, I would love to try.”

“I used to be afraid of the horses when I was small. They used so huge in my eyes.” Abigail shares “But after my dad forced me to start horse riding… I grew to love them.”

Sidonie gazes at her for a moment, lost in thought.

G.J. Hobbs had appeared to be a loving father, and despite everything that had happened, Abigail still seemed to love and miss him.

She wondered if it was truly possible to love a parent who had caused so much harm.

“I see.”

“They are suspecting me, aren’t they?”

Abigail suddenly asks, her voice barely above a whisper.

“It’s natural that they do,” Sidonie reassures her.

“Yeah…Why else would they send you here.”

“I’m not qualified for what they asked me to do. The only reason why I agreed, is for personal interest.”

“Personal interest?”

“Copycat killer.”

Abigail nods slowly, her gaze drifting away.

“I see… um, how does he kill?”

“He displays them theatrically. Like pigs. Leaves no evidence. Quite the character, I would say.”

“And you work on evidence.”

Sidonie nods in agreement.

Abigail crosses her arms and swallows, her expression tense.

“Is he… going to come after me?”

“There is a high probability that he might.”

Abigail nods her mind elsewhere.

Sidonie tilts her head slightly, observing her.

“Do you remember anything about him? The tone of his voice? Anything can help Abigail.” She gets closer to her “If we catch him, you will be safe.”

“Why do they suspect me?”

Abigail shifts the topic, drawing Sidonie's attention for a moment.

Alana had noted that Abigail seemed adept at gathering information while holding back her own—a subtle form of manipulation. Yet, Sidonie knew there was nothing to hide about their suspicions of Abigail. The girl was sharp enough to understand that much on her own.

“They’re struggling to understand how your father could have lured the girls.”

“I wouldn’t… I didn’t do anything.”

“The evidence doesn’t point to you. It’s just a theory.” Sidonie pauses. “But… it’s more likely that a copycat might be targeting you.”

Abigail’s gaze locks onto Sidonie’s, a flicker of terror in her steel blue eyes contrasting sharply with her calm olive green ones.

“If you remember anything, even just a small detail, it could help us solve the case. You’re under FBI protection, but that might not last forever. So if something comes back to you, you need to let me know.”

“He… He might have had an accent.”

Abigail mumbles.

Sidonie’s eyes widen slightly.

“An accent is a good detail. Can you remember anything else about it? Maybe where it was from or what it sounded like?”

“I’m not sure...”

A knock on the door interrupts them. Hannibal stands there, watching them.

Sidonie looks up, and Abigail, startled, glances at him.

“Dr.Bloom asked us to stick together,” Hannibal says, addressing Sidonie.

“Alright, let’s go downstairs.”

Abigail nods and moves past him, avoiding eye contact. Sidonie offers Hannibal a polite smile.

As they walk away, the wood creaks slightly under their steps. Hannibal’s gaze lingers on Sidonie’s back. His eyes darkened.

She was proving to be a complication.

Sidonie, along with the others, carefully unpacks the evidence box in the room.

“Can you catch somebody’s crazy?”

Abigail looked at the item in her hand.

“Folie a deux.”

Alana replies softly.

“What?”

“A French psychiatric term. ‘Madness shared by two.’”

“One can not be delusional if the belief in question is accepted as ordinary by others in that person’s culture or subculture. Or family.”

Hannibal adds as he sets another box down.

“My dad didn’t seem delusional. He was a perfectionist. After he skinned a deer, he would pluck the loose hair. Most people use a torch. Dad would remove all the hair by hand. He wanted to make sure he got every one of them.”

“Your dad left almost no evidence.”

Will said.

“You let me come home to find the evidence.”

“It was one of many considerations.”

Hannibal informs her.

“Are we going to re-enact the crime?”

Abigail as she looks at Will and Alana.

“You be my dad. You be my mom.”

She looks at Sidonie.

“You can be Agent Graham”

Then she looks at Hannibal

“And you be the man on the phone.”

Uncharacteristically, Hannibal is caught off guard by that. More so by Abigail’s steely nonchalant stare that followed.

Hannibal looks away as Alana's voice softens.

“We wanted you to come home to help you leave home behind.”

“You’re not going to find any of those girls, you know.”

“Why so?”

“Because he’d honor every part of them. Made plumbers putty out of elk bones. At least that’s what he told us. Whatever bones were left of those girls is probably holding pipes together.”

“Where did he make this putty?”

Hannibal asks.

“At the cabin. I can show you.”

“Abigail... there’s someone here.”

Everyone turns to see a girl with dark hair and a dark red leather jacket. She looks to be about the same age as Abigail.

“Hey, Abigail.”

“Hey, Marrisa.”

Marissa and Abigail head outside, with the adults deciding to give them some space. Will and Alana follow, standing at a distance to monitor the situation.

Inside, Hannibal and Sidonie go through the evidence box.

Hannibal’s gaze shifts to Sidonie as she fixates on a package containing a golden wedding ring. Her eyes locked on the ring, that had a slight stain of the blood.

Hannibal notices her intense focus, a subtle curiosity evident in his expression.

“You seem lost in thought Miss Renard.”

She puts it back down.

“Just thinking about the case.”

“I believe there should be more reasons for your agreement to accompany this case.”

Sidonie glances at him, her frows furrowing subtly.

“Perhaps, it is something personal,” Hannibal adds in.

“And what gives you that impression?”

“Everyone has a reason for doing what they do. Even being here has a purpose for each of us. For Abigail, it’s a hope. Leaving her old life, to start anew.”

He watches her intently. She meets his gaze, her eyes briefly meeting his with a hint of curiosity. Raising her brows and sighing, she shifts her focus back to the evidence.

“I’m here because of the copycat killer. I’m curious of him.”

“Curiosity takes us to many places, but it always circles back to our mind. The real intrigue lies in the canvas itself, not just the strokes on its surface.”

She furrows her brows slightly, her gaze moving from his hands to his face.

As he examines the evidence with a calm demeanor, Sidonie feels an unsettling chill, as if something unseen is creeping up behind her. His calmness contrasts with the intensity of his scrutiny making him seem almost omniscient, adding to her discomfort.

“I suppose we all have our reasons for being drawn to certain things. If there’s something more personal, It’s my matter to handle. Not anyone else's.”

A faint smile tugs at the corners of his lips.

“Ah, a well-defended boundary. It seems that you have mastered the art of self-preservation Miss Renard.” He pauses “While such skill is admirable, it often leads to a certain solitude.”

Sidonie hesitates, the urge to deny the truth rising within her, but she can't escape the reality his words hold.

The loneliness she feels is palpable, shaped by her nature and circumstances. It leaves her with a sense of vulnerability as if she’s suddenly been laid bare.

“Perhaps there is some truth to that. Being alone is something I’ve grown accustomed to, but that’s what I chose, and manage just fine.”

She looks him in the eyes.

“But I can say for certain that catching this copycat killer will personally satisfy me. Knowing I’ve apprehended him will simply boost my ego and credibility.”

Hannibal’s eyes darken slightly, sensing the hint of need in her voice, almost a desire.

He smiles subtly, feeling a twinge of excitement.

A subtle yells come out of the yard as they look away.

A distant shout breaks the moment—Marrissa and Abigail are outside, calling someone out.

They look away, drawn back to the present, as the moment slips away and reality reasserts itself.

#nbc hannibal #hannibal #hannibal x oc #hannibal x reader #hannibal lecter x oc #hannibal lecter x reader #hannibal x will #hannibal lecter x will graham #Will x reader #will x oc #will graham x reader x hannibal lecter #will graham x oc x hannibal lecter #will graham x reader #will graham x hannibal lecter #will graham x oc #nbc hannibal fanfiction #polyamory #romance #slow burn

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sugar-grigri · 1 year ago

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How to carry out a successful attack?

I'm going to give a quick review, as this is a transitional chapter intended to lead into the action of the next chapter, but it's still packed with juicy information.

The first few pages give quite a lot of information about the weapons…

Their relationship with death is interesting: one sees it as a divine consecration, the other finds it not bad, and Miri is the only one to face up to his own condition in this respect.

Not being afraid of death means not having too much trouble giving it…

Miri convinces himself it's a heavenly intervention, not because he finds the idea of being superhuman interesting, but because it relieves him of responsibility for the massacre he's about to commit.

For this massacre was inevitably destined to be extremely cruel, amputating people and leaving them screaming in agony to attract Chainsaw Man.

Miri convinces himself to stare at the clock and not look down at the child crying in front of him.

As for the weapons of the whip and spear, they pay no attention to their surroundings, one hiding behind her sunglasses, the other focusing on his cigarette.

This case shows the paradox surrounding Miri: as I've already detailed, he's not at all free, he's self-convincing in a kind of denial, but he's well and truly instrumentalized by the church.

He has no desire to spread suffering, yet he carries out the order assigned to him.

Non-observance of his environment is what made them lose in reality, believing that their intervention was celestial indicates that they were no longer paying attention to the concrete, loving to verge on overpowering and despising humans to the point of deciding what will make them suffer the most.

Quanxi used the opposite strategy: like a predator carefully examining her prey, she didn't put herself forward and focused on her mission. (Yes, if Quanxi imitates the feline by growling, it's not just to make lesbians scream, although it does have its effect…)

If she waited 5:00PM piles, it's because the public hunters wanted to make it look as if the attack had indeed been carried out by the church, in order to disengage public opinion and support them.

The paradox here is that Quanxi has indeed neutralized the threat, having killed the 3 weapons, even though a unit of hunters will be dispatched.

The 3 weapons were associated with specific demons: whip, spear and sword, none of which could produce the sound of gunfire.

My hypothesis is that the unit sent in simulated the attack by firing into the void to provoke general panic.

It's for this reason that the newspaper doesn't know the number of victims, and we also see a lot of hesitation on the part of the presenter: he only has one source of information (the State), and it's deliberately fragmentary.

We also see information on the workings of the church: the real leaders of the church are the ones who centralize information, while Haruka is just an empty shell (as we suspected) who is only there to recruit young people.

The attack wasn't even communicated to the guru, nor to this man who knows all about weapons. What's more, he uses the ambiguous term "weapons", but does he know what they actually are ?

Fujimoto is looking to develop the relationship between Asa and Denji, so what better way than to set up a rival - a rival who alone would be up to the task of countering Quanxi's power?

Ladies and gentlemen, nb hoes… her return has been announced…

#csm spoilers #csm 143 #chainsaw man #csm #csm part 2 #sugo miri #quanxi #my thoughts

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koshkamartell · 1 year ago

Text

No One But Me

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chapter warnings: alcohol consumption, mention of PTSD, degradation, noncon piv, assault, possessive!Joel, manipulative!Joel.

When Joel saw you sitting with Oscar in the cafeteria at lunch time he couldn't automatically decipher just what was happening before his eyes. In the time Joel had known you, you never socialised so openly with men, and certainly not with any men like Oscar. To witness you sitting and eating lunch with an older patrolman - one of his colleagues, no less - had bewildered Joel. It took a few seconds for the shock to dissipate.

Then the heat of anger ignited in his stomach and instantly engulfed his whole being. It travelled up his spine and licked at his neck, causing his skin to prickle in agitation. It surged through his arms and into his fists. It took a great deal of restraint for Joel not to stride over to the table and punch Oscar in the face, then drag you out of the place by your hair.

He knew you wanted more from him. Things he just wasn't capable of giving you. Joel figured your little tantrum would pass - you'd realised how dramatic and ridiculous you were being and nestle right back underneath him, where you belonged. But this was completely unexpected. Joel had never really believed you would have the confidence or desire to actually leave him, or find someone else.

Joel was good at hiding his feelings. He had been practicing it for many years now. His patrol partner had no inkling of the storm raging inside Joel when he said he'd wait outside. No one could've guessed. Except perhaps you.

You'd known Joel well enough by now to know when he was displeased. You also knew that your actions would have consequences. But your audacity was what shocked and angered him right now. What the fuck did you think you were doing? How dare you sit with a man in public like that, let alone someone older than you? And another fucking patrolman, at that.

When he walked outside and eventually regulated his breathing, when he successfully constrained the rage threatening to spill from his mouth and hands, and he could think clearly once again, he knew what he needed to do. You just needed a little punishment, some kind of reminder of who you belonged to. Who owned you.

••••••

After lunch you and Oscar returned to the library and resumed working on your individual tasks, although the fullness in your belly had dulled your productivity and gusto. Oscar continued to paint the wall beside the front door, humming quietly to himself whenever conversation between you lulled. There were gaps of comfortable silence as you both worked, neither of you finding it necessary to fill the quiet, instead just basking in the peaceful afternoon of the library.

You tried not to let your mind wander back to Joel and the way he looked at you and Oscar. You could never be completely sure of exactly what he was thinking or feeling, although it was safe to say he was not pleased. Not pleased at all.

But that shouldn't matter, you told yourself, we aren't together. I shouldn't care what he thinks.

Anyway, Joel was on the late patrol today so he would just have to deal with it. For now.

It was just after 3.30pm when you finished the last of the cataloguing and shelving. You leaned against a book shelf and tried to stifle a yawn unsuccessfully. You heard Oscar chuckle.

You looked over to see him watching you from his position by the wall, his hands on his hips. He had taken off his sweater and was now wearing a crumpled grey tshirt with daubs of paint here and there. You could see the curve of his biceps peeking out from under the sleeves of his shirt, displaying his smooth olive skin.

"Bit sleepy over there?" He grinned.

You smiled bashfully and just nodded, then stretched your arms out to your sides and sighed wearily. Oscar turned back to the wall and looked it up and down.

"Well, I think that's enough for today. Gotta let these walls dry."

He packed up the tin of paint and went to the small sink in the storeroom to wash the paintbrush. You walked over to the freshly painted walls by the counter and appraised Oscar's work. He had done very well considering he had no paint roller and only a simple large wooden handled paint brush. Such a task required quite a bit of patience and dedication, you mused.

"What do ya think?" Oscar asked when he reappeared from the storeroom, wiping his hands clean with a rag.

"It looks great," you said with sincerity. "It already makes the library look so much brighter."

Oscar tossed the rag onto the counter and came to stand beside you. He was so close you could smell the natural scent of his skin intermingled with his sweat and a faint hint of something you thought was like cinnamon.

"Mm," he murmured softly, his eyes wandering over the expanse of the wall. "It does. You don't think the colour is too much, do you?"

You studied his face for a brief moment, taking in his features; the prominent shape of his nose, the distinct thickness of his eyebrows, the pensive downturn of his lips. He was so unassumingly beautiful. The sober expression of his face coupled with the tone of genuine concern in his voice was quite endearing.

"I think Light Summer Blue is perfect," you replied with a playful little smile.

Oscar glanced at you and huffed a breathless chuckle of mirth. You and Oscar surveyed his handiwork for a few more moments before he gave a soft sigh.

"Ready to call it a day?" He asked gently.

"Yep," you replied quietly.

Oscar gestured to the front door with his hand and you both ambled toward it. There was a palpable shift of energy in the air now, a reserved shyness between you two, as if you both wanted to linger yet neither knew what to say. Neither of you spoke as you and Oscar stepped outside, or as he shut the door closed behind him and locked it with the key. He pocketed the key, turned to face you, and then cleared his throat.

"Thank you." Oscar said quietly. His eyes wandered from the ground up to your face. "For today. For being such good company, I mean. I haven't...I hope you had a good day."

"I did," you replied truthfully. "Thank you, Oscar. I'm glad we could work together."

Oscar gave you a small smile and you were sure you could detect a slight glimmer of hope in his expression. It was a kind of yearning you were sure mirrored the one you kept locked in your own heart - a desire for friendship, for understanding and companionship, for affection.

When you said farewell for the day and parted ways, turning to walk in the opposite directions of your homes, you wondered what was going through Oscar's mind at that moment.

••••••

From the beginning of the end of the world, after Sarah had died, Joel was a broken man. The agony of losing his only child, the only shining light of happiness in his life, had planted a seed of hate inside his soul that rooted itself and festered. The sorrow never eased, not even with time to dull the sharpness of memories. Instead, the deeply entrenched hatred spurred him to tear things and people apart, to destroy them. He wanted everyone left in this fucked up world to hurt just as he did - irrevocably. Simply, Joel lost his sense of humanity.

Joel's POV

He survived through the years by using brutality and violence, carving out a widespread infamy as a raider that incited fear in the neighbouring settlements and QZs. Joel repressed any emotion he felt would make him weak or unfocused. He abused pills and alcohol to quell the nightmares of Sarah and help numb himself from the hellish reality of surviving the end of the world.

Ellie had been the only person to penetrate Joel's exterior and piece back together some of the shattered remains of his heart. She had been the only person Joel showed any kind of vulnerability to and the depth of his love for her was immeasurable. It was partly this relationship that had convinced the townsfolk of Jackson that they could accept and trust Joel. The fact that he was a caring and attentive father to Ellie, in addition to Tommy Miller's older brother, made his entry into Jackson relatively smooth.

Joel was not a good man. He knew that. He never pretended to be anything otherwise, but he did keep his true nature just barely hidden under a facade; one that allowed him to assimilate without being asked too many questions. In a very short time he had proved himself as a valuable asset with his intellect and exemplary hunting and survival skills. He quickly became one of the lead patrolmen, alongside Tommy and two other men.

The boys and men in the town aspired to be like Joel and he effortlessly commanded respect from them. Tommy had begged him to accept the role as a sort of teacher to the younger men and boys, which Joel agreed to after much grumbling and complaining. He taught them self defence tactics, helped them perfect their shooting skills, and trained them how to properly skin a deer.

The women admired Joel's good looks and the doting father role he played to Ellie. When he first came to Jackson some of the women asked Tommy and Maria to play matchmaker and set them up on dates with Joel, but he wasn't interested. Some of them still flirted with him unashamedly, despite his lack of interest or reciprocation. He was never rude to any of them though, always the polite Southern gentleman who just didn't talk much or socialise with anyone (except occasionally his patrol buddies). Tommy would just shrug his shoulders in bewilderment.

Joel could admit to himself that there were several attractive women in the town, some pretty faces who would giggle and wave to him across the bar, some shapely bodies that sashayed around the town centre begging for the attention of a rugged macho patrolman. However, none of them sparked anything more than a sexual desire in him, a need that he could easily fulfill by jerking himself off in the privacy of his own home.

At the QZ Joel had semi frequent encounters with sex workers. Most of them were desperate women addicted to the pills he smuggled, something he used to his advantage. He enjoyed seeing them fall on their knees begging for a fix in exchange for a blowjob or a fuck. The power and control he yielded over them was thrilling to Joel. He did not mistreat the women but he felt nothing for them, only viewing them as warm holes he could fuck his frustrations into.

He still retained this mentality towards women to some degree when he arrived in Jackson. He had given up on the idea of having a woman in his life, even just as a sexual partner.

Until he met you.

The first time he saw you, he and Ellie had only arrived in Jackson two days prior. He was standing with Tommy, Maria and Ellie in the main street near the cafeteria, only half listening to them discuss the layout of the town and the movie screening that night in the town hall.

You were walking down the street with one of your girlfriends, chatting and laughing with a carefree kind of joy that Joel had thought no longer existed in this world. You wore a yellow sundress and a matching ribbon in your hair, a baby blue cardigan pulled modestly around your chest. Your smile was so beautiful, so pure. When he saw your face he felt his breath catch in his throat and the coil of primal hunger twist in his stomach. It hit him like a thunderbolt. Joel was so caught off guard by his own reaction that he froze in place and continued to stare at you as you passed by.

You had glimpsed at him as you and your girlfriend pranced past, and locked eyes on his briefly. He knew you felt something too when your cheeks blushed pink immediately and you lowered your gaze bashfully, that smile never leaving your face. Joel felt his dick hardened in his jeans as he watched the swell of your ass and the curve of your hips while you walked away.

Joel was thankful that Ellie and Maria were too preoccupied with their conversation and had not noticed the interaction between you two. But when he finally tore his eyes away from you Tommy was already watching him, his expression unreadable.

In the following months he spied you around town when he was out with Ellie or Tommy. You were either alone or with your girlfriends, never with any boys (an observation that satisfied him greatly). He noted how well liked you were by others, particularly the children and elderly ladies. He collected bits and pieces of information about you from Ellie and conversations he overheard on patrol and at the Tipsy Bison or the mess hall. You were not outspoken or loud like some of your friends, you helped out at the school as a teacher's assistant, you had no family with you in Jackson.

He never allowed himself to really analyse just why he was so attracted to you. You were pretty, that's for sure. But there was a vulnerable sweetness about you that he found tantalising, a softness that made him want to consume you while and break you down until you were nothing. Nothing without him to rebuild you, to take you in his hands, so pliant and docile, and mould you however he wished.

But Joel had no reason to approach you or talk to you. You were so much younger than he, after all. So for the next four years he repressed his hunger for you, the quiet but obsessive infatuation he felt. Until one day Ellie came bounding over to him, a grin plastered on her face. She was so excited to tell him about a comic she scored from the teacher at the school. When she said your name his heart skipped a beat, but he kept his face as impassive as ever. Ellie wanted to introduce you to Joel, and although he protested, she managed to drag him to the school to formally meet you.

Ellie was enthralled by your knowledge of books and comics, and your passion for baking and the random bits of animals facts you'd accumulated over the years. She quickly developed an affection for you, Joel suspecting she viewed you as a sort of surrogate older sister.

You were so shy you could hardly make eye contact with him when you talked. His cock twitched in his pants when you said his name for the first time. Joel was never a big talker and inwardly he was so nervous to finally be in your presence, but he attempted conversation with you for Ellie's sake.

After that initial meeting you began to visit their home occasionally, always with one of your home made cakes or biscuits or banana bread. You were so generous and sweet and fucking domesticated, already a little housewife in the making. It was so fucking difficult for Joel to remain calm and casual during these visits. If not for Ellie's presence, Joel probably would have held you down on the floor and fucked the shit out of you the very first time you showed up on his doorstep. But instead he repressed his true desires under a pretence of polite detachment whenever he saw you, offering a gruff greeting and a few words of conversation while covertly undressing you with his eyes.

After only a handful of these encounters Joel could discern that you had developed feelings for him. He noticed the lingering glances you would give when you thought he wasn't looking, how you'd blush whenever your eyes met his for more than a second, the way you'd stare at his hands as if mesmerised. Joel managed to control his urges for three months after that first meeting.

Then one evening you stopped by when Ellie was out, a basket of muffins on your hip, your dress clinging to your body from the sticky summer humidity, a hopeful and hungry look in your eyes. Joel had seduced you in his kitchen that night, and ever since you had both been addicted to each other.

It all started out as passionate but soft. You were both insatiable but Joel needed to be somewhat gentle, atleast in the beginning. He had to be charming enough that you'd fall for him and become too invested in whatever it was you shared together to leave. The mere thought of him losing you made his pulse quicken and his head buzz with panic. But he couldn't let you know. Admitting feelings for you would be acknowledging he was capable of emotions, and therefore of weakness. It would also be tempting fate - surely something would go wrong, like you dying somehow.

Little by little, Joel sunk his teeth deeper into your flesh and tightened his hold on your heart. He would make excuses as to why he wasn't ready to make your relationship public, relishing the crestfallen expression on your face before fucking you senseless. Joel would placate you with a mind blowing orgasm and then you wouldn't mind so much that your heart was slowly being chipped away. It worked. Until recently.

Joel knew your body so well. How you would feel so eager and needy and overcome with yearning to be full of him. Joel himself was so intoxicated by your own body and the control you allowed him that he was often overzealous in his actions. He would be so consumed by lust and the need to dominate you that the movement of his hips quickly became punishing, and the grip of his large hands became rougher and more careless. He pushed through your boundaries with no remorse or care for your comfort. He forced you to forfeit your autonomy again and again. But it didn't matter. He always made you come, always assuaged the hurt with intense pleasure. The exchange of pleasure and pain was what you craved; you would have let him do just about anything to you.

The thought of you allowing anyone else that privilege made him feel demented with jealousy and rage. He shook his head, clearing away the thought. You just needed a reminder, that's all.

••••••

After having dinner at Kate's house and spending some time with her and her brother, you went home to do some reading and get a good night's sleep. You had a shower and got dressed into a sweater and a skimpy pair of sleep shorts. You walked into your room and were about to slip under your blanket when you heard a creaking sound behind you.

When you turned around you were shocked to find Joel standing at your bedroom door.

"Joel," you squeaked in surprise. "What are you doing here?"

The glow from your bedside lamp highlighted his hawkish scowl amongst the shadows of the room. He advanced toward you with slow deliberate strides, his eyes piercing into you with a dark intensity that caused your stomach to flutter with dread. You shuffled backwards blindly, unable to tear your eyes away from him. His hands were clenched by his sides and his broad chest expanded with each deep breath he took.

"Why aren't you on patrol?" You asked in a small, shaky voice.

Joel scoffed and shook his head. "You expectin' someone else?"

"No," you mumbled breathlessly.

You retreated back until your legs hit your bedframe and you plopped down on the mattress. You suddenly felt very small and naked in your skimpy pyjama bottoms and your legs bare. You shrunk away from his intimidating figure and scrambled against the wall that your bed rested against.

"What the fuck were you doin' with Estrada?" Joel growled. You knew who he meant.

You pursed your lips in fearful silence as your wide eyes stared up at him. When you didn't respond, Joel's large hand shot out and grabbed onto one of your ankles and roughly dragged you across the bed towards him. You gasped.

"Answer me when I ask you a goddamn question!" Joel barked loudly.

He leaned down and grasped a handful of your hair close to your scalp and used his grip to pull you up on your knees. You winced at the searing pain, your own hand reaching up to futilely try wrench his grip away, tears pricking your eyes. He glared at you now kneeling on the bed before him, not a trance of mercy on his face.

"He...we-we work together," you whined, "we just got lunch on our b-break."

Joel's eyebrows knitted together in a confused frown. "Workin' together?" He spat. "At the school?"

You didn't want to tell Joel about your new work assignment. You didn't want him to know any details about what you were up to or any changes in your life. But his imposing stance above you and the menacing glint in his eyes were terrifying enough to compel you to surrender to him.

"Nuh. At the library."

Joel was silent for a few seconds as the information sunk in. Then his lips curled into a snarl.

"Alone?" He gave your head a rough shake. "You alone with him in that fuckin' library?"

A small, strangled sob escaped your throat and you stared at him, the tears now falling from your eyes. "Joel, please, you're hurting m-me," you whimpered pathetically.

"Why the fuck you workin' there with him?" Joel growled, ignoring your plea. His other hand landed a sharp slap across your face, making you cry out. "He your new daddy? You let him fuck you?"

"No," you croaked, tears streaming down your cheeks freely as you stared up at Joel. "J-just friends. That's it. I swear."

Joel's dark gaze flickered back and forth to each of your eyes, as if searching for the truth in your words. His jaw ticked. You hiccuped, your chest heaving shallowly, your eyes willing him to believe you. He relinquished his hold on your hair with an uncaring shove, knocking you onto your ass. You wiped the tears from your cheeks with the back of your hand, sniffing.

Joel crouched down and picked something up from the ground beside the bed. When he stood up straight you saw a length of thin rope in his hand. Your stomach began to swirl with panic.

"Joel, what are you--"

"Hold out your hands." Joel commanded you, his tone calm and firm. You quickly shook your head, simultaneously frightened of refusing him yet so desperate to avoid whatever it was he had planned.

Then Joel suddenly backhanded you. The force of the smack made your ear ring and the side of your face go numb instantly. While you were stunned by the impact Joel kneeled on the bed beside you and then grabbed your wrists. He hurriedly began to bind them with the rope.

"Sayin' no to me?" He growled as his hands worked expertly. "Stupid little bitch, who the fuck you think you are?"

All you could do was sob in response, a fresh wave of tears falling from your eyes. Joel could be rough at times, but never this cruel. The anxiety of not knowing what he was going to do next made your skin break out in goosebumps and your legs tremble.

When Joel had finished winding the rope tightly around your wrists he shifted up the bed to secure the remaining length to the frame of the bed head. You could hear his heavy breathing.

"J-j-joel?" You stammered weakly.

Joel remained silent as he finished restraining you to the bedframe. You were now trapped. He stood up off the bed and then grabbed your sleep shorts with both hands. He ripped them down and off your legs in one swift motion, then threw them onto the floor. Your bottom half was now exposed to Joel. You felt shame burn your cheeks as his eyes wandered up your legs and settled on your naked cunt. You clamped your thighs shut. His eyes flickered up to your face.

"With the shit you pulled today, seems to me you need a little reminder of who you belong to." Joel murmured. He took hold of your thigh and effortlessly flipped you over onto your stomach.

"Joel!" You cried. "Stop!"

You knew it was hopeless. You dared to look back to Joel. His dark eyes were fixed on your face as his large hands unbuckled and unlooped his belt from his jeans. His jaw ticked. He folded his thick leather belt in half and held the ends together in one hand. Your eyes went wide in understanding.

"Please, no!" Your legs writhed in a futile effort to escape. The rope pulled taut on your wrists.

Joel pulled his arm back and threw it forward to land a blow onto your bare buttocks with the strap. The blinding sting made your skin sizzle. You screamed in pain.

"Shut up and hold still now," Joel commanded gruffly.

He thrashed you again, the leather cracking loud on your flesh and filling the room along with your unrestrained cries. Joel repeated the action again. And again. And again. Stars flashed in your eyes as the pain electrified your whole body. Hot tears leaked from the corners of your eyes. Your legs shook and your hips rocked. You were sure the belt had broken through your skin and was making you bleed.

You were too consumed by the agony to realise Joel had stopped beating you and discarded his belt on the floor. His chest expanded with his heaving breathes, his nostrils flared. You buried your face into the mattress and your body wracked with sobs. Your flesh throbbed unbearably.

A few moments later the bed creaked under Joel's weight and you vaguely registered that he had settled behind you on his knees. His calloused hands dug into your hips as he lifted your bottom half up so you were positioned on your knees. Then you felt the warm, wet head of his cock pressing against your pussy.

All you could muster was a whine when he started to push his cock into your entrance, his grip on your hips pulling you back at the same time. The pleasurable stretch made you moan.

"That's it, babydoll," Joel drawled, his voice dripping with lust. "Take it."

His fingertips squeezed into your flesh as he buried his entire cock into you. He only allowed you a moment to adjust before he pulled out then rocked back into you. You moaned again at the sensation of his fat cock parting your insides.

Despite wanting so much more than this game of submission and dominance, you couldn't deny the animalistic arousal beginning to stir in your belly. Your body had become conditioned to crave his fingers and his cock and his mouth. You were becoming wet now.

God you're so fucked up.

Joel's pace increased and he was soon pummeling into your pussy. The thickness of his thighs had your legs spread wide. One of his hands grasped a handful of your hair and yanked your head back, making your back bow, letting him hit that sweet soft deep inside you. Your moans became guttural.

"My whore," Joel panted. His other hand reached down infront and rubbed your clit in circles.

"Oh my god," you whimpered.

He maintained the brutal pace, snapping his hips into yours from behind, still massaging your clit. Your walls constricted around his cock. Your orgasm was building. Fuck, you hated yourself.

"Come for me, bitch," Joel groaned.

It took less than a minute for your climax to hit. You moaned loudly as the warm pleasure exploded inside you, blackness momentarily clouding your vision. Joel fucked you through your orgasm, your muscles clenching and milking his cock. When you were gasping and recovering from your high he pulled out and shot thick ropes of cum over your ass, growling and panting with exertion.

You flopped down on your stomach, weak with exhaustion. You shut your eyes, silent while the adrenaline rush began to slowly fade from your body. Joel said nothing as he tucked himself back into his jeans and retrieved his belt. He sliced through the rope tied to the bed efficiently with his jagged pocket knife. Your hands fell onto the mattress.

"Do anything like that again, little girl, and I'll fuckin' ruin you." Joel said. The next thing you heard was your bedroom door slamming shut behind him.

taglist

@sofiparallel

#dark! joel miller #joel miller #pedro pascal #joel miller x reader #the last of us #joel miller dark #oscar issac

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