#at their control. then once i escape by going on a back road and i get stuck behind some asshole going 30 UNDER. now I get going a bit slow

[tofics]

You Owe Me - Part 1

Pairing: Joel Miller x fem!Reader

Summary: Forced through circumstances out of your control to rely on Joel Miller, you end up traversing the country with him. You're not particularly enthralled with him, and neither is he with you - or so you think, until your period strikes, and you're practically bed-ridden. Or: Joel can't stop jerking off to you after he accidentally got a taste of your lips.

Warnings/tags: canon typical show/game violence, sort of dubious consent (reader gets kissed without being asked and only later agrees), age gap (reader is about ~25 years younger), enemies to lovers kind of, awful period + period cramps, jerking off, fluff

Word count: ~7.4k

Periods are not fun to begin with.

They're even less fun in a post-apocalyptic world, where sanitary products are hard to come by and more of a luxurious rarity than a given staple item in your average survivor's backpack.

You knew you were bound to begin your cycle eventually, and had you had more time, you'd probably have prepared yourself some way or the other. But, with the way things had gone in the past two weeks, you had not had any time to think about bodily functions beyond what your every day efforts demanded of you, and even that was hard to care for.

Ever since the night that you fled Boston's QZ, you hadn't had a proper night's rest, let alone a hearty meal to replenish your energy with. Your escape had been 'spontaneous' to say the least, a necessity brought upon by circumstances that you'd stumbled into rather than purposefully involved yourself in, and before you knew it, you were pointing your finger at Joel Miller, of all people in the world, hissing threats through gritted teeth about how he at least owed you this much if he was going to get you involved in his business without your consent and how you weren't gonna get hanged just because he'd dragged you into his bullshit.

Joel, of course, was not a man you could just point your finger at and demand things of, much less in a hissed tone, even less in the form of threats.

And yet, he'd smuggled you out of the city in a cloak-and-dagger-operation that same night, despite his hard glares and hushed warnings to keep your mouth shut. You'd been anything but prepared when he'd appeared at your side like a magician out of thin air. He'd laid his arm around your neck like a lover might on an evening stroll, but the gesture hadn't been kind, his arm too tight around your throat, pressing on your airway as he'd instructed you - commanded you - to follow him, like you'd have had any other choice with his arm wrapped around your neck like a boa constrictor, all the while a smile on his face that feigned nonchalance to possible onlookers. Nothing to see here, just two lovebirds on their way home after another long, hard day of work.

You'd shaken him off once the two of you were out of sight, ripped his arm off of your throat as you swiveled out of his headlock. "What the fuck, Joel," you'd hissed and he'd stared back at you with that same cold and hard look you knew him by. "Do you want out of the city or not?" His arms were crossed in front of his chest, his tone matching the iciness of his eyes. Your jaw tensed. The nerves of this guy. "The hell are you talking about?"

He scoffed like you were being dense. "Out. Flee the nest. Hit the damn road-" You cut him off with another pointed finger. "Don't be cute. I know what you mean. What I'm asking is, now?!" He eyed your finger like he was debating cutting it off if you jabbed it into his face one more time. His jaw ticked. "Yes, sweetheart, now." Your nostrils flared at the sarcastic tone of the nickname, but he gave you no time to interject. "Got tipped off. They're gonna do a raid tonight, hit everyone they know I'm involved with. Since you got all flustered about my - 'involvement' of yours-" "Oh, is that what you call that? Grabbing and kissing me out of the blue?" "-I figured I'd do you a solid by giving you a heads up," he talked over you, ignoring your comment entirely. You were seething. "Ever heard of a thing called 'consent', Joel?" He flicked his tongue, rolled his eyes. Clearly, he had no time to entertain your attitude. You didn't care. "It's when you ask someone if they wanna do something, and then only do it if they say yes. Now I know that concept might be a little hard to grasp for you-" You were slowly advancing on him, getting up all in his face, when his hand closed around your arm tightly. Your gaze fell down to his grip, your lower jaw pushing out slightly. His eyes flicked over your face like he was waiting for your next outburst. "Are you quite done? Cause we gotta go. Unless you'd like to stay and be questioned by FEDRA officers? I'm sure they'd be very interested in your lecture about consent." Joel's upper lip curled back in an ugly sarcastic smile.

And so you'd let him lead you through the city, begrudgingly at first and then bewildered when you realized you were heading in the opposite direction of your apartment. "What about my stuff?" He'd only shaken his head. "No time for that. We gotta go now. Got some backpacks waiting for us a couple blocks ahead."

He only realized you'd stopped walking when he was at least ten steps ahead. "You comin' or what?" You could tell by the tone in his voice that he was nearing the end of his patience, but as far as you were concerned, you were already at the end of yours. You didn't budge, just stared him down from where you stood, shooting icy daggers out of your eyes and your pursed lips quivering as insults swarmed in your head, all fighting to be let out at once. He looked back at you with dull disinterest in his eyes. "By all means, take your time. Ain't like we're on a clock here or somethin'."

"Oh, you son-of-a-bitch, you ignorant little cock-sucker, you absolute blithering idiot-" The stream of affronts sputtered out of you. Joel quickly closed the distance between the two of you and forcefully grabbed you by the arm, dragging you with him once more. "Walk and talk, yeah?," he said over your flood of offences, the jabs seemingly rolling off of him like water droplets against plastic. You kept up your clamor all the way down the next block, until he dragged you into yet another side-alley to avoid a group of FEDRA soldiers marching past.

The two of you stood closer together than both you and him would have liked. If it hadn't been for the parade of soldiers walking past you, you might've scratched his eyes out, something you made sure to convey with your eyes as you stared him down in silence. His indifference only fueled your rage. "Do you have any idea what you're asking of me?" You hissed at him when most of the parade had passed by. Joel wondered if he'd ever hear your normal tone-of-voice. "Come again?" He cocked his head. "The way I recall it, you asked me to get you out of the city, not the other way around. Now who's imposin' on who?"

He saw it coming before it was looming in his face again. That damn finger of yours, pointed right at his nose once more. His lips pursed, his hand twitched on the handle of the blade he kept concealed on his waist. Just one quick swipe. Your howls would likely attract the guards. Not worth it. Yet.

"We're only in this predicament because you couldn't keep your damn hands off of me!" You almost spat in his face, your voice all hoarse from trying to keep your shout down to a whisper. Your head looked like it was about to implode. Joel flicked his tongue again.

"You wanna discuss bygones again or you wanna get goin'? Time's not waitin' on us, sweetheart."

"Oufff." You growled in response, your finger so close to his face you'd take out an eye if he moved an inch in the wrong direction. "Get that thing out of my face," he finally snapped and smacked your hand down. "Now quit whinin'. You wanted out of the city, you're gettin' out of the city. Giddy up. Time's a' wastin'."

Without another look to check if you were following, he dipped out of the alleyway and marched down in the direction of his - your - first pit stop. You stood between the tight walls for another moment, breathing heavily. If FEDRA hadn't been breathing down your neck, you would've turned around on your heels and sent Joel off to whatever miserable adventure he was about to embark on, but alas, he'd made his miserable adventure yours against your will. You cursed under your breath, then hurried after him.

"All I'm saying is, what about my shit? You think I don't have any sentimentals at home? Necessities? Stuff I wanted to bring when I left?" You whispered to him as you kept up with his pace beside him. It could've been your imagination, but the people out on the street looked more hurried than usual. Something was definitely in the air. Joel's tip-off likely had been right. Something was brewing.

"You win some, you lose some," came his sullen reply, paired with a shrug. You had to stuff your comeback back down your throat as the two of you filed into the crowd of people heading home, hurried steps and hard, concerned faces all around you.

Escaping hadn't been easy. Every single guard had been on high-alert. It seemed that the tip-off must've come out - the number of guards had been tripled, and you and Joel had a hard time going by undetected, despite the added benefit of nighttime and the rain that had picked up, muffling your steps as you hurried from dark corner to dark corner.

The Firefly attack took him as much by surprise as it did you and the soldiers. The booming sound of an explosion just a few hundred feet ahead made you flinch and Joel instinctively pulled you down with him. Rubble rained down on the two of you, crashing into the muddied floor just inches besides you. You gasped and flinched away, losing your halt on all fours, but a strong arm caught you around the middle before you could slump to the ground. "Let's go," Joel urged in your ear and dragged you up to your feet in one swift motion.

Shouts erupted around you from all sides, then got droned out as FEDRA's sirens kicked up. You scrambled after Joel as he evaded spotlights that swiveled across the floor from all directions, keeping the two of you safely tucked away in the few shadows that remained. Smoke burned in your nose and lungs as you sprinted from safe haven to safe haven. Loud cracks cut through the uproar of your surroundings, accompanied by deep thudding sounds as more rubble fell to the floor. The fire from the explosion site was now spreading out, slowly licking at buildings in its path. Many of the decrepit structures quickly crumbled away under the heat, porous and unstable to begin with.

It was disorienting, frightening. For the first time in over a week, you were glad for Joel Miller. If it hadn't been for him, you wouldn't have made it out of the chaos alive.

Granted, if it hadn't been for him, you wouldn't have been in this mess in the first place, but he kept his word and got you out.

You'd never meant to stay with him, but as things would have it, you weren't presented with much of a choice in that either. You made it out of the city just fine, save for a few jump scares along the road, but then ran into a hoard of infected that had been attracted by the ruckus of the explosion, just a few miles outside of the quarantine zone.

How you made it through that encounter alive, you didn't know, you just knew that Joel was a more-than-worthy asset in that debacle, as much as you hated to admit it. As if that hadn't been enough, you barely had one peaceful night before a group of raiders pulled through the section of outskirts where you and Joel had holed up for the night. It was an 'out of the frying pan and into the fire' kind of turn of events that kept you and Joel running and fighting for your lives for almost two weeks straight, stumbling from one disaster into the next, until finally, finally, you seemed to leave your losing streak behind.

It had now been three whole days since the two of you had found yourselves in mortal danger last, and though it felt almost wrong to be hopeful for a peaceful stretch of days, you couldn't help but be just that.

Until, of course, you felt that familiar sharp pull in your abdomen.

Crap.

"You didn't happen to pack anything female-related when you packed this, did you?," you asked as you rifled through the contents of your backpack. Well, Joel's backpack really, since it was the one he'd bestowed upon you the night of your escape. Your own backpack was still back in Boston, probably picked apart by FEDRA by now, along with all of your other belongings.

"Like what?" Joel was poking at the fire he'd set out to build. The flames wouldn't quite take, a few feeble blue streaks dancing between the twigs he'd collected.

"Like, I don't know, a pad, maybe? Tampons, if I'm allowed to dream?" You had almost emptied out the entire backpack now, and even though the contents you were bringing to light were certainly useful, none of them were what you were looking for.

Joel looked up, a kind of perplexed look on his face. You took in his facial expression and sighed. "I'll take that as a no. Crap." You slumped down on your butt in defeat. "That's gonna be a problem."

Joel scratched behind his ear, looking somewhat uncomfortable. "Yeah. Sorry, kiddo. Wasn't on my radar when I was packing." It could've been the dim light of the barely lit fire playing a trick on your eyes, but you could've sworn that some color rose in his cheeks. You just sighed once more and shrugged. "Eh, can't blame ya. Not something I'd expect to be on the mind of a..." You looked at him, eyebrow raised. "...something year old man."

He snorted. Sparks flew up from the twigs as he kept poking around. "Fifty-six," he said after a little while. "If you must know."

"Huh."

"What." He eyed you over the now growing flames. It looked like he was ready for you to pounce on him.

"Nothing." You raised your arms in defense. "Just... wouldn't have thought so. I just mean," you quickly added when you saw the expression on his face, "you've held up better than I would've thought. Jeez, relax. I'm not coming for your age."

"Right. Cause you ain't been jabbin' at me for just about anythin' else. S'cuse me if I'm just prepared."

"Cause you been jabbin' at me for just about anything else," you mocked under your breath. "And I got a right to. Need I remind you, I wouldn't be in this mess if-"

"-I hadn't dragged you into it." He interrupted you with a groan. "Yeah, yeah, I heard you the first trillion times. You ever gonna let it go?"

You scowled at him over the flames. "No." He quirked an eyebrow at you, and the exhausted apprehension on his face made you crack up. "Fine. Maybe. The jury's still out on that."

A day later, the sharp pull in your abdomen had grown into full-sized cramps, one of the four horsemen of your period riding in in full stride. You tried to ignore it as best as you could, but your period pains had always been on the worse side, sometimes leaving you crumpled into a ball on the floor. Your cramps could be debilitating, and a gnawing pit of worry formed in your stomach as the day went along.

Back in the QZ, you had your ways of coping: hot water bottles or hot potatoes wrapped in tinfoil tucked into a sweater so that their warmth radiated throughout your belly. There was even a bottle of emergency ibuprofen tucked away in a little secret corner of your bedroom. You longed for it now as the cramps begin to grow in intensity and longevity. You'd certainly planned to bring them along for your escape, but alas...

A groan escaped your lips as another cramp pulled on you from the inside. Your steps faltered and you leaned over for a moment with a hand pressed to your lower belly.

"Hey. You good?" Joel had been a few steps ahead of you, but he'd turned around at your groan. You'd been a trooper for the last two weeks, making him think more than once that getting you out hadn't been such a bad bet after all. You fought like hell, and when you weren't busy being mad at him, you followed orders quite well, especially when yours (or his) life depended on it.

Of course, he'd never say that out loud. You were still routinely giving him an earful about how he'd made you leave everything you owned behind, how you'd have had more time to properly prepare if he hadn't just dragged you into his mess, if he hadn't just kissed you that night-

You never missed a chance to remind him of all his wrongdoings, bickering on and on and on about the predicament you now found yourself in. As if he hadn't been the one to get you out. Sure, yeah, he did owe you as much after... having dragged you into his mess (his jaw clenched at the thought), but he'd paid his dues in full, as far as he was concerned. Hell, not only had he gotten you out in one piece, he'd even packed a whole get-away bag for you, survival essentials included. Had you thanked him for it? Certainly not. You hadn't complained about it either though, that was for sure, and Joel was certain that was about as much of a thanks as he was going to get from you.

You straightened, a somber and tight expression on your face as you nodded, but Joel could tell you were in more pain that you were letting on. Two weeks of fighting like crazy and just minutes of sleep to go on for days, and he hadn't heard a peep outta you. He had to give it to ya - you were tough, a fighter through and through. When you complained, it had nothing to do with where you slept, what you ate, who you fought. You just did it. He appreciated that quality in you. It made you a decent travel companion - if it wasn't for your bickering about everything else. That, he'd had decidedly enough of.

Today, though, you had been unusually quiet. You had yet to point an accusing finger at him, and though he could do without another finger pointed at his face for the rest of his life, he couldn't help but notice the change in your demeanor. Your pace was slower than the weeks before, even though you were now eating and sleeping better than you'd had in all previous fourteen days combined. Your movements seemed sluggish, almost lethargic, and you were hanging behind more often than not. This wasn't the first time you'd stopped either.

"We can rest for a moment, if you want." Joel gestured towards some trees on the side of the road. "Sit a moment in the shade. Catch our breath."

You looked like you were about to throw a snarky remark his way, but then you just nodded and trotted over to the patchy area of shade.

He sat down beside you with a groan, then stretched his aching legs out on the ground. Even if you thought he'd held up just fine, his legs certainly disagreed. If anything, they felt older than fifty-six. More like bordering on sixty.

Joel took a sip of his water, then nudged you with his elbow. You looked at him through hooded lids, exhaustion written all over your face. "Drink. Gotta stay hydrated."

Another wordless nod from you. No snarky comment. You got your own bottle out and gulped down a few sips.

"You sure you're good?" He eyed you carefully. There was a light sheen of sweat above your upper lip, some more pearls glistening on your forehead.

"I said as much, didn't I?"

Ah. There it was. Joel nodded. "There we go. Thought you were dyin' on me or somethin'."

You shot him a quizzical look.

"You haven't talked back to me all day. Was startin' to get worried," he shrugged with half a smile on his lips.

Your eyes narrowed at him. Joel Miller? Worried about you? Yeah, right. "What, you sweet on me or something, Miller?" A low chuckle rumbled through his chest. "Uh-huh. Glad to see you still got your wits about ya. C'mon." He got to his feet and dusted the dirt off his pants. "If you can jab, you can walk. Let's go."

You knew you had a couple of hours, maybe less, until hell's gates would open and the floods would come raining down your legs. Literally.

At least your periods were dependable that way, always following the same pattern.

Evening was fast approaching, and so was a town in the distance, just down the hill that you and Joel had just reached the top of. He raised a hand to his eyes, shielding his view from the evening sun that hung low on the horizon.

"Best bet is to go around it," he assessed, one hand on his hip. "No way to tell what's waitin' down there. Easier if we don't find out."

"Yeah, umh, about that."

He turned to you, a golden glow around the outline of his head. He looked like an angel. You blinked, cleared your throat.

"I need to find some cloth. Preferably clean, but anything will do, really. I know there's a spare shirt in my backpack, but I really don't want to cut it up..."

Joel frowned at you, visibly not understanding what you were getting at.

"Pads, Joel. I need to make pads. I'm about to start bleeding like a slit throat. I'm talkin' Niagara Falls."

He blinked, scratched behind his ear. "...right. Yeah. Okay."

It irked him that he hadn't thought of anything for your period. Granted, he hadn't had to deal with the topic in a long time, no woman in his life sticking around long enough (he made sure of that) that the topic could even come up. Still, he was a man who prided himself on being prepared, and he felt anything but as he helped you rummage through open and broken drawers to look for anything that might be useful.

You were tensing up more frequently now, pausing in whatever you were doing with shut eyes and a tight expression on your face. He knew what that meant, even if it had been a long time. You were cramping, and by the looks of it, quite hard.

Joel was irritated to find that he felt sorry for you. Though, no, that wasn't what irritated him. He may have been gruff and closed off on the outside, but he was still human after all, capable of empathy. What irritated him was the need he felt to alleviate your pain. More than once, he felt the urge to reach out and stroke your face, or worse even, to pull you into his arms into a comforting hug. Once, when your back was turned to him, he even saw his arm lifting on its own accord, and he had to bring it back down with his other hand before it made contact with you.

What the hell are you thinkin', he scolded himself. This ain't no more than a cargo run. She's cargo. Quit daydreamin'.

He scolded himself and then moved on, once, twice, thrice, until he had to tell himself off for the fourth time and he was beginning to get seriously pissed with himself. What was it with you that he kept thinkin' about touchin' you?

You were oblivious to his ordeal, having your own problems to deal with. You'd found some cloth that looked (and smelled) clean enough to be used as makeshift pads. Your hands made quick work of the fabric as you tore the old shirt into strips, then braided them into wider pieces until they roughly matched the length of the strip of fabric that connected the front of your panties to the back. Once that was done, you wrapped the braided piece fully around the bottom of a fresh pair of underwear, tying off the excess fabric when you had done so. It wasn't pretty, it was knobby and bound to be uncomfortable, but it was better than just wrapping pieces around the middle and hoping for the best. This way, you had a couple of layers underneath you, and if you didn't shuffle too much, the makeshift pad would perhaps stay in place. You sighed, inspecting your finished work. Behind you, Joel whistled. He sauntered over to inspect your work.

"Don't look too bad. You think this'll do?"

You eyed your handful of makeshift pads, a sorrowful look on your face. "It'll have to. But knowing my flow, I'll go through these in just a day - two, if I'm lucky..." Another wave of cramps tightened in your lower belly. You winced and leaned forward, one arm across your abdomen. A warm hand appeared on your shoulder.

"Tell you what. This town don't seem too dangerous. How 'bout we try and find a place here for tonight? Hm? Sleep in a real bed for a change?"

Joel didn't need to ask twice. You seemed more than relieved that your journey today would go no further than a couple of houses down the street, which was where you found a suitable candidate to spend the night in.

It had probably been a beautiful townhouse once, back in the day, complete with a white picket fence and a front- and backyard to show for. Now, though, the garden was overgrown, the fence was hanging in pieces, paint littering off its remaining poles, and the house itself looked sad and empty, as if it was mourning the loss of its previous inhabitants.

Unlike the rest of the houses on the street though, this building seemed to have all its walls intact. That, and the fact that your steps were getting slower by the minute, was enough for Joel to declare this house as your designated sleeping spot for the night.

The two of you did a quick sweep of each room, making sure everything was safe and sound. It was strange how quickly a routine could settle between two people who'd been nothing but strangers just barely three weeks ago. It wasn't the first time this thought occurred to you either: yours and Joel's movements seemed to almost flow into one another as you cleared the house from bottom to top. It felt a little like you could anticipate his next move before he announced it, and vice versa. He'd even said as much to you after the first week of the two of you fighting for y'all's asses, talking about how maybe you weren't as much of a princess as he'd initially thought. You'd just rolled your eyes at the comment, but there had also been a feeling of pride settling in your chest that you'd been unable to ignore.

It came like you'd said it would. Not long after you had dropped yourself on one of the worn-out sofas in the living room, you felt a particularly harsh cramp cutting through your abdomen, before something warm trickled out of you. You groaned silently to yourself. So it had begun.

Joel watched you from the armchair next to the couch. He was using the last couple of hours of decent daylight to take stock of his backpack, checking it for tears and what not, taking inventory of his ammo and cleaning and sharpening his weapons. Besides the fact that it had to be done, it gave him something to do. Made him feel like he was doing something sensible, practical.

He didn't like to admit it to himself, but watching you writhe in pain on the couch beside him didn't sit right with him. Even though it had nothing to do with a lack of care on his side, he somehow, against all logic, felt responsible for how crappy you were feelin'. It didn't help either that kept tellin' himself off for it. Ain't none of yer business, he kept repeating in his head and re-focused on sharpening the blade in his hand, right before glancing back at you when you'd moan again in pain.

You were definitely going through it. Once the dam had broken, so to say, there was nothing you could do but lay on the couch and wallow in self-pity. By now, the cramps had settled into a steady churning pain that had settled in your abdomen like a straight line, going from one of your tubes to the other. Your lower back felt like something was trying to break through it from both sides, forming an immense pressure that spread up the rest of your back. As if that wasn't enough, your neck was tense, rock hard and unforgiving, uncomfortable in whatever position you brought yourself into. And then of course, there was the bleeding itself, and the occasional harsher cramp that pulled through your entire abdomen.

You were certainly going through it, and the last two weeks had been too demanding. When a cramp cursed through you, you didn't hold back your whimpers. You just didn't have it in you to care. Joel could think whatever he wanted - no uterus, no opinion, that was as far as your thinking went in regards to him as you laid on the couch and wallowed in pain.

You had to give it to him, though. He was being remarkably quiet about your whole ordeal. You'd expected some dry comments, something about pulling yourself together, woman, you're not dying, but so far, there had been none of that, not even a distasteful scoff at your moans. You did see him looking at you from time to time, and it must've been your hazy mind, but you could've sworn he looked almost sorry for you. Almost.

Hours passed, and your pain didn't let up, if anything, it only intensified. While darkness slowly settled over everything outside, you did anything but on the couch. You turned and tossed with every new wave of pain, trying with all your might to find at least one position that alleviated your pain, but nothing helped. You had just flipped yourself over on your stomach with a groan, burying your face in one of the cushions when Joel spoke up behind you.

"Alright, enough. C'mon."

There was a light tap on your leg, then a more determined nudge when you didn't move. "Hey, c'mon. Move."

You just groaned into your pillow. I ain't movin' nowhere, it meant, but then your legs were being picked up and slowly lowered, until your knees touched the ground. Begrudgingly, and with a very fed-up expression on your face, you lifted your head from the pillow to shoot icy daggers at Joel, who was now kneeling beside you.

"Don't gimme that look," he grumbled. "Just tryin' to help ya. C'mon." He motioned at the sofa cushion. "Put your head down, get comfortable. N' put your knees a bit more together, so I can fit behind you. There you go." He instructed you until you were kneeling in front of the couch how he wanted to, your head resting on your arms on the sofa cushion. Attagirl. He shimmied behind you with some difficulty, his old knees not cooperating with him as fast as they once did, but then he finally sat behind you in a position similar to yours.

"What'cha doin," he heard you murmur into the cushion and promptly shushed you. "Shh. You about to see. Now don't freak, but you about to feel my hands on you."

You had no idea what the hell he was getting up to, but you didn't have the strength to care. For all you cared, he could've taken you off the chessboard in this very moment, and you wouldn't have minded. Everything hurt too much. It was all you could focus on.

You felt Joel's large hands on your waist, then your shirt being lightly pulled up. "Hey! What-"

You did turn around at that, furrowed brows and all, only to be met with Joel's fed-up stare. "You trust me or not?"

It took a moment, but eventually you put your head back down, not without your lips drawing into a pout. Course, you trusted him by now. Even if you didn't like it very much.

Joel waited until your head was settled on the cushion again, then he brought up your top a bit, folding it over once so it'd stay up over your tailbone. It had been a while, since he'd done this - hell, a long, long while - but he couldn't sit by no more and watch you toss and turn in pain. He'd had about enough of that.

He laid his palms flat on your waist, letting you get acclimated to his touch first so you wouldn't turn around and bite his head off once more in a second. Then, when he felt like a good enough time had passed, he lightly lifted his thumbs and pressed them down on your lower back, your tailbone right in the middle of them. Carefully, he brought his thumbs upwards, drawing two straight lines into your skin while keeping his pressure firm.

Your response was almost immediate. Joel could see your tense shoulders going down just a smidge, your back relaxing as you let out an elongated 'oh' sound, accompanied by a deep sigh. "Attagirl," he murmured, one corner of his lips slightly quirking up. "Just relax into it. I got you." He kept repeating the motion, digging his thumbs into your lower back to bring you some relief. A picture of how he'd once done the same for Sarah's mother flit across his brain. He quickly shook his head, dismissing the memory as quickly as it had appeared.

It felt like heaven, how Joel was working his thumbs over your aching back. It did nothing to alleviate your pain in the front, but it still felt a million times better than tossing and turning on the worn out cushions of this dusty couch. Just like you hadn't held back with your moans of pain, you were now not holding back your moans of enjoyment. You'd never felt anything quite like it before. "Where'd you learn to do that?"

You heard Joel chuckle quietly behind you. "I know a thing or two, kiddo. Been around the block once or twice."

You just hummed in agreement, then let out a load moan once more as his fingers dug into a specifically delicate spot. "Fuck, Joel. Yeah. Right there."

Joel was just glad you had your head buried in the cushions of the sofa. Otherwise you would've seen what your moans were doing to him, and boy, were they doing a number on him. He'd been able to ignore your first few moans of pleasure, biting down hard on his tongue and closing his eyes to focus, but then his mind started projecting pictures onto his closed lids of you, below instead in front of him, making those same sweet sounds of pleasure while he touched you elsewhere -

His eyes flew open and he grunted, willing the pictures away with all his might. He tried staring at his hands instead, but that was a dumb idea, seeing as how he could see your delicate skin being worked underneath his thumbs then, his fingers drawing out another moan from your lips -

Next was the wall. He could've drilled holes into the flaky wallpaper, with how hard he was staring at it. He could feel the tips of his ears burning with embarrassment and he could only hope, pray that you wouldn't turn around anytime soon to see how your moans were visibly affecting him, specifically in his crotch area.

"Fuck, oh my god, right there, Joel." Your voice was breathy and needy, and Joel's eye twitched. The hell had he gotten himself into with this?!

He prodded your back, trying to find the spot you'd just referred to. "Right here, sweetheart?"

He saw your head bob as you nodded, a satisfied hum vibrating through you. "Mhh, yeah. That's - oof - that's the spot."

He was digging himself his own grave, that much was for certain right now. He knew he should've stopped, should've went back to his armchair and returned to working on his gun, but he couldn't. It was like he was transfixed, glued in position like a fly to a trap. The whimpers falling from your mouth were too good to pass up, to sweet to resist. He hadn't had anything sweet in such a long time. And Joel was dying for a treat.

But he also knew it wasn't right. He knew it now and he knew it then, those few weeks ago when he'd grabbed you outside of your apartment and had kissed you out of the blue. You'd been shocked to say the least. The FEDRA guards had been on his heels and he'd needed to find a way to disperse of them quickly, and there you were, conveniently placed in his path like a lucky find, and his brain had snapped and he'd just gone for it. Pulled you into a kiss like you were his, hands flying up to your face to hold you in place. Your eyes had grown wide in shock and he'd briefly pulled his lips from yours to whisper to you. Work with me, please, I'll make it worth your while. His heart had drummed in his chest, a million silent prayers tumbling from his lips in the milli-second that it took you to subtly nod. A brief grin had flit over his lips before he'd crashed them back down on yours, kissing you like he'd been waiting to do so all day. And my god, had you worked with him. Your own hands had flown up to his head, one curling around the base of his neck and the other digging into his hair. He'd backed you up against the wall behind you, slowly walking you backwards until your back collided with the weathered bricks, and you had actually moaned into his mouth, much like you were doing now. It had sent his head reeling, and though Joel was not a man of faith, he'd briefly thanked whatever God he had seemingly pleased enough to allow him this sweet of a distraction.

The guards had trampled around the corner then, their heavy footsteps a stark contrast to the sweet moans falling from your lips. They'd cleared their throat - ahem - and Joel had unwillingly detangled himself from you enough to cast a look at them over his shoulder. What? A man can't make out with his girl in the street? Their eyes had wandered from you to him, and he saw then what they were seeing: a man in his mid-fifties pressing a what, late twenties? Early thirties? woman to the wall, her face all flustered, hair disheveled from where Joel's hands had dug into it. He'd seen the envy plastered on their faces, heard the murmurs. Lucky bastard. A triumphant grin had played around his lips, even though he knew he was treading on thin fucking ice. That he was indeed, a lucky bastard.

His luck had only lasted so long, though. When the guards had disappeared, he all but saw lucky stars in his eyes when you invited him up to your apartment. Was he really going to get that lucky?

Heavens, no. He'd been brought down back to earth swiftly when you had stood in front of him, crossed arms and expectant look on your face. So? What was that? He shrugged nonchalantly. What was what?

You, though, as he quickly came to learn, were not to be underestimated. You made him tell you in detail why the guards had been after him, then practically foamed at the mouth when he reluctantly explained what he'd been up to that afternoon.

It hadn't even been that big of a deal, just a casual, run-of-the-mill drug run, but you didn't seem to share his sentiment. Casual? Run-of-the-mill? He'd had to shush you from how loud you were screeching. Didn't you know the damn walls had ears?

My god, you could talk. Bicker, was the more fitting term. Or nag, really. You went on and on about how he'd went and done it now, how he'd fucked up your life, all because he had to go and get you involved in something that you had absolutely no interest in -

That was the first time your finger had flown into his face, all accusing and threatening, like you could do him any harm with just the tip of your index finger. Boy, had he been tempted to smack it out of his face. But he didn't. As much as he hated to admit it - you had a point. By putting you on the map as his lover, he had likely put you in a lot more danger than you were even realizing at the moment.

He'd tried to put you out of his mind. Even after you had made him promise to get you out of the QZ as a 'reward' - You owe me, Joel Miller - he'd tried not to think about you, not until his next run out of the city at least, which is when he planned to make good on his promise. Until then, he wouldn't think about you. You'd just turn into another headache, another problem he'd have to deal with, and he had enough of those as it was. Not to mention that he was almost twice your senior. He didn't have many principles anymore, but he still had some. And hell if he didn't at least stick to those anymore.

He kept his resolve up for all but two hours, when he was back in his apartment, laying in his bed and unable to sleep. You kept drifting through his mind, bickering and foaming at the mouth and red in the face, telling him how he'd went and fucked up your life, but more than that how your lips had felt on his, how sweet your mouth had tasted, how delicious your moans had sounded in his ear -

Fuck it. Joel growled and shoved his hand into his boxers. He'd rub one out to you, just once. Surely that would get you off his mind.

Well, it did, sort of. Until he was in bed again the next night, and he found himself with his cock in his hand once more, thinking about your lips and how they'd felt on him, and how they'd feel wrapped around his cock instead of his own hand -

He groaned as his release painted over his stomach, white silken strands mixing with the soft curls on his belly as he silently cursed you, then himself. The hell had he gotten himself into?

So of course he'd had no choice but to come and get you when he got intel that he was the subject of the upcoming raid, that very night. He barely had time to prepare two backpacks with the bare necessities before he went out to find you.

How all of that had brought him here, kneeling behind you as the sweetest moans fell from your mouth once more - he didn't know. Joel couldn't tell whether you were a blessing or a curse, if you were the price he had to pay or the price he received. Seeing as how his life had gone though, it was unlikely that you were the latter.

And yet he couldn't help but feel like he'd won when he brought his thumbs down on on the sides of your lower spine and earned a low moan in return, long and elongated and putting all kinds of pictures into his mind that his head momentarily fell to his chest, a pained expression painted across it.

No, no. You were both. A blessing and a curse.

Series Masterlist - Mobile Masterlist

Credits: plant divider by @strangergraphics

Read part 2 here!

A/N: Well, here we are. Like I said, the idea for this was born while needing comfort on my own period, and then this monstrosity flowed from my fingertips and eventually I realized that perhaps, 9.3k words were perhaps a bit too much for a oneshot, especially when said oneshot wasn't complete yet. Ahem. So! Here you have the first half of what is undoubtedly going to turn into a filthy, filthy second part. 🙃 I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did, I was kicking my feet giggling while writing this, lol.

No pressure taglist:

@peekyourinterest @vickie5446 @noisynightmarepoetry @yesjazzywazzylove-blog @picketniffler

@frogsdeservelovetoo @orcasoul @ashleyfilm @elli3williams @missladym1981

@spotty-boo90 @iamsherlocked-1998 @axshadows @justajoelsreader @oldmenenthusiast

[sarah-the-bird-nerd]

How they kiss you (on the lips)

Kissing techniques of the 141 + König and Alejandro...with gifs!

Johnny "Soap" MacTavish

Johnny is all about the fun and spontinaity of it, you're on a drive? Oh he'll kiss you and watch the road. Little nips here and there, it wont take long for his mouth to go exploring...

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

Gaz is 100% sneaking up on you as you're doing the most mundane things and wrapping himself around you for a series of sweet kisses...this will rapidly spiral out of control and turn into a make out session, he has also been known to kiss you when you're lying on the couch or bed with your eyes closed, upside down Spiderman style...without hanging from the rafters.

Captain John Price

Listen, John is a passionate guy, he's going to literally envelop you in his arms, in a nice little, protective cocoon and kiss you with everything that he is. It's soft, its slow and he's going to savour it, now that's not to say that he doesn't get more rambunctious, but normal everyday kissing? Nice and slow.

Simon "Ghost" Riley

Oh boy, strap yourself in because for Simon, you get 2, because I feel like Simon has two modes...

Okay, so mode 1: every day Simon. The man just wants to love you and feel you around him, he is straight up picking you up, wrapping those big strong arms around you and just...being,

So let's say he's been or is being deployed, hell, he's just having a bad day (and let's be honest here, he has a lot of those.). This man wants to full on consume you. He is pouring everything that he is into these kisses, with a good grip on you so you can't escape, hell, he's even biting a bit. You're his reason for breathing, the blood in his veins and why he does what he does and he's making it known.

König

Okay, so hear me out, König is a big boy, so much so that you're either not able to reach, or he's straining his back, so his solution? He's straight up picking you up and you're either against the wall or at the mercy of his arms, his actaualy kisses are slow, somewhat timid at first but once he's kissed you once, he can't get enough of you.

Alejandro

Okay, you look at Alejandro and tell me if you see anything but passion from the man? He is straight up pulling you into his lap, his hands going everywhere, he starts off slow and gentle but it doens't take long before the man is absolutely consuming you.

[fluentmoviequoter]

Yelling at Cops

Part 2 of Flirting with Cops

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!rookie!reader

Summary: After you are injured, your fiancé Tim yells at you and treats you like a boot. When Wade and Nyla find out, they tell him what really happened.

Warnings: canon typical danger and action, explosion, r is injured and goes to the hospital, yelling/arguments, fluff, teasing

Word Count: 1.7k+ words

Picture from Pinterest

Masterlist Directory | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info/Fandom List

“Bradford,” Nyla whispers from the other side of the shop. “Tell me this-“

“Do I have to?” you ask.

“Yes, because I am your TO. I’m, like, a goddess in this shop. I have the power to-“

“Have me fired or make me a rookie forever,” you finish with a chuckle. “I know, ma’am.”

“Tell me this,” Nyla begins again. “Does Bradford call you boot?”

“No.”

“Never? Not even when he gets upset?”

“He hasn’t gotten super upset with me yet. Raised his voice once because I almost got hurt, but nothing serious. I mean, I wouldn’t be surprised if he did at some point, though.”

“7-Adam-19, there’s a reported 215 and 245 at Olympic and Burnside Avenue,” control alerts.

“7-Adam-19, show us responding,” Nyla radios.

“Carjacking and assault with a deadly weapon?”

“Welcome to Los Angeles,” Nyla jokes.

As you approach the intersection, you see a man with a large automatic rifle ducking behind a car. There are civilians on the other side of the road and an injured man on the driver’s side of the car.

“Control, 7-Adam-19 requesting backup. One armed, one injured,” Nyla informs. “Block this lane.”

You pull around with your side of the shop toward the gunman. The car is facing you, so he can’t escape unless it’s on foot. Nyla opens her door and slides out before staying low to go around the back of the shop. You watch the man beside you, and when he turns quickly, you lower your window and pull your gun from your holster. He has a different weapon when he twists toward you, and when he aims it toward the back tire, you know he’s going to hurt Nyla. You don’t think before acting, not like you should, at least.

You throw the door open and begin firing as you move back toward Nyla. She yells at you to get down, but you turn toward her instead.

“Run!” you yell.

As you run behind Nyla, trying to get away from the shop, the man shoots the new weapon, and the shop explodes behind you. You fall to the asphalt, and Nyla stumbles ahead of you. Ignoring the pain in your leg, you push yourself up and rush behind a parked car. Nyla’s eyes widen when she sees you, and she pushes up to look through the windows of the car to locate the man.

“Control, this is Harper. Where’s my backup?” she yells into the radio.

“ETA two minutes,” control responds.

“What do we do?” you ask. “He’ll run.”

“You don’t do anything,” Nyla snaps. “Control, send a R/A to my location.”

“Harper, he’s moving again,” you say.

“Not your concern,” she replies.

You look toward her, and she’s looking between your leg and the car across the street. What’s left of the shop is aflame in the middle of Olympic Boulevard, blocking part of the man’s location from view. When Nyla turns toward you, you finally look at your leg. Your pants are darkened with blood, and when you bend your knee, you hiss in pain.

“Don’t move,” Nyla demands.

You don’t listen and gently push your fingers against the side of your thigh. “It’s just a bunch of glass.”

“Shrapnel in your body is not just anything!”

“Harper, we have to do something or he’s going to hurt the other people.”

Nyla exhales deeply before nodding. “Bradford is going to kill me,” she murmurs.

“He’ll come for me first,” you say with a small smile.

“Alright. You go around the shop and I’ll come up from behind. If you have a shot, take it.”

As you limp around the far side of the intersection, you raise your weapon and look for the shooter. Nyla’s gun fires before you see him, and you rush out to cover her. When the man sees you, he drops the rifle in his hands and raises them.

“Nice work,” Nyla tells you. “Now sit down and wait for your ambulance.”

On cue, the ambulance pulls up and two paramedics rush to your side.

“I’ll alert Sergeant Bradford,” someone says.

“No!” you and Harper yell together.

“This is related to his case,” the officer argues.

Wade slams the door of his car and cuts off the rest of his sentence. “I’ll fill in Bradford,” he states. “You, though,” he says to you, “have a lot more to explain.”

“You’re going to tell him?” you ask him.

“Would you rather he find out over the radio?”

You shake your head, and the paramedics move your gurney into the ambulance.

“I’ll try to calm him down, but… good luck, kid. I’ll be by in a few.”

“Thank you. You too, Harper.”

“You saved my life. Sorry I yelled at you,” she offers.

✯✯✯✯✯

You’ve just been moved to a private room after a painful hour of having shrapnel removed from your leg when Tim’s voice echoes through the hallways. He yells your name before his footsteps near your room. When he stops at the door, his chest is heaving, and his nostrils are flared.

“Are you out of your mind?” Tim demands loudly. “Harper should have you fired for that little stunt. I would! You are not here to be a hero, boot, and endangering lives – including yours – is not what being a cop is about!”

“Sergeant Bradford,” Wade says from behind Tim. “A word?”

“With me?” Tim asks. “Why don’t you remind the rookie in here about a little thing called procedure!”

“Tim,” Wade interjects. “Hallway. Now.”

Your eyes drop to your hands as they leave. Tim has never yelled at you like this before, and his insults and threats to have you fired do little to calm your nerves. Harper seemed mad when she first noticed your injury, but that was nothing compared to Tim’s reaction. You wait nervously for Tim, or at least Wade, to return from the hallway.

✯✯✯✯✯

Tim begins to speak, but Wade raises a hand. He takes a deep breath to calm down before explaining everything he knows to Tim.

“I-“ Tim begins.

“No!” Wade says. “You don’t get to make an excuse about not knowing. You have known from the beginning, I told you from the beginning. When you came to me and said you were dating a rookie, I made an exception for you on one condition. I told you that if anything happened to her, it was on you. Not because you’re her superior, but because she is yours. This situation is unique, but you led me to believe you could handle it. Now, I’ll be honest, I did that hoping you’d back out and decide to wait to start a relationship, but once I saw the two of you together, my concerns became about what would happen if the two of you were separated by something or injured. That speech I just heard makes me think you’re just here as a cop. Tell me I’m wrong and I’ll listen.”

“Why us?” Tim asks angrily. “Why are we worth the special treatment and personal attention?”

Somewhere along the way, Wade became like a father figure to you. When he agreed to let Tim continue seeing you without alerting IA, he threatened to demote, fire, or kill him if he did anything to jeopardize your career, life, or relationship.

“Because I care, Bradford. Is that so hard to believe? And right now, I’m wondering if you should go back to patrol or find a new station?”

“You can’t fire me for hurting her delicate little feelings, Wade!”

“And how would your feelings be if you were going to her funeral?” Wade snaps. Tim’s face drops and Wade adds, “Harper just filed her official statement. Their backup was two minutes away, and she would have been dead if your rookie hadn’t stepped in. They would both be dead, and I don’t know about you, but I think some glass shards to the leg is a whole lot better than a funeral.”

Tim’s eyes drop as he nods. “I messed up.”

“You did. Now do something about it.”

✯✯✯✯✯

You look up immediately when the door opens. Tim walks in first, but Wade is close behind him.

“I’m sorry,” Tim begins. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you or threatened to have you fired, especially when I didn’t know as much as I thought I did. Are you okay?”

You nod, but Wade jumps in before you can say anything.

“I’m sorry, too. I went behind your back to keep Tim in line, or so I thought, from the very beginning. I should have been open with both of you, but I’ll do better now.”

“I forgive you,” you whisper, looking at Tim. You turn toward Wade to add, “And thank you for whatever it is you’ve done already.”

Wade nods and smiles before stepping back toward the door. Tim goes in the opposite direction and stops beside your bed.

“You’re really okay?” he asks as he takes your hand.

“Just sore. And I have to buy new pants.”

Tim sighs and pulls you into a hug, bending over to pull you close. You smile against him and rub his back. He’s tenser than you are, and he wasn’t even blown up.

You know that your relationship with Tim will never be easy, but it will always be worth the time and effort. Plus, your friends understand what you are going through and are there for you every step of the way.

“Visitor,” Wade alerts.

Tim steps back as Nyla walks in with a bag of your favorite snacks. Despite her original tough act, she does like you as a cop and as a friend.

“I heard someone yelled at you,” she says with a quick look toward Tim.

“He apologized. Didn’t bring me snacks though. Thank you!” you reply.

“He better keep apologizing,” Nyla adds, talking directly to Tim.

“I will,” he promises. “Glad you’re both okay.”

“Wait, does this mean I can’t help with the Metro case that I almost died for?” you interject.

“Not for a while,” Tim answers. “Gotta heal, first.”

“What was it you said? ‘Just some glass’, then walk it off,” Nyla says with a shrug.

“I wanted to ride with TO Bradford, the scariest in station history.”

You pout, and Tim shakes his head while Nyla laughs. Wade thinks about you and Tim riding together and wonders if you’d manage to get anything done.

“One cop is more than enough in my relationship,” Wade sighs. “I don’t know how you two do it.”

[fastandcarlos]

Late Night Drives : ̗̀➛ Logan Sargeant

summary: with logan home, you decide to head off on an adventure, allowing the man behind the wheel to lead the way

A smile graces Logan’s face as you make yourself comfortable in the seat beside him, a blanket draped over your body. Despite you insisting that you were warm enough, he still watched you closely, wanting to be absolutely certain that the chill in their air wasn’t disturbing you too much.

A faint chuckle escaped as Logan began to rev the engine of his car, it was nothing compared to the engines that Logan started on his day job, but he still liked to impress you. He could feel your eyes watching him closely, leaning across and pressing a kiss against the side of your head as you rested your head further into the headrest of Logan’s car, admiring the view of him concentrating on what was ahead.

Around your car the sun was starting to set, the stunning shade of orange set the scene for you both perfectly. After a lazy day, you both craved the feeling of fresh air hitting against your body, and so when Logan suggested the two of you head out for a drive for a while, you found yourself unable to say no. Happy to play passenger princess whilst Logan took control of the wheel.

He wasn’t expecting you to agree to his offer, you were sleepy, surprising really when you hadn’t done much, but Logan somehow seemed to sweet talk you. Undeniably, you would agree to do anything as long as it meant that you got to enjoy Logan’s company for a little while longer, unable to bring yourself to separate from him for even a second.

“It’s not fair how one person can look so effortlessly beautiful,” Logan complimented, turning his eyes back to the road ahead of you.

“Don’t start being all adorable now,” you laughed, jabbing your fingertip against his arm, “you’ve been mean to me all day.”

A sigh came from Logan, “are you still bitter about the pancakes?”

“You ate my pancakes, that’s an unforgivable act.”

Logan could only shake his head at your dramatics, whilst he knew you were only joking, admittedly he did feel slightly guilty for stealing your food, and mostly getting a huge satisfaction from enjoying the meal he found on the counter top of the kitchen too.

“In my defence, you just left them there, so I just assumed they were for me.”

“Oh, I see…it’s my fault?! Well, forgive me for leaving my food unattended whilst I go to the toilet,” you cried out, rolling your eyes back at Logan. He was about to put his foot down on the accelerator, only to stop himself.

“Exactly,” Logan plays along, looking at you as if it’s obvious that this has been your fault all along. “You should know by now that when you live with me, the second there’s food around, it’s mine,” he added, chuckling away to himself, feeling your eyes burning a hole against the side of your head.

Once his laughter subsided, Logan reached across and rested his hand against the top of your thigh, squeezing it gently. You were as bad as each other, but you could never stay at mad at him, how could you when he smiled so beautifully across at you?

Together you were well known for your bickering, squabbling like children, but always making up. The feeling of Logan kissing against your cheek was enough for you to know that he was just messing with you, and that he was ready to get going and head off to wherever it was that you wanted to go.

You both put your seatbelts on, Logan winding the window down slightly to let in some fresh air, your fingers pressing play on the car radio before setting off down the road.

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

You weren’t quite sure how long the two of you had been travelling for, but when the car finally came to a stop, a smile crept onto your face as you looked out to realise that Logan had stopped you both by the beach.

“It’s the second-best view I’ve had today,” Logan spoke as he watched the way your eyes narrowed, taking in the beautiful sight before you. Your head shook as you listened to him, glancing in his direction momentarily before taking in the beauty of the beach again.

You take a moment to shuffle in your seat, waking your body back up again. Your hand comes out from underneath the blanket, reaching across and taking Logan’s hand off of the steering wheel and intertwining it in with your own.

His hand is cold, thanks to the cool breeze that came through the window. Summer hadn’t quite arrived yet, but that didn’t stop him from wearing a thin shirt, knowing you always loved to admire the way the material gripped to the muscles on his body.

It was all comfortable between you, you wore smiles, relaxed, and made the most of being able to spend time together.

With the sunset behind you, Logan’s breath was taken away by the view beside him. His heart was racing, his mind still wondering how he ever managed to get so lucky, even after so many years together.

Logan was lost for a moment, until he met your eyes. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” you whispered back to him, leaning across and peppering a kiss against his slightly chapped lips.

Outside of your car, the beach was still pretty busy. There were young families running around, dogs chasing anything they could find in the sand, waves smacking against the shoreline. Down by the water you could see a small gap in the sand, there was a dip where someone else must have been sat previously, a gap that looked like it was the perfect size for you and Logan to fit in and spend a bit of time together, being able to shut yourselves off completely from the rest of the world, even just for a few moments.

And as you pondered, it quickly turned out that you were not the only one to do so.

“What are you thinking pretty girl?” Logan asked, intrigued by what had made you smile.

“It’s just lovely down here, isn’t it?” You calmly spoke, unable to tear your eyes away from the scene unfolding in front of you, “our lives our so busy, and yet down here everything just feels so quiet.”

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Logan questioned, usually the two of you were on the same page, and he really hoped you were now too.

You were all too aware that the beach was Logan’s favourite place in the world, the spot where he could relax and forget about everything else. The positives, the negatives, the whispers that always went around the paddock, many of which seemed to revolve around him and the future of his career in formula one.

The nod of your head was all Logan needed to take the keys out of the ignition and climb out of the car, running around the outside of the vehicle.

“Here,” he proudly grinned as he opened up your car door and extended his hand out for you to take a hold of.

“Such a gent,” you teased, making sure that you still had the blanket wrapped around you and your phone securely in your jean pocket before letting Logan help you out of the car. It took a moment for you to wake your legs up, but Logan was happy to stand beside you and give you all the time that you needed.

Once your feet were on the ground, his arm moved to wrap around your waist. “Are you going to be warm enough just taking that down there?”

You hum in reply to Logan, “I’m more concerned about you; will you be warm enough just in that shirt?”

“Of course,” he insisted, “and if I get cold then that just gives me more of a reason to cuddle into you, doesn’t it?”

You couldn’t help but laugh as Logan tickled against your waist, knowing that you would never argue with him. After locking up the car and making sure that the two of you had everything that you’d need, intertwined together you made your way down to the beach, finding the perfect spot.

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

Time ran away from you both as you settled in the dip that you had pointed out to Logan earlier. By now the sun was almost set, the sky was turning darker and darker, but that didn’t seem to bother either of you in the slightest.

The sound of the waves crashing filled those momentary pauses of conversation between you both, providing the perfect backdrop to your evening.

There was plenty going on around you both, but neither of you were paying any attention to it at all. All you wanted was Logan. All Logan wanted was you. It was as if there was an imaginary barrier wrapped around you both, keeping everyone and everything else away.

Your head was resting against Logan’s chest, propped up to try and avoid getting too many grains of sand tangled in your locks. Logan’s hands were all over your body, one on your waist to keep you close by, the other against the top of your head so that Logan could twirl a few strands of your hair around his fingertips whenever he found himself beginning to slip into a bit of a daydream.

“Are you warm enough?” Logan asked as his fingertips brushed against the goosebumps that were beginning to form on your skin. “We can go home if you want, I don’t want you to catch a cold or anything baby.”

“I’m good,” you whispered, trying your best to reassure Logan and stop him from worrying. You try your best to sound convincing, but with the sun now hidden, the coolness of the breeze is beginning to trouble you.

“I can tell when you’re lying,” Logan sniggered, able to read you like a book, arguably knowing you better than you knew yourself.

“Honestly, I’m happy here for a while,” you once again assured.

Logan hummed, although he was far from convinced, running his hand along your arm to try and generate some warmth. “We’ll stay here for a few more minutes, I’ve got something else in mind to finish our evening off, which I know you’ll love.”

“What’s that?” You quizzed, propping yourself up with a hand against Logan’s chest. He shook his head though, refusing to share what his plans were with you.

You tried your best to get his plans out of Logan. Your hands tickled against his tummy, fingers poked against his cheek and his ears, lips pressed several times against his cheeks and his lips, but he still remained silent. It was torment for you not being able to know exactly what was happening next for you both, but for Logan, it brought him a great deal of satisfaction to know that he was irritating you.

“You’ll love it,” he repeated, feeling you press yet another kiss along his jawline. “Do you really think I would ever organise for us to do something you dislike?” He then asked, however with Logan, you never managed to quite know what he had up his sleeve.

Feeling your eyes on him brought another laugh from Logan, especially as you doubted him.

“I’m not as horrible as you think you think I am I’ll have you know.”

“Do you remember the time-“ you began to say, only for Logan to cut you off by tickling your sides. The squeal that escaped from you earnt you a couple of glares from other people around you, but you didn’t care as you tried your hardest to push Logan’s hands off of you before you lost all control.

Unfortunately for you, Logan was far stronger than you, keeping his hands tight on your body as your legs kicked out against him, enjoying having you exactly where he wanted you.

Eventually, after pleading what felt like hundreds of times, Logan finally let you go.

“Come on, let’s get out of here before someone files a noise complaint against us,” Logan suggested, slipping his hand into yours and pulling you up from the comfort of the sand wrapped around your body.

You made sure to keep your blanket nice and tight around your frame as you allowed Logan to lead you back up the sand and towards the car. It was beginning to get quieter as people slipped away after the sun had set, giving you an easy path to the car. Like before, Logan opened up your car door for you, giving you a hand up so you could comfortably slip into the passenger seat, a seat that seemed like it had been moulded for your body given how much time you spent there these days, letting Logan drive you around.

“Are you still planning on keeping this a secret?” You quizzed as Logan impressively revved up his engine once again, nodding his head in response to you as he began to concentrate on safely getting the two of you to his next destination.

He smirked as you groaned, wishing that he wasn’t so secretive with you. “Just trust me my love, I told you that you’d love it, didn’t I?”

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

And love it you did as the two of you sat with your feet on the dashboard, a portion of chips between you both and messy burgers being held in your hands. You had sauce dripping everywhere, half of your fillings were in the footwell of the car, but neither of you cared a bit, simply humming in delight with every mouthful that you took.

You soon realised as Logan drove where he planned on taking you, the burger shack that he was only allowed to indulge in during certain weeks of the year. You promised Logan that you would never eat from there unless he was allowed to too, and with a three week break at your fingertips, he finally had permission. You were bouncing in your seat as soon as you realised where he was heading for, desperate to get your hands on the treat that you had craved for so long.

Beside you, Logan was a lot calmer, but on the inside, he was a bubbling mess just like you.

You’re so lost in your bubble of delight that you’ve almost forgotten Logan beside you. “It’s unfair how one fast food place can make food that tastes so good.”

“They’re still not as nice as the burgers you make,” Logan remarked as he grabbed a napkin, reaching across and dabbing against the corner of your mouth where a bit of sauce was beginning to dribble.

“You don’t have to pretend to be nice to me, we all know that’s not true,” you replied, refusing to let him even make the comparison.

“I think this is the perfect end to the perfect day, what do you think?” Logan quizzed, taking yet another huge bite out of his burger, closing his eyes as he savoured it.

You nodded in agreement, “we should go on some late night drives more often if this is how they’re going to end.”

A chuckle came from Logan, “just don’t tell the team that this is where we ended up.”

“Of course, our evening ended with us going home and making a delicious, nutritious chicken salad for our dinner.”

Over the years you seemed to have perfected your ability to lie, the ability to save Logan from getting into trouble with his bosses by pretending to agree with anything that he had to say.

“And obviously whilst we were at the beach you were doing some sort of workout to make sure that you’re in perfect shape for after the break.”

“I like your thinking,” Logan chuckled, admiring how well you knew what you had to do.

“See, not just a pretty face.”

No, you were far from just that in Logan’s eyes.

“Thank you for such a lovely evening babe.”

Logan simply smiled back at you, your eyes were bright with colour, and most of all he knew that your heart was full of happiness after spending your day with him.

“Don’t be silly, it should be me thanking you.”

˗ˏˋ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ! ´ˎ˗

[stayinlimbo]

the world is ending (but i'm happy you're here with me)

pairing: lee minho x f!reader genre: established relationship, fluff, hurt/comfort warnings: one (1) swear, mc is mentioned to have longer hair at one point, slightly unedited, lowercase intended word count: 1.07k note: i had a lot of fun writing this, so i hope you enjoy it too ♡

there comes a time in every girl’s life where the overwhelming urge to change her physical appearance eclipses all sensible and rational thought. as it turns out, you’re no exception. 

“you’re going to laugh.”

“no i’m not.” 

“you already are,” you deadpan, frowning at minho’s pitiful attempts to repress the growing smile quirking at his lips. your boyfriend has the audacity to chuckle at your words, pushing himself off the couch and gliding towards your stiff figure standing at the entrance of the living room. 

“you can’t blame me, you look so cute and adorable right now,” he defends. an arm snakes around your shoulders and you relax slightly at his touch, wrapping your arms around his middle. “besides, it can’t be that bad—at least, not enough for you to have to hide from me.” 

minho pulls you further into the warmth of his chest, the tender embrace sending a small shiver down your spine. his lips meet the side of your hooded head in a firm kiss, the extra pressure ensuring you would feel the loving gesture. the usual trail of kisses towards your forehead and cheeks is blocked, currently concealed by your (his) hoodie’s drawstrings working overtime to reveal only a small oval of skin. 

the hood’s bunched fabric frames the top of your eyes and lips. you can barely see in front of you until one of minho’s fingers slips into the opening to try and take a peek at what’s covered inside. 

minho is being nice; you look ridiculous.

and it’s your fault really. you should have known you couldn't escape your misfortunes that easily. 

work for the past month has been hell: the road-closure of the usual route you’d take, tacking on an additional fifteen minutes to your commute. the early mornings you have to endure to clock-in on time. the “important” group project your boss delegated around the office. the unpaid overtime for said project. the same petty, passive-aggressive coworkers breathing down your neck and critiquing your every move because you made a mistake once—all casting insurmountable pressure on your already exhausted state. 

you finally snapped when someone callously stole the lunch minho had prepared for you from the breakroom’s fridge. 

you suppose now it was your brain’s attempt to regain some sort of control over the strenuous situation, but the impulse to cut your hair, try a new style, start fresh with your appearance bombarded every thought on the journey home. call it an impulsive thought, an intrusive thought, whatever—you needed to do something.

too bad the hair stylist couldn’t follow directions for shit. 

“minho, i’m serious,” you whine, burying your face further into his chest. suffocating in the arms of the man you love doesn’t sound like such a bad idea right now. “she ruined my hair. how am i supposed to go out in public like this?”

“i can’t tell you if you haven’t even shown me yet. i’m sure it’s not as bad as you think,” he muses, chuckling at the vibrations tickling his torso from the muffled groan you release. 

minho starts to sway the two of you back and forth at your silence. the rhythmic movement cradles you in a comforting hold, temporarily soothing your spiraling thoughts. he’s right; you’re going to have to show him at some point. might as well just get it over with now. 

a defeated sigh escapes you. well, here goes nothing.

you step out of minho’s arms and pry the hood off to reveal your botched hair in all its glory. 

uneven bangs, a completely different color than from when you left for work this morning, fall into your face and cover the top of your eyes. you can’t see yourself but judging from minho’s small hiss and surprised, contorted face, it’s not pretty. 

and it’s not like you asked for anything outlandish: a standard cut and a new style of bangs was your definition of revamping your appearance. so when the stylist cut off a majority of your hair, it took everything within you to not immediately burst into tears as the salon’s floor and your lap splayed the once lengthy remains. 

you don’t even know where she got the idea of bleaching your hair. now your wallet and soul are emptier than ever and there is nothing you can do except hope minho doesn’t ask you to turn around because the layers are downright atrocious. 

“so? what do you think?” a wobbly smile makes its way onto your face. “not what you were expecting, right?”

you can’t help the tears welling into your eyes at his silence. he’s just…staring. certainly this can’t be the dealbreaker, right?

 …right?

you’re saved from your inner turmoil when minho moves forward to carefully bring you back into his arms. the tears finally spill down your cheeks and onto his shirt, the comforting scent of minho flooding your senses once again. if you could hide here forever, you would. 

“it’ll grow back.” 

“i know.”

“you still look sexy.” he pinches your side, coaxing a watery laugh from you. his smile is infectious, and you can’t help but tearfully look up at him with one of your own. 

you playfully guide one of his hands towards the back of your damaged hair, leaving it there. “so you’re not breaking up with me over this?” you tease, resting your head back against his chest. you don’t notice the subtle shift in your boyfriend’s gaze until he softly calls your name.   

“i would love you even if you were bald,” he confesses quietly, squeezing you tighter to him.

you can’t help but snort into his chest. “yeah?” 

“yeah. i will love you now until it’s long again. i will love you with any hair cut, color, style, anything. even if you hate it or one day regret it, my love for you won’t change,” minho assures, his sincerity echoing in his words.

“so if i dyed my hair pink tomorrow, you’d be okay with it?”

“do what you want, whenever you want.” 

because it doesn’t matter to him what you do with your hair. you’re still you, his beautiful and resilient (and sexy) girlfriend. even as his hands run through the chopped, disproportionate strands on the back of your head, he finds you more and more enchanting with each passing day.

“i will be here for you. always.” 

✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺

(“i still have to go to work.” 

“just wear a hat.”)

────────────────────────────────────────────

liked this work? want to let me know how i did? please like, comment, and/or reblog; they are greatly appreciated my asks are always open ♡

[johnathanstatue]

I wanted to have a genuine accident in public. I kinda set myself up for one cus I didn't go to the bathroom.before I left this morning and I remember going once yesterday morning. I put on a Tena slip with nothing underneath but wore tight underwear and leggings overtop. It really kept it in place. I wanted to take before and after pictures so I snapped a picture of both sides and left the place I was at the mall down the road when I had to pee and I held it and held it but I realized it wasn't much use. I just stood still looking at some laptops for sale and started wetting myself. It started off slow, like small bit by small bit. That didn't last long though the small little bits turned into bigger and bigger bursts until I simply couldn't hold it any longer. And just uncontrollably wet myself. The front of the diaper filled up quite a bit. The Tena bulged out in the front pretty badly. I don't think I mentioned I was wearing baggy black jeans over everything with a bigger winter jacket. I left the electronics store with all the laptops and I started going towards Walmart. The Tena was nicely against me and it really wasn't sagging much at all. I was walking through the frozen food section when I started feeling un easy in my stomach. I knew I was gonna have to go to the bathroom soon I just didn't know how soon. I made it through the next few isles with nothing much more then a slight stomach ache.

I remember I was looking at the bell peppers when I just got this nasty cramp and I knew right then that the mess I was holding all day and the day before was going to be coming out pretty soon. I tried looking for an escape but there was pretty much people everywhere I looked. There was people. I looked side to side and I could see that there wasn't much people by the hot sause section in the isle over from me. My stomach was cramping so bad. I wanted to try to just walk out and mess out there or just go home and mess but everytime I moved my legs my stomach cramped more and more and I knew I was gunna lose control of my bowels soon. I did manage to make it to a semi secluded area of the isle, that being the hot sause section. I really didn't know what my game plan for after was I just knew this mess wasn't staying in any longer. I didn't even push at all I just kinda let go of my sphincter muscle and a pretty solid mess started slowly seeping out and I tried holding it back but that was nearly impossible. It was sort of solid but it just hit the seat of my diaper and started bulging it out like crazy down there. I kept looking to my left and right to make sure no one was coming my way. The smell didn't hit me really but when I turned to start walking I could feel the seat of my diaper being weighed down quite a bit. My pants were fairly tight though so it was more spread around then in a big lump. I could feel quote a load in my diaper but I still had the urge to go badly. I kinda abandoned my groceries and I found a secluded area in the bakery section and undid my belt for a second and let my button undo it's self. I was starting to feel kinda weak from holding for so long so I just completely relaxed my bladder and my bowels. This mess started oozing out of me and I'm not even kidding I had to sneeze so I did and my gosh I'll tell you when I did. I messed myself so hard. I instantly did my pants back up and put my belt back on and got out of the store quick. I regretted walking there cus I had a good 20 minute walk with a messy diaper and the whole time I just kept pulling my diaper up over and over since it was so full. I finally got home and snapped the other pictures of my front and back. I was so ready for the shower though I needed it badly. Anyways this was my adventure today. The top two are before and the bottom 2 are after.

[goodstuffhappenedtoday]

Dog repeatedly escapes Up North shelter, sneaks into nursing home

An abused stray mutt kept trying to move himself into a senior care facility. So the nurses there had to figure out what to do about him.

He’d had enough of being at the animal shelter, so Scout the dog climbed over one tall fence and then another, crossed a busy highway in the darkness, entered the automatic doors of a nursing home down the road, walked unnoticed into the lobby, hopped onto a couch, curled into a ball and quietly went to sleep for the night. An astonished nurse there found him the next morning. She called Antrim County Animal Control, whose shelter happens to be just down the road. And they discovered that he'd escaped from there the night before. Scout was a stray mutt. He had no identity, no history. The shelter staff gave him his new name, but otherwise they knew nothing about him, though they noticed he had the distinct demeanor of an abused dog. Somebody apparently once shot him too, with BBs or birdshot, because his jowl still had some kind of round pellets embedded in it. You couldn’t see them, but you could feel them if he let you touch him.   The sheriff came and took him back to the shelter.

But a few nights later there was Scout, back on that same couch in the nursing home lobby. Somehow he again scaled a 10-foot chain-link fence, then a 6-foot solid privacy fence, crossed a highway without getting run over, entered the front door unnoticed, jumped onto the same couch as before and made himself at home for the night. A call was placed again. He was brought back to the shelter again. Just a couple of nights after that, Scout was back on the couch for the third time. And the staff had a decision to make.

Lost and found

Meadow Brook Medical Care Facility is a long-term medical care residence about an hour northeast of Traverse City. It cares mostly for seniors, some of whom have terminal illnesses, or dementia, or simply nowhere else to go or nobody to look after them. There are 82 beds split between several smaller households. For some reason, this is the place Scout the dog decided to make his home. “I’m a person who looks at outward signs, and if it’s meant to be, it’s meant to be,” said Marna Robertson, 57, the nursing home’s administrator. “He did that one time, two times, three times, and obviously that’s something that you should pay attention to. And I asked the staff, ‘Well, he wants to be here. Would anybody like to have a dog?’”

The staff formally adopted him. Suddenly the nursing home had its own pet. And the residents were delighted. “I think it reminds them of being home,” said Rhonda Thomczak, 49, the administrative assistant at Glacier Hill, the household where Scout was first discovered. “When you’re home you have your pets, and you don’t get to have that here. Having a dog around makes it feel like home.”

[the-fiction-witch]

Rescue

Media - Rings Of Power Character - Elrond Couple - Elrond X Reader Reader - Y/n (Elf Wife) Rating - 18 + Word Count - 1241

WARNING! SA / MENTIONS OF SA/ ABUSE/

The road had been long and difficult. But Elrond knew he couldn't give up.

While travelling to visit other elves, their travelling party was ambushed by orcs several died in the fight but some were captured, One of those captured was Elronds own wife, Y/n. The orcs carried her away with them and ever since Elrond had been stalking them desperate to save her. Elrond knew the horrific things orcs do to captured female elves. They torment them. Torture them. degrade them. And rape them to use as breeding slaves. And once they are out of use for them, they'll eat their flesh and leave them half dead. And Elrond knew that was not a fate he could allow Y/n to have.

But the days grew long, and he began to fear that he would never see her again, He couldn't sleep, he couldn't eat and he couldn't think of anything except saving her. No matter what he did hellish screams echoed in his ears, as if from miles away he could hear her fear and he prayed to all the gods of this world that she had only fear to cause her screams… And nothing worse.

he reached a hilltop and stopped to look across the moors, and even in the darkness, he saw them. The band of orcs walked towards the rocks, shuffling about the way orcs often did. And at the back of the pack, two of the four elves were captured from their party both of the women of course.

He saw Y/n and he felt a rage build inside him. She was stripped of her gown wearing only tattered rags to conceal her, forced to all barefoot on the rocks, her feet and body bleeding, rope around her wrists and her neck leading her forward with the orcs, her cheeks stained with tears. She tried to resist them but one orc slapped her across the face almost knocking her to the floor, before grabbing her chest to fondle while she screamed and he laughed at her fear,

Elrond watched as the orcs dragged Y/n along, his anger reaching a boiling point. Every fiber of his being ached with the desire to run down and grab her. The sight of them touching her and causing her pain was almost to much for him to bear. He had to force himself stand still and control his impulses. He wanted to jump down from the hills and run towards them, to grab her and take her away from this hellish nightmare. He wanted to kill every single orc that had touched her and make them suffer for what they had done to her,

His heart was beating faster than ever and his eyes were fixed on her. He couldn't stand to see her in harms way like this. Even her tears were too much for him. This was the woman he loved more than anything in the world and she was suffering at the hands of these monsters. He followed them at a safe distance until they made camp for the coming dawn hiding away in a low mountain cave. They set up their camp and let the prisoners linger outside,

Elrond kept himself hidden, taking note of every aspect of the camp. The cave, the orcs, the guards outside. He needed to find a way to save her. He had to. But the sight of her outside the cave was almost to much for him. He was just a few meters away and yet he felt like a world separated them. He wanted nothing more then to run towards her and hold her but he knew it was too dangerous, he had to bide his time till an oppourtunity came up,

the orcs began to hide away as the sun was set to rise but one large orc came out and looked over the captured prisoners He walked among them, sniffling them, touching them, to select whichever would be the victim of 'the pile'

The pile was a common torment orcs inflicted on female elves, they'd be stripped and tossed to a group no smaller than five, and they'd grab her limbs and take turns to violently rape her piling on her so she had no escape or resistance, they’d grope her, tickle her, humiliate and degrade her in whatever way they could

“That's not going to happen, I swear it. I won't let it” he thought to himself as he looked at the orc. His mind was racing trying to think of a way to save her before it was too late.

"This one." The orc demanded as he picked out the victim. It was Y/n

"No! No! Noo let me go!" She screamed

He watched as the orc picked Y/n. Rage and terror building up inside of him like never before. He couldn't let this happen he had to do something, There was no way he was going to let them hurt her. His heart was racing faster than ever as he frantically tried to think of a plan to stop them without alerting the orcs to his presence. This was the moment, if he didn't save her now he may never get another chance He knew that if he failed it could mean death for them both. But he was willing to risk it all. For her.

he picked up a rock and tossed it over to the other side of the pass, which caught the orcs attention, he grabbed a knife tossing Opheila to the floor before going to investigate leaving her and the other prisoners unattended,

He moved carefully as to not alert the other orcs to his presence and silently stepped towards where Y/n was lying on the ground His heart was in his mouth as he approached her.

She looked up at him and for a moment her eyes widened in disbelief, he could see the pain and fear she had endured in them, but as soon as she saw him a flicker of hope seemed to light them up. she began to silently cry tears of joy to see him, and she quickly moved to her feet, craning her head and holding up her arms so he could cut her binds

He gently began to cut through the ropes binding her with the swiftness of a practised hand. As soon as he removed the ropes he immediately pulled her into an embrace, holding her tight against him. He felt like he could finally breathe again now that she was in his arms. He never wanted to let her go

"Please…we have to get out of here…" she whispered her voice shaking from her broken and bruised lips

He nodded, knowing she was right. Time was running out, he couldn't afford to linger here and risk one of the Orcs coming back. Elrond helped to release the other prisoners letting them go free and he turned back to his beloved Y/n. He held her closer, his arm around her waist as he started backing away towards the mouth of the mountain pass. "Come on, we need to go. Can you run?"

she nodded "For you I can."

He smiled slightly at her response and placed a kiss on the top of her head. He was glad to see that her fighting spirit hadn't been broken even by the worst of torments. "Stay close to me, I'll keep you safe." He took her hand in his and they quickly made their escape into the night.

[cherienymphe]

Basic Training XI (Peter Parker x Reader)

Warnings: NON-CON, DUB-CON, MURDER, violence, kidnapping, captivity, public sex, degradation, forced pregnancy, forced marriage, stockholm syndrome, ptsd, housewife kink, cop!Peter

➥ banner by @vase-of-lilies​ | divider by @whimsicalrogers​

➥ series masterlist

summary: A pit stop during a road trip ends tragically when a small town cop sets his sights on you. You’re the newest addition in a long standing fucked up family tradition.

~

You felt like you were on the verge of a panic attack. Your breathing was shaky and far too heavy, and your chest felt way too tight. The air on your face felt much cooler from the tears that soaked your skin, and you swore that you felt the sheets rip beneath your fingers. You knew for a fact that your other hand was pressing into Peter’s arm so hard that it drew blood.

He didn’t seem to mind though.

Peter was way more preoccupied with the feel of you. Through a tearful gaze, you watched him throw his head back, eyes fluttering shut as he slowly inhaled. You couldn’t stop trembling, half in disbelief and half wanting to rip your hair out. The feel of Peter’s cock inside of you had lessened to a dull pulsing feeling between your legs, and when you shifted, you both hissed.

…but for different reasons.

When Peter finally opened his eyes, he lowered his head to gaze at you. You didn’t know what you looked like, but you had a feeling that your expression reflected what you felt inside. Peter’s expression fell some, and he blinked at you, frowning slightly before leaning down to brush his lips over yours.

“You’re okay,” he softly told you. “You’re okay.”

“No,” you finally choked out, finding your voice after some time. “I’m not.”

You dug your nails harder into his skin, not out of malice, but more so as a means to ground yourself. To hold onto something, because you felt completely out of control, like you were floating aimlessly, and the thought made more tears escape.

“Peter, please stop,” you shakily breathed, your gaze pleading as you looked into his dark eyes. “Please…”

You let the sheets go to press your hand into his chest, pushing hard, but he wouldn’t budge. Instead, he gripped your wrist, briefly squeezing it before gently pinning it to the bed. He leaned in some more, the action causing his hips to move just a tad, and you were suddenly strongly reminded of the presence of him inside of you.

You pressed your lips together, a whine escaping as you drew more blood. Peter hissed at the action, but he didn’t seem all that upset. When you looked closely enough, you could see the ghost of a smile on his pink lips, and he gently pressed his forehead to yours. His breathing was loud in your ear, and Peter briefly closed his eyes.

“I really wanted this day to be a happy one for you,” he slowly told you, sounding almost…disappointed. “It should be, after all.”

Peter leaned in to kiss your trembling lips again.

“Steve can be an asshole, sometimes…but I won’t let him ruin this.”

He kissed along your jaw and towards your neck, and you didn’t know how to tell him that he was making this day worse. The feel of him on you, in you, was making you emotional beyond comprehension. When Peter kissed you again, he slowly pulled his hips back, making you sharply gasp, and you hated the way your hips lifted too…like he was pulling you with him, attached by a string.

When he drove himself into you again, torturously slow, you dragged your nails down his arm. You could feel yourself leaving bloody streaks with the action, and Peter only groaned. You didn’t know if it was from that or from the feel of you wrapped tightly around him. He was so quiet for a while at first, just slowly pushing into you and fully immersing himself in what you felt like.

However, once your lack of reaction became apparent, that changed.

“Open up for me, pretty girl,” he murmured, letting your wrist go to reach down and rest his hand on your thigh.

He pushed on it, making your legs widen, and you couldn’t swallow down your sharp exhale. Peter completely ignored your hands on him as you tried to push him away, curving his hips into yours and stretching you out with every thrust. Every push of his cock became easier and smoother than the last, and you hated it.

At least, you thought you did.

You didn’t like that Peter was on top of you, trapping you between his body and the bed. You didn’t like that your senses were completely invaded by the smell and feel and sound of him. You hated that he was inside of you, his cock pushing into you and stroking your walls in a way that made you shudder. You hated it, and yet you couldn’t ignore the heat that settled deep in the pit of your gut.

You told yourself that it was your body’s natural reaction. As much as you liked to think you were so far removed from your baser instinct, you were an animal. A homo sapiens, but an animal nonetheless, and your body was going to react to certain things no matter how you personally felt. That was easy enough to accept and tell yourself, but when Peter ran his hand up your stomach, fingers gliding between your breasts, you couldn’t hold in your whimper.

“Do you have any idea how good you feel?” Peter whispered. “Perfect. Like you were made for me.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, and Peter tutted.

“No, no, don’t do that,” he softly pleaded. “Let me see you…”

He plunged into you with a particularly hard thrust, holding himself there as your back arched.

“Please,” he begged. “Show me those pretty eyes.”

His hand was on your face, thumb softly brushing over your cheek, wiping away a few stray tears. You pressed your face into his shoulder, hiding from him as he continued to fuck you. Your hand clutched his back, and for some reason, his gentle and loving words made you cry harder. Maybe you wanted him to be mean? Cruel? Although, you supposed that he was already being that, wasn’t he? Perhaps you wanted him to be more like Steve that day in the yard.

The sight of his rough movements and Margaret was burned into your brain. It was a memory that struck you frozen and cold with fear, but at least if Peter was like that, it would be so much easier to hate him. You didn’t want him to be gentle with you, his touch almost loving in nature like you were some couple making love after a day apart.

You hated that it was making you feel good, driving you towards the edge.

You’d stopped crying, a little too horrified with what you felt happening. You could feel that familiar coil tighten in your stomach, strings attached to it that pulled at every nerve in your body. Your breathing started to hitch, and when Peter’s hand slid to your neck, he pushed you back down onto the bed, preventing you from hiding your face. On instinct, your hands reached up, clasping onto his wrist, and your eyes flew open.

Your tearful eyes met his enraptured ones, and Peter couldn’t take his eyes off of you. It was like he didn’t want to look away, didn’t want to miss a single expression on your face as he brought his tongue between his lips. He was slow to sheath himself inside of you again and again, and when you lifted your hips, your entire body tensing up, he sighed, pulling his lip between his teeth.

“That’s it,” he whispered. “Let go, pretty girl. Let go.”

You didn’t want to, fighting it and trying to starve it off for as long as you could.

Peter could tell.

“Nuh uh,” he breathed. “None of that…”

“Peter,” you murmured, almost pleadingly.

“No, no, let go,” he urged, hand tightening on your throat. “Relax and let go. It’s okay.”

You pressed a hand to his lower stomach, trying to stop his thrusts, and Peter mirrored you, pressing his own hand into your stomach hard and making you gasp. You could feel yourself tensing more, seizing up and gasping for breath as your orgasm crawled over you, slowly filling you and taking control until you were a whimpering mess beneath him.

“Good girl,” he quietly drawled. “Look at you…doing so good for me.”

His hand was still on your throat, squeezing and holding you in place while you rode out your climax underneath him, clenching down onto him.

“Just like that,” you heard him say. “Deep breaths…”

When the stars behind your eyes started to fade, Peter finally came back into focus. He was still lazily thrusting into you, fucking you through it, and when he slowed to a stop, you realized that he hadn’t come, at all. He was still hard when he pulled out of you, and the feel made you shudder. You kept your gaze on the ceiling as he kissed you, slow and long, before finally pulling away.

Absentmindedly, you could hear him going into the bathroom, and it wasn’t long before the sound of running water reached your ears. He wasn’t inside of you anymore, but you swore you could still feel him there, still feel that dull ache of his cock in you. You only just realized how cold you felt despite the light sheen of sweat that coated your skin. You shakily reached up, hands covering yourself just as Peter returned.

He was gentle in grabbing them, pulling you to your feet, and you closed your eyes when he pressed his lips to your forehead. Peter wrapped his arms around you as he guided you into the bathroom, and you felt so removed from your body as he pressed his chest to your back. You’d crossed the inevitable line with Peter, and you didn’t know how to feel about it.

“Easy,” he warned, helping you into the bathtub, the hot water jolting you back into reality. “It’s hot.”

You clung to the arm that was around you as he lowered you both into the water. It had the strong scent of oils and soap, and Peter forced you to lean your head back against his shoulder. You were all too aware of his naked body against your equally naked one, hands running over you as he grabbed the loofah. The memory of him inside of you made you tremble, but his soft touch as he cleaned the sweat from your body had the opposite effect.

You could feel Peter pressing his face into your hair as he cleaned you, almost inaudible praises leaving his lips.

“You were so good…you know that?”

You didn’t respond, watching him clean the inside of your thighs.

“You felt better than I even imagined.”

You got the feeling that you were supposed to be flattered.

…but all you wanted to do was cry.

So, you did.

Peter hummed at the sound, pulling you closer and making soft shushing noises.

“I know,” he softly comforted you.

Hot water dripped over your skin as he squeezed the loofah.

“It’s okay to feel good, Y/N…to let me make you feel good,” he continued. “You’re mine, after all, and I take good care of everything that belongs to me.”

Those words caused an internal conflict within you, torn between a deep sense of shame and disgust…and a small sliver of relief. Peter would take care of you. He’d said that many times, including now, and there was something in you that just wanted to let him. After all, he protected you from Steve, and, as the blond had so eloquently pointed out, held your hand through this entire ordeal.

It would be favorable if he wasn’t the reason you were here to begin with.

“Didn’t I take good care of you…?” he wondered, voice lowering. “Hmm?”

You nodded when he pressed you for an answer, your cheek resting on his chest as you turned your head. Peter held you to him, playing with your hair, and when he spoke again, you shuddered.

“Things will be so much easier for you when you let me.”

When…not if. The distinction made your heart sink, because as much as you wanted to deny it, you knew it was only a matter of when, not if, and you blinked as a few more tears escaped. Peter squeezed more water onto you, and when his free hand tilted your chin up, you knew that he wanted a kiss.

When you woke up, the feel of fingertips dragging over the skin of your back was the only thing you could focus on. It was a soothing feeling, something that almost lulled you back to sleep, but the knowledge of who the hand belonged to prevented you from doing so. A shudder traveled down your spine, and he hummed.

Peter fucked you well into the night. After he’d pulled you from the water, he’d pulled you into another kiss, and the water on your skin dampened the bed when he laid you down. Peter was determined to taste every part of you, and you would’ve thought that he didn’t have the rest of your lives to do that. It overwhelmed you, forcing you to freeze up several times as he covered your mouth with his own.

In the rare moments that panic broke through, forcing you to cry and fight against him, Peter was calm in holding you down until you quieted. He seemed to have an abundance of patience as he held himself inside of you, watching you cry and waiting for it to be over. When he finally did come inside of you, you’d been coming undone beneath him for the third time. His fingers had been threaded with yours, holding them down as his teeth scraped along your neck.

The sounds that left him were animalistic, a stark contrast from the words he murmured moments later.

“My pretty girl,” he’d whispered. “All mine.”

It was so confusing to be comforted and looked after by the same hands that held you down. It was mind bending to cry as Peter forced pleasure on you, and then to cry some more as he held you and stroked your face. He was your source of torment and also your only source of comfort. Who else would you cry to if not him? Who else would you safely and comfortably confide in if not him?

The feel of lips on the side of your face pulled you from your thoughts, and you slowly blinked. Your entire body ached, and even if you wanted to move, you didn’t think that you could. He brushed his lips over your temple and then your cheek and jaw before they finally grazed the corner of your mouth. You could feel his hand kneading into your waist through the sheet.

You didn’t even know what time it was, and faintly, you wondered about breakfast.

As if your mind had decided to bring your thoughts to life, there was a knock on the door. The sound of it made you jump, and you looked towards the door with wide eyes as if somehow knowing exactly who was on the other side. Peter noticed your discomfort, softly shushing you and rubbing your arm as he sat up. When he made his way towards the door, more decent, now, you blanched at the sight of his back.

You hadn’t remembered doing that, at all, and your eyes drifted to your fingernails…and the slight dried blood beneath them.

“Is there any reason she’s not downstairs with the rest?”

Steve’s voice was as cold and stern as ever, making you shrink in on yourself, twisting your hands into the sheet. Peter stood in the opening of the cracked door, completely blocking you from view, and you swallowed. You’d overslept? The thought made your heart race, and in all the times you’d screwed up, you’d never flat out overslept and missed your duties.

You struggled to sit up, fear and worry filling you just as Peter spoke.

“She’s indisposed for the day, Steve,” Peter told him, shocking you. “Making her work would be cruel and unusual punishment.”

Peter’s tone was light, teasing, but both you and Steve knew there was a strong hint of truth there.

“It’s not like she couldn’t use more of that,” the blond replied, making you frown. “…but alright.”

He paused, and you were unable to see any kind of visual exchange between them.

“I’m glad to hear that either way,” Steve evenly said, but there was a lilt in his voice that told you his sentiments were genuine.

Peter’s gaze met yours when he shut the door, turning to face you with a small smile. You must’ve been wearing your confusion because when he reached you, he took your face into his hands, gently kissing you.

“You’ve had a long night. Of course, I wouldn’t let you do anything other than…rest,” he said, a small smile dancing along his lips as he drank you in.

You noticed the way his gaze lingered on the top of the sheet, his eyes tracing your skin.

“You feeling okay…?”

What a loaded question.

You knew what Peter meant, of course. Did you feel hurt? Unwell? Concerningly sore? However, your mind could only drift to your captivity and how alone you felt and how even if you wanted to find comfort in any of the other women here, you couldn’t. Your every move outside of this room was watched, scrutinized, leaving the only place to fully cope…with Peter.

“I’m okay,” you finally whispered, addressing what you knew he meant.

“Good,” he whispered, kneeling before you and taking your chin in his fingers. “I want you to be okay.”

You warily eyed him as he looked between your eyes.

“I know you remember what I showed you when you first got here…with Steve and…”

Peter trailed off, and you sharply inhaled, blinking.

“I want you to know that that…that’ll never be us. At least…I hope not,” he was quick to add. “I think you’d have to do something pretty heinous for me to ever resort to that.”

Peter held your gaze as he said this, tone sincere, and he stroked your skin.

“When I touch you…it won’t be like that. I don’t want you to be in pain, to be hurting. I’ll always only want to ever make you feel good,” he whispered.

You looked down at that, gaze finding the floor.

“Steve doesn’t agree.”

There was a heavy silence at your words, both of you recalling what the blond had thrown at Peter the night before. If Steve had it his way, Peter would’ve tied you to that same tree and debased you in front of half the household. There was a part of you that was convinced he’d still force Peter to do that one day, but if you could count on Peter for anything, it was to protect you from Steve’s wrath.

“No…he doesn’t,” Peter eventually agreed. “…but you’re not his.”

You looked up at that, eyes meeting his.

“You’re mine.”

For the first time, those words didn’t make your stomach twist in discomfort. Instead, relief settled in your gut, grateful that you didn’t belong to Steve…but instead Peter. You swallowed and watched him as he stood, and you closed your eyes when his hand rested on the back of your head, cheek pressed to his stomach.

“You know that, now…right…?”

You recalled your angry words from last night, tearfully proclaiming that you didn’t want to belong to Peter. You recalled the slight pause, the way his eyes had glinted, the almost hint of hurt you saw there. Your gaze lowered to the ring on your hand, a symbol of that ownership, and as much as you hated the sight of it, something in you saw it as a shield.

A barrier between you and Steve’s ire, his unquenchable desire to break you down in the same way he’d done to Margaret.

You were Peter’s…and Steve couldn’t hurt you.

“Yes,” you finally answered Peter’s question, almost too quietly. “I know that.”

Peter’s hand under your chin tilted your head up, and he leaned in when his eyes met yours.

“Are you sure?”

Pressing your lips together, you reluctantly nodded.

You weren’t surprised when Peter kissed you again, but that didn’t mean you were eager when his hand drifted to your naked shoulder, trailing towards the sheet and fingering the material. You ducked your head, heart pounding as memories of last night assaulted you. Peter only rested his face in the crook of your neck, kissing your skin.

“I thought you said you were mine,” he murmured, and you felt him take your hand.

Pain flared in your finger as he squeezed the ring.

“I am,” you shakily assured him.

When he pulled away, his dark gaze met yours, only briefly, but it was enough.

Reluctantly, you didn’t turn away when he kissed you again, and when his arm snaked around your waist, you didn’t push it away no matter how much you wanted to. Peter was like a man starved as he laid you down, hovering over you as he pressed open mouthed kisses to your skin.

You clenched your teeth when he wrapped his lips around one of your breasts, tears in your eyes at the conflicting emotions you felt. Peter raped you—he was raping you—and despite the horror and helplessness you did feel, you could only manage to tell yourself that it could be so much worse. He could be brutally taking you outside for all to see. He could be hurting you to the point of making you bleed, to the point of bruising you.

Peter could be so much worse, it was true, but he was still bad.

You kept telling yourself that, kept repeating it to yourself, but the way his hands danced over you didn’t feel bad. The way his lips left gentle kisses on your skin didn’t feel bad, at all. His soothing praises and his fingers on your face and his teeth scraping your neck, nothing about it felt bad even though you knew you didn’t want it.

You struggled to breathe as he thrust into you, hands on your waist and holding the lower half of you up as his knees pressed into the bed. Your hands slid along the bed as your gaze became fixated on the ceiling, fighting to hold in the moans you wanted to let out as he drove himself into you. He was hitting something in you that had you squirming against your will.

Your first orgasm snuck up on you, and you jerked beneath him, and like the night before, Peter was confident that you could take another. Your own hands covered his, trying to pry them off, the overstimulation making your senses go haywire.

“Peter, please-I can’t,” you breathlessly pleaded.

You needed a minute to breathe, to think, to wrap your head around how quickly you’d been forced into the inevitable chapter of your captivity that you thought—hoped you could avoid.

“Shh,” he softly soothed you. “I know you can, pretty girl.”

He had your hips pinned, and when you looked at him, the determination in his eyes to get what he wanted told you to just give up. The soles of your feet pressed into the bed, sliding and digging into the mattress. Against your better judgement, you reached up to press your hands against his stomach, and Peter sucked his teeth.

“Stop,” he slowly drawled, one hand sliding up to press down just below your chest. “Stop it.”

“Peter-.”

“None of that,” he whispered, his dark eyes staring you down as he slowly pushed his cock into you. “Behave…and take it.”

You didn’t have a choice, something you already knew, but you still threw your head back, tears kissing your eyes. You could hear it every time he thrust into you, an embarrassing sound that made you squeeze your eyes shut. The hand just under your chest made it’s way to your neck, and Peter pressed his thumb to the front of your throat.

He leaned down, his body fully pressed to yours, now, and you opened your eyes, unsurprised to find his gaze already on you. He stared into your eyes as he dipped into you, his cock plunging into your walls as he made a home between your thighs. His thumb grazed your chin before completely swiping along your mouth, his other fingers still on your neck.

“I’m so glad I chose you…”

His thumb pulled your bottom lip down just a tad, another thrust making your toes curl.

“…and I know you will be too.”

[marvelfilth]

Wisdom teeth

Pairing: Wednesday Addams x f!reader

Warnings: ooc! Wednesday, mention of blood

Summary: "I've been successful at keeping this piece of information to myself for the past two months and twelve days, but now it seems that I can't hold back the words from escaping my treacherous mouth. It's almost as if I have no control of what is going through my brain at the moment. I feel like an adolescent cliché."

Masterlist

She doesn't say anything when you help her to the passenger seat of your car, her eyes stay rooted on the spot above your shoulder, dark and unblinking. She sits dutifully and doesn't complain when you bend to fasten her seatbelt, your warm fingers barely grazing her clothed thigh on accident. You think you heard a slightest hitch of her throat, but that might have been your wishful thinking.

Ever since the brooding brunette first stepped foot on Nevermore grounds you were irrevocably pulled in her orbit, always close enough to be seen by her, but never close enough to reach out and touch, not that you'll ever try, you do need all of your fingers intact. Her menacing aura and Machiavellian tendencies never stopped you from trying to reach out and form some sort of connection, even if it was just making eye contact in dark hallways or receiving nearly unperceivable eye rolls whenever Enid dragged you to their room. Not even once in the months you've known her did she grace you with more than a few words and barely noticeable nods, opting to focus on her novel or, in extreme cases, leaving the room to continue her endless investigations.

So when Enid cornered you in the morning and practically begged you to take Wednesday to the dentist's office, you were torn between crushing Enid in a hug and fleeing to the woods to hide out.

In the end, you couldn't miss the chance to get to know the gothic girl a little bit better.

Wednesday pointedly clears her throat and you jump up, bumping your head against the roof of your car, close the door and make your way to the driver's seat.

You suppose her impatience to get back to school makes sense with how overstuffed her mouth seems at the moment, and once you're finally behind the wheel you reach over the console to gently swab away droplets of blood on her lips.

She stops breathing altogether.

"Are you alright, Wednesday?" You can't help, but ask, your hand awkwardly hovering over the console.

She takes a moment to think and you have to pinch yourself to make sure you're not dreaming when you practically see gears turning in her head as she struggles to formulate a response, her brows crinkled and lips slightly pursed.

"Your archive. Are we going there now?" She asks.

And there's that.

She refused anesthesia, looking eager to go through all the pain, her eyes shining brighter than you've ever seen. The doctor blanched, stuttering while he tried to reason with her, mentioning how agonizing the pain will be and how he'll probably get fired if he agreed to do it.

It made your skin crawl.

You pulled her away before she could threaten the poor man, promising her anything she wanted if listened to the doctor and agreed to anesthesia.

Her eyes flickered to your hand on her shoulder before she looked back at the sweating man, her eyes narrowing slightly.

You held your breath, looking at her with wide eyes, already regretting your offer, but all she asked for was unlimited access to your family archive.

You suppose her request made sense, given your family's history and her unwavering interest in all things unknown, but it still made your heart clench with an unbidden feeling you'd never name out loud.

"No, we're going back to school. I told you I'll take you there over summer, remember?" You patiently reply, subtly eyeing the grumpy brunette.

She huffs, wincing when it causes her pain and turns to look out the window, her eyes slightly hazy.

You take a deep breath and finally pull out from the parking lot, driving in silence and keeping your eyes firmly on the road until you can no longer pretend like you don't feel her heavy gaze on you.

"What is it, Wednesday?"

"Your face."

You blanch, offended. "What about it?"

You don't think you'll be able to withstand her making fun of your looks. She doesn't seem like the type to do that, but you can't be too sure - she is acting rather out of character.

"It's distracting. Turn around." She demands, furrowing her brows.

Your jaw falls open. "Wednesday, I'm driving."

She huffs and crosses her arms. After a minute of contemplation she starts rummaging through your glove compartment.

"Don't," you groan. You won't let her tear you apart for the mess she'll undoubtedly find there, so you reach for your phone. "Why don't you play a game? Or, I don't know, find something to blackmail me with?" You unlock it and toss it on her lap, your hand falling back on the wheel, clutching it in a tight grip.

Your phone lays untouched for a long moment and you have to restrain yourself from looking over at the ravenette. It's the longest you've spent in her company and she most certainly said more words in the past ten minutes than she did in all the time you've known her, and Enid didn't prepare you for conversations.

Your palms start to sweat a little.

She looks down at her lap and picks up your phone with two fingers only to throw it on the backseat. "I'm allergic to technology," she deadpans.

She stays silent for the next few minutes and you relax, thanking every divine being for making this trip somewhat easy for you.

And that's when she turns to look back at you, her expression sour and displeased, like you just said something really dumb. You decide to ignore her for as long as you can, checking your blind spots and fiddling with the radio to seem busy.

She pointedly clears her throat, pulling your attention. You sigh and look at her.

"What now?"

She frowns. "I feel compelled to reveal something you might find… unwelcome." Her mumble comes out distorted and she winces slightly, her hand coming up to cradle her swollen cheek and you swiftly slap it away, sheepishly looking away at her affronted look.

"Don't want you to hurt yourself."

"Usually, slapping ones hand causes them pain," she retorts, fully turning in her seat to face you. "You slapped my hand. That hurt. Not that I didn't enjoy it, but I prefer to inflict pain, not receive it."

You snort, shaking your head at the smaller girl and she pouts. Wednesday Addams, the girl who'd rather jump off a cliff in a river full of piranhas than show an ounce of human emotion, pouts.

But maybe it's not so strange, considering the circumstances.

You adjust in your seat, your right hand landing on your thigh to subtly fiddle with the rough fabric of your jeans. They're light blue, with flowers all over their back pockets and Wednesday absolutely hates them, which is why, you guess, she's currently staring down at your legs like they're her mortal enemies.

The tips of her ears turn red.

"Must you do that?" She hisses, gesturing to your hand on your thigh.

You blink and place it back on the wheel, noting the way her eyes snap up to glare at the road.

"Are you feeling okay?" You ask, because she's starting to look restless. Her fingers clench and unclench on her lap and she keeps glancing at your hand every couple of seconds.

"No." Her eyes snap up to look at the roof of your car, her face a picture of impatience. "Hold my hand."

You gulp, breath catching in your throat and turn to look at the smaller girl just in time to catch her boring holes into your hand and probe lightly at her cheeks. Your mouth opens to stutter a response, but her scathing look makes you shut up.

"This gauze in my mouth feels terrible, I can't possibly endure it a moment longer. Holding your hand will make the feeling bearable." She looks at you expectantly, turning over her hand on her lap, waiting.

You hesitantly reach out and take her hand. She laces your fingers, letting out a quiet sigh as she sags against the weathered leather, turning to look out the window.

You can't believe this is happening.

This Wednesday is not something you're equipped to deal with. Hell, you can barely manage her regular self, which still comes hard at times, especially when you intrude on her writing time. It's not like you mean to do that, but a certain blonde always chooses that exact hour to invite you over, always wearing a mischievous smirk when Wednesday tenses up upon your arrival.

This feels like walking on thin ice at gunpoint with a ticking bomb in your hands.

"How-"

Her nails dig into your skin hard enough to make you yelp, but you don't pull away, eyeing the stewing girl. She's breathing heavily, her lips opening and closing as she seemingly tries to keep herself from blurting something out.

It's so bizarre you have an urge to pinch yourself, but you don't need that with her nails still digging into your skin.

You focus on the road, afraid to stir the dragon.

Her next words make you jolt so hard the car wavers on the road.

"Every time my eyes land on you my heart skips a beat," she says, like she's complaining about a mystery she couldn't solve.

You grip the steering wheel tighter. "What?"

"One does not typically pay attention to such mundane thing, but I do. Whenever you're in my vicinity I can't help, but be aware of each skipped beat of my heart. The feeling is revolting, and I've had the urge to confess this ever since I woke up." She frowns, and it's quiet for a few minutes as she seemingly gathers her thoughts.

The moment you had in your art shed suddenly comes to mind. You went there after a long day of studying in the library, ready to decompress and finish your latest painting. You didn't expect anyone to be there, which is why you shrieked like a maniac when you flicked the lights on, basking Wednesday's rigid form in warm yellow glow. She stood over your painting, her features stony and unreadable as her fingers traced the outline of a shipwreck on the canvas, the still wet paint smudging her fingers and messing up your precise strokes.

It made the painting even more beautiful.

You dug around your backpack, looking for tissues, taking a step closer when you finally found some. With great hesitance, you reached for her hand, your fingers closing around her delicate wrist. Her lips parted as she inhaled, her pulse erratic under your thumb. She took one look at you, turned on her heel and left, her perfume lingering in the air.

You gulp, when her grip on your hand turns painful. "I've been successful at keeping this piece of information to myself for the past two months and twelve days, but now it seems that I can't hold back the words from escaping my treacherous mouth. It's almost as if I have no control of what is going through my brain at the moment. I feel like an adolescent cliché," she complains through gritted teeth, irritated.

Your face burns the same shade as the red light you've come to stop at. You don't know if you should feel ecstatic or fear for your life, because no matter what happens next, you're sure Wednesday will have your head for witnessing a rare moment of weakness. But your heart always had more power than your head, so you're left with trembling hands and sweaty palms, choking on your breath as you struggle to think of something to say.

"Wednesday, I'm going to have a heart attack," you mumble.

"You're not showing any signs of an impending heart attack, if anything, your symptoms correlate with something Enid usually calls having a crush." She's back to staring intently at you, catching every twitch of the muscles on your face as you try your best to keep your blush at bay. Her hand slides up, enclosing your wrist.

Your heart burns in your chest and you feel the need to correct her, to tell her that what you feel for her is more than some stupid crush. You need to tell her about the way your dark wings tingle when she brushes past you, begging to be released from the confinement of your spine. You need to tell her about the way your heart beats out a special rhythm, hammering against your ribs like a caged animal, desperately leading its owner to the girl who successfully stole it.

You need to tell her how easy it was to fall for her and how hard it got when you realized the extent of your feelings.

You need to tell her something, anything.

You need to tell her everything.

A loud honk jostles you and you look back at the road to keep driving, trying your best to hide your face when a car passes by you, the driver giving you a finger.

"Imbecile," Wednesday mumbles.

"Yeah, what an asshole."

"I meant you. The gesture was entirely appropriate seeing as you failed to pay attention to your surroundings."

"Huh?" You gape. "You're insulting me now?"

"Your observation skills never cease to amaze me," she frowns in thought, "just like your remarkable ability to make my existence less bothersome." The haze in her eyes is gone, replaced by reserve and a hint of fondness.

Your brain short circuits.

You pull over and let your forehead fall against the wheel, still holding it in a death grip.

You would never admit it to anyone, not even on your deathbed, but you swear you feel butterflies erupt in your stomach at her quiet confession.

Your smile is so wide it hurts your cheeks, but you don't care as long as Wednesday keeps looking at you like that, like she's trying her best at keeping away the warmth in her eyes. They flicker to your lips when you lick them, and this time she can't keep her emotions in check, her eyes alight with fiery passion.

You can't help voicing your concern. "I thought you didn't like me that much. I mean, you barely speak to me when Enid drags me to your dorm."

She looks at you for a long moment. Her thumb circles your knuckle. "Enid has a surprisingly perceptive eye. She noticed a certain change in my behavior long before I did and decided to act on it. I simply wasn't prepared."

"Are you prepared now?" You breathe out.

"Are you?"

You let out a relieved laugh, and pull her hand up to your lips, placing a soft kiss on her ice cold knuckle. "Wednesday, I've been pining over you since the day we met."

She lets out a barely noticeable breath and you suddenly realize she's been nervous all this time too, you just failed to pay attention in your anxiety riddled state.

"Good." The corners of her mouth fly up.

Your eyes widen. She has dimples.

She turns away nonchalantly and places your intertwined hands on her lap, looking like she just solved the biggest mystery known to mankind.

[jasmines-library]

SUPERNATURAL MASTERLIST

All the things on the road so far:

Total count: 40

Last updated: 04 january 2025

⛤ MASTERLIST ⛤

⛤ Hey Jude

Summary: When a demon hunt doesn't go to plan, the Winchesters have to rush to save their little sister. Though to make matters worse, once back home in the safety of the bunker her wound gets infected. With their angel friend MIA, Sam and Dean must battle time to find a way to help their sister.

⛤ Just One Big Headache

Summary: A routine salt 'n' burn takes a nasty turn when the spirit directs its anger towards you, leaving you with a nasty concussion, but not to worry, the Winchesters are there to look after you.

⛤ Spellbound Sickness

Summary: A long and cumbersome witch hunt turns much worse when you begin to develop a high fever; a side effect of the curse she managed to spit out at you. Will the Winchesters find the cure in time?

⛤ Up and Down

Summary: After returning from being tortured by the devil himself, your brain can’t help conjure up its own images which refuse to leave you alone.

⛤ Let It Linger

Summary: after a rough hunt resurfaces some unwanted memories, you slip into your own mind. But Sam is there to help you through it.

⛤ Blood Bag

Summary: you are captured by a group of vamps whilst on a hunt. They take their time trying to kill you, draining you of your blood in an old warehouse. For the Winchesters, it’s a race against time to reach you before something fatal happens.

⛤ Safehouse

Summary: after sustaining an injury on a hunt, you and Dean are forced back to the safehouse, however the wound festers and becomes infected, leaving you very ill. With Cas MIA and without the proper equipment to treat the wound, you are left clinging onto life. (Unknowingly like Hey Jude because I’m stupid and forgot id already done it. It’s slightly different though)

⛤ The Basement

Summary: You are captured alongside your brother Sam by the BMOL. They want something you won't tell them, so they try to force it out of you.

⛤ Hidden on the inside

Summary: During a hunt, you take a nasty hit which at first seems fine, but it's what's hidden deep under the surface that creates a problem. (I get it, i suck and writing summaries.)

⛤ Oh, Baby.

Summary: on the way back from a hunt, an out of control car veers into yours sending it hurtling off of the path and into a tree, leaving you trapped. Too far from the hospital, the Winchesters are left with the task of getting your body from the car as they wait for Cas to arrive.

⛤ Sweet Creature

Summary: When Dean is a Demon, he does something unexpected to you. Since then, you have become withdrawn, refusing to sleep in fear of the images that plague your mind. When you eventually give in and suffer a nightmare, Cas is there to help.

⛤ Sounds Of Someday

Summary: the request pretty much says it all. When you and your brothers split up during an unusual hunt, you get caught and become part of a witch’s ritual, which ends with your life slipping away and your brothers struggling to reach you as you are ripped away from them.

⛤ Devil in Disguise

Summary: After escaping from the cage, Lucifer decides to pay Sam a visit, only he's not there. So he settles on the next best thing: you.

⛤ Black Smoke Rising

Summary: Seeking revenge on the Winchesters, a demon decides to go undercover by using your body as a vessel to sneak into the bunker. Whilst trapped within your own mind, you can only hope that Sam and Dean notice that something is amiss before it is too late.

⛤ Just A Little Complication

Summary: Whilst Dean is in hell, the reader is the only one who can calm Sam down when he gets overwhelmed.

⛤ Knock it off

Summary: whilst at dinner with her family, the reader begins to choke.

⛤ Groundhog Day

Summary: takes place during the episode ‘Mystery Spot’ but instead of Dean dying over and over again, Sam and Dean are forced to watch their sister die repeatedly .

⛤ Sleep Is For The Weak

Summary: With too much to do and not a lot of time to do it, you overwork yourself, missing out on sleep. When your brothers try to get involved, you dismiss them only for you to end up collapsing during a hunt.

⛤ The Curious Case Of Dean Winchester

Summary: Takes place during S5E7 where the reader loses years off of her life to save Dean from a demon deal, however when Sam tried to win her years back, it may already be a little bit too late.

⛤ Dead In The Water

Summary: takes place during S1E3 where the reader ends up in the water with Lucas.

⛤ Dilemma

Summary: When you and your brothers get caught of guard during a werewolf hunt, they are quick to try and blame each other. But little do they know that their bickering might cost you your life.

⛤ Teeth

Summary: Reader gets turned into a vampire

⛤ So close, Yet Too far

Summary: you just really need a hug.

⛤ Hexed

Summary: a hex bag finds its way to you…

⛤ Breathe

Summary: You have an asthma attack.

⛤ Currents Convulsive

Summary: you get electrocuted.

⛤ The Things They Carried

Summary: based on the episode; you get infected by a parasite and have to find a way to get it out.

⛤ Caught Off Guard

Summary: you get attacked by a werewolf and have a panic attack

⛤ Weak immune system

⛤ Motion Sickness

Summary; you get car sick

⛤Double Trouble

summary: you see double

⛤Wendigo

⛤Hello?

Summary: on a lone hunt, you end up injured and seeking emergency help. The only problem is, there’s no one around.

⛤ ‘Tis the Season

Summary: A fluffy one shot where the Winchesters celebrate Christmas.

⛤ A Winchester Surprise

Summary: After years of your birthday being forgotten or consumed by a hunt, your brothers make sure that this one is extra special.

⛤ Time For A Wedding

Summary: Sam and Dean attend the readers wedding.

⛤ Unconditional

Summary: 15 year old Winchester!sister discovers she is a lesbian, and whilst on a date with a girl she sees in a diner she gets harassed by a homophobic boy. When she returns, Sam and Dean comfort her.

⛤ Somebody Told Me

Summary: Sam and Dean give their nervous younger sister dating advice.

⛤ Sick Bug

Summary: When you wake up feeling sick, your big brothers are there to help make you feel better. (Hurt/comfort ish)

⛤ Noodle Soup

Summary: The reader takes care of their sick brothers

⛤ Changes (spn x dc)

Summary: You are sick of Sam and Deans bickering, so you venture to Gotham to hunt some vampires where you meet some very interesting vigilantes.

⛤ Family First

Summary: Sam and Dean show their appreciation for their older sister

⛤ coming out - headcanons

summary: you come out as lesbian

⛤ Today I Saw The Whole World

Summary: You are Sam Winchester’s twin sister, cursed with the same blood running through your veins. When Sam begins experiencing his visions, you too discover a new skill. You can see into the veil.

⛤ Bringers Of The Apocalypse (spn x DC Crossove)

Summary: The day Lucifer was freed from the cage was the day your life completely fell apart. You were ripped harshly from the peaceful life you had created for yourself in Gotham when your duty as the horseman of war calls and you are faced with a difficult decision: stay with your family in Gotham and let the apocalypse play out, or give up the ring (and ultimately your life) to go with the Winchester brothers who are searching for you to send Lucifer back to hell and save the world… or perhaps you can find a compromise somewhere inbeteeen.

[skzdelf]

Passenger Princess| Yang Jeogin

.ᐟPAIRING: Yang Jeongin x f!reader

.ᐟSYNOPSIS: As they drive through the city in a car, the protagonist gives in to the attraction she feels for him. (Second part of dirty little secret)

.ᐟWARNINGS: mentions of alcohol and weed; suggestive content

.ᐟWORDCOUNTER: 1,1k (1146)

The wind hit my face, messing up my hair and sending it into shapeless waves, blowing from side to side.

The city lights flashed by like camera flashes, bright and flickering thanks to the high speed of the car.

Sin city was a witness to what he and I had—what was supposed to stay as a little secret, the city knew it all. The city of sin knew I’d die for you, baby. Do you know that?

The upper half of my body was hanging out of the car’s open window, my arms stretched wide, feeling the cool air brush against my warm skin as laughter escaped my mouth.

“Sit, pretty. It’s dangerous” he said from inside the car, touching my leg to get my attention to what he was saying.

I climbed back into the car, smoothing my hair with my hands and manicured nails, still letting out small giggles.

I looked over at my beloved driver with a smile. He returned it, his dimples carving into his smooth cheeks.

“I can sit pretty” I replied, running one hand through his soft, now-copper hair, stroking it gently from the top down to his nape.

Each stroke seemed to tickle him. Every time my hand brushed against the back of his neck or near his ear, a shiver ran through his body.

He had bleached his hair a few weeks ago in a moment of impulsiveness, spurred by a weed high. He had called me around 1 a.m., asking for my help—a favor that was rewarded hours later in his bed. A night I’d like to experience again.

Sitting on his famous leather seats, which stuck to my bare legs thanks to the dress I was wearing, I could see the bright lights reflecting in his eyes, filled with unspoken emotions.

After that night at the bar, when I should’ve drawn a line, walked away, or ended it all, here I was again—falling for his charms.

Once again, driving through the city in his car late at night, hoping no one would bother us. Escaping a reality we couldn’t change—a reality where what we had had to stay a secret.

His hand, cold from the rings he wore, sliding up and down my thigh, pulled me out of my thoughts. I turned my gaze back to him. In that moment, I wasn’t sure if the lights around us blurred because of the speed we were going or because of the alcohol in my system.

“You’re my favorite fantasy, you know that?” His unexpected words made my heart race, pumping more blood than usual, sending some to my cheeks and tinting them pink.

Could you hear my heartbeat? If he asked, I could lie and say it was because he was speeding. I didn’t want to admit he turned my world upside down—but he probably already knew that.

Saying it out loud would only complicate things further, and I hoped I could keep my mouth shut for at least a little while longer. For once in my life, I prayed the alcohol wouldn’t betray me.

Where were we headed? I didn’t know, and I didn’t care because anywhere he take me, I would go.

“Don’t you know I’d die for you?” The words slipped from my lips, my senses too numb to hold them back.

Resting my head against the leather seat, I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye. He seemed far more in control than I was at that moment, but my words clearly affected him.

The hand on my thigh now squeezed a little tighter. His eyes stayed focused on the road, but his jaw was tense, as if he were holding back the words he really wanted to say.

He turned his head slightly toward me, his dark eyes reflecting a mix of uncertainty and resolve. “Why are you telling me this now?” he murmured, his voice barely audible over the hum of the engine.

Suddenly, he slammed on the brakes, sending my body lurching forward and then back into the seat. Quickly glancing at the street to see the reason behind his sudden braking. I noticed the red light.

Without even thinking—with what little brainpower I still had—I slid from my seat onto his, straddling him with my legs on either side of his muscular ones.

His eyes, wide with surprise, were locked on my legs, as if trying to make sense of the sudden situation. Meanwhile, my hands went to his neck, leaving gentle caresses.

“Say you’re all mine, Innie. Touch me under streetlights” I whispered, my voice nothing more than a hushed murmur filled with longing.

His breath hitched, and his hands, which had been tensely gripping the wheel, slowly moved toward my thighs. The glow of the streetlights illuminated his eyes, where a storm of emotions swirled.

“You know what you’re doing to me, don’t you?” he murmured, his voice hoarse and thick with restrained desire. You couldn’t help but smile slightly, enjoying the vulnerability in his tone.

Carefully, his fingers glided up my thighs, stopping just short of where the electricity between us became unbearable.

“Say it again” he said, his eyes fixed on your lips as if he needed to hear the words to believe the moment was real.

“Only because I know you want it too” I replied, our lips nearly brushing, heightening the tension between us. “Touch me under the streetlights.”

The distance between us disappeared in a breath as his lips finally found mine—a perfect mix of softness and urgency that seemed to stop time.

His hands, once hesitant, now moved with certainty, tracing a path up your thighs until they held you securely. The world outside blurred, the only sound the synchronized beating of your hearts.

Can you feel my heartbeat?

The traffic light changed, bathing the car’s interior in a green glow, but neither of you moved. After all, at this hour, no one else was driving.

And I could die here and now, in his arms, in a car filled with groans and gasps escaping both our lips.

His hands roaming over my bare legs, occasionally stopping on my ass to squeeze it possessively. My hands tugged at the hair at the nape of his neck, causing groans to escape from his plump lips, now swollen from our sudden kissing session.

I began moving my hips slowly over his hard member, earning deep, melodic moans from him. His hands now guided my hips, making the movements even more pleasurable for both of us.

My feelings and desires, now more exposed than ever and clearly reciprocated, hoped they’d no longer have to be hidden from the world.

I had fallen completely for Jeongin’s charms from the very first moment, and no one could ever deny it.

From this night forward, I could say I’d officially become his passenger princess.

.ᐟA/n: le dedico esta segunda parte a Jaz castor que desde que salió el primer fic de Jeongin (que en ningún momento estaba planeado que continuara) me pidió una segunda parte y acá está, disfrútalo corazón!

[sai-int]

a little depressed right now. my coping mechanism is to make people cry through writing. enjoy a blurb about pieceofshit!simon x reader

cw: emotional abuse, manipulation, cheating, stream of consciousness blurb, angst (duh)

You remember his birthday like it was yesterday, even though it feels like a lifetime ago. The way he kissed her—warm and familiar, pressing into her like you never existed. You weren’t even a thought in his mind, just a shadow in the background of a scene you had no place in.

It was a second of nothingness for him, but for you, it felt like a year of every mistake you’d ever made. It wasn’t me, you tell yourself, over and over, but it feels like a lie you can’t escape. It wasn’t me. You want to scream it, to tear yourself apart for not being enough for him.

But he’s a winner, right? Simon’s always been a winner. It doesn’t matter what happens, what he does, or how far he goes—he’ll always be the one that gets his way, always the one who walks away unscathed. You wonder, How much more can I give before there’s nothing left to take? You wonder if he’ll notice when you’re wrung dry.

Sometimes, he cries about feeling empty, about needing more, but not from you. Not in the way you needed him. Why is everything about you, Simon? Why does it always have to come back to you?

Even when it’s just the two of you, the silence between you louder than anything he’s ever said, it’s always about him. His anger. His confusion. His need for control. His coldness. His distance. You think you can fix it, but you can’t. You can’t fix him. You can’t fix yourself.

You watch him walk too close to the road, just like you always have. He walks on the edge like he’s daring you to stop him, daring you to save him from an inevitable fate. But you never stop him. You wonder if he even wants to be saved. You wonder if he’s just waiting for you to give up, waiting for you to walk away so he can be the one who lets go first. And God, how much longer can you stand here, loving someone who doesn’t want know how to love you back?

You feel sick when he touches you now. His hands, once so soft, now feel like needles in your skin, pulling at your soul until it’s raw. But you crave it anyway. You crave it because it’s all you have left. You don’t even know if he’s angry with you, if he’s disappointed in you, if you’ve pushed him too far. What did I ever do to make him so fucking angry?

Where’s your heart at, Simon, you want to scream, When your hands are all over me? But you’re scared to ask. Scared to hear the answer. What if it’s true? That he never cared? That you were just something to pass the time, something to fill the silence?

You feel cold, so cold, like he’s already gone and you’re still here, stuck in this room, stuck in this memory, wondering where it all went wrong.

You can’t stop thinking about how he made you believe. He made you believe you were enough. He made you believe that maybe, just maybe, you could fix him. But he was lying. Lying about who he was, who he wanted, and what he needed. He lied to you until you were empty, and now you’re left with nothing but the hollow ache of everything you thought you had with him.

You still hear them in your mind—whispers of promises he made, of the things he swore he’d do, the love he said he’d give you. He claimed his palms would hold a feast, but when he opened them, they held mere crumbs. You licked them clean anyway because you couldn't bite the hand that fed.

The truth is so fucking cruel, isn’t it? Is it something I did? Did I ruin it? You’ve asked yourself that question a thousand times, and you’re no closer to an answer.

Maybe you did. Maybe you didn’t. But in the end, it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter because you’re here and he’s gone.

And you’re still lapping at the crumbs he left on his way out the door. Starving.

mlist

[daryltwdixon]

Summary: You're driving through miles of nothing—just an empty stretch of road and flat land that seems to go on forever. With no signs of life, the quiet feels unnerving. After a while, you have to take a detour, leading you into a city where things quickly take a turn for the worse.

The truck sits idling outside the remnants of an old gas station, the sign long faded, barely recognizable. The world around you stretches wide, endless, a lonely stretch of road that feels like it goes on forever. The air is sharp with the beginning chill of autumn, but the sun beats down warmly, a small comfort in the vast emptiness. Dust swirls lazily in the breeze, kicked up by the wind, carrying the smell of dirt for miles.

You lean back against the truck, with your legs crossed and the skin of your thumb caught between your teeth as you anxiously glance at Joel and Ellie. There’s no sign of life, no trees or hills, just wide, barren plains.

“Oh, cool,” Ellie says, watching Joel as he sets up the siphon, connecting the tube to the gas tank and the can at his feet. “How does that work?”

“It’s a siphon,” Joel explains, but then you see his brows furrow as he looks at the gadget. “When the liquid travels… against gravity…”

“You have no clue, do you?” Ellie teases, barely containing her laughter.

“I know it works,” Joel replies curtly. As Ellie turns to walk away, he calls after her, “And no wanderin’.”

You catch a glimpse of her mischievous grin. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you then,” she says, pulling out a small book from her pack. You chew on your fingernails, bracing for what’s coming.

“What do you say to a llama that loves picnicking?” Ellie pauses dramatically, eyes bright with expectation. “Alpacalunch! Get it?”

You stifle a laugh, glancing at Joel, who looks absolutely dumbfounded, as if he’s trying to figure out how he got stuck in this moment.

“I was up all night—” Ellie begins.

“Please, no,” Joel interjects quickly.

“—wondering where the sun went, until it dawned on me!” she finishes, cracking up. You roll your eyes but can’t help snickering behind your hand. You’re not sure if you’re laughing at the joke or Joel’s expression of pure agony. You wonder if you were ever like Ellie as a teenager—bright-eyed and full of energy, or if the world had already started wearing you down by then.

“Okay, okay,” Ellie says, grinning at you as you try to control your laughter. “One more!”

“What did the mermaid bring to her math class?” she asks, eyeing Joel for a long beat. “An algae bra!”

By now, Joel looks like he’s about to lose it, and fortunately, Ellie calls a stop to the endless jokes.

“Feel free to wait in the truck, both of ya,” Joel grumbles, rolling his eyes and crossing his arms while the siphon works on its own beside him.

“Just know,” Ellie says, stuffing the book back into her bag, “You can’t escape Will Livingston. He will be back!”

She sniggers as she passes by, heading into the back of the blue truck. Once she’s gone, you step closer to Joel, who’s still fuming.

“So,” you say casually, avoiding his eyes.

“Said the both of ya could head to the truck,” he grumbles, clearly still annoyed.

“I’m not deaf,” you roll your eyes. “But I was wonderin’...”

Joel shoots you a look, his face still locked in irritation from the puns.

“Can I drive?”

Joel just stares at you, his brows furrowed, like they're permanently stuck in that position. The thought crosses your mind that they might be glued there. When he doesn’t reply, you go on:

“You know,” you say, a little more casually than you feel, “I did fix the damn thing for you.”

Joel shoots you a skeptical look. “You wanna drive?”

You smirk. “I’m going to go insane just sitting here with nothing to do but stare at the open road. You can man the map. Just tell me where we’re going. I’ll drive.”

He eyes you for a long moment, clearly weighing the decision in his mind. You can see the reluctance on his face. His eyes flicker to the truck and then back to you, and you know he's not thrilled at the idea of you being behind the wheel, but he’s not saying no. Not yet.

“I dunno, kid,” Joel grumbles, “This thing’s not exactly a toy. It’s got its quirks.”

“Thanks, Captain Obvious. It was my truck before it was yours,” you roll your eyes, a bit of sarcasm slipping out, "And would it seriously kill you to call me by my name?"

He shifts uncomfortably, glancing at the road again as if the open land is his only real comfort. “Were you always this stubborn?”

“Come on, Joel. You can’t keep driving all day, every day. I can handle it. Plus,” you pause, giving him a pointed look, “You trusted me enough to fix the truck. You can trust me to drive it too.”

He eyes you for a long few heartbeats, scanning your face. You do the same, keeping your chin held high despite his eyes on you.“Alright,” he finally relents with a heavy sigh. Pulling the keys from his pocket, he tosses them to you. You catch them easily, feeling a small surge of satisfaction.

Joel mutters something under his breath but moves to grab the gas can that has finished filling, bringing it around the pick up truck to fill the tank.

“Next stop, Wyoming,” you say teasingly jumping into the driver’s seat and grinning back at Ellie.

The highway stretches out before you, the pavement still intact but starting to give way to nature. Overgrown grass and weeds push through the cracks in the asphalt, reclaiming what was once meticulously maintained. The truck rumbles down the road, the hum of the engine the only sound breaking the eerie quiet. You’re in the middle of nowhere, where the road seems to stretch endlessly in both directions, but the air is fresh and cool as it comes in through the windows. 

The afternoon sun is high in the sky, baking the cracked pavement. The scent of earth and fresh air mingles with the faint smell of gasoline and leather inside the truck. You’ve been driving for hours, and the landscape has barely changed. Fields of tall grass, some dotted with trees, stretch out on either side, and the occasional rundown shack or distant barn is all that hints at the life that used to exist here. But there are pile ups of cars here and there, like graveyards of those traveling out of cities all those years ago.

After a while, Joel flattens the map out on his lap, finally done ensuring you're on the right path as the highway stretches endlessly. You hear Ellie rummaging around in the backseat.

“Got somethin’ back here,” she says, and you hear the crinkle of paper as she continues. “It’s, uh, light on reading but has some interesting pictures.”

“Oh, no, no, no—put that back,” Joel says, attempting to turn around, but his body doesn’t really twist right. Ellie, however, is pulling away, and your eyes catch her in the rearview mirror.

“Woah!” Ellie exclaims, holding up a magazine, but she's holding it sideways. As she shifts it, the pages fall out, revealing a three-piece photograph. The cover features a very fit, very naked man in nothing but the tiniest pair of underwear. In bold black and white, the cover reads, College Hotties and Page-Turnin’ Hunks. Ellie’s eyes go wide. “How the hell do you walk around with that thing?”

You can’t help it—you burst out laughing, swatting your arm over the front seat. “I wanna see! Let me see what the fuss is all about!”

“That is NOT for kids,” Joel tries to say, his voice strained as he looks between the Ellie and the road, “Get rid of it.”

“Hold your horses, man,” Ellie says smugly, ignoring him, “Give me a minute!” She flips through the pages, then stops. “Hey… why are all these pages stuck together?”

You look over at Joel, your cheeks flushing. He looks like a deer in headlights.

“Uh… uh well—” he stammers, turning a shade of red you’ve never seen on him. Ellie, however, interrupts with a loud laugh.

“I’m just fuckin’ with ya!” she shouts, hitting Joel and then you with the closed magazine. She rolls down her window and throws it out, watching it fly into the distance. "Bye-bye, dude!”

It’s not until a little while later that you come across a stretch of highway littered with abandoned cars, their rusted bodies half-swallowed by weeds that sprout from the cracks in the pavement. The sight of it sends a chill down your spine—a reminder of how long it's been since anything was alive on this road.

Up ahead, under an overpass, an eighteen-wheeler is wedged across the entire highway, its massive frame completely blocking your path.

“Oh, no,” you whisper, barely able to process what you're seeing.

Joel sits up straighter, scanning the area with a practiced eye. His gaze shifts quickly, calculating. “Turn back. Go up the off ramp we passed,” he grumbles, his frustration evident. “Dammit.”

“What?” Ellie asks from the back, her voice small but alert.

Joel rubs his forehead, clearly stressed. “We’re gonna have to go through the city,” he mutters, eyes dark and tired.

You’re not entirely sure what that entails, but your gut seems to know it doesn’t mean anything good.

The city is a maze.

The roads twist and turn in ways that make you question if you’re even headed in the right direction anymore. The map in Joel’s lap barely seems to help—he’s trying to decipher street signs, but nothing feels familiar. The city stretches out endlessly in all directions, concrete and brick everywhere, broken streets, and decaying infrastructure. It feels like you’re trapped in a labyrinth that keeps shifting with every turn.

Joel shifts uncomfortably in the passenger seat, his eyes flicking back and forth between the road ahead and the map on his lap. You feel his frustration building with every turn you take, but you can’t help feeling it too. This city is nothing like anything you’ve ever seen—there’s no direction, no clear path, just chaos.

“Where the fuck is the highway?” Joel mutters under his breath, his voice low but sharp, each word dripping with frustration. He stares at the map, but it’s clear it’s not making any more sense to him than it is to you.

Your knuckles turn white on the wheel as the road stretches on without end, but you push the beginnings of panic away, trying to focus. Something feels wrong. This place feels wrong. And with every wrong turn, the gnawing fear in your stomach grows.

"Stop!" Ellie suddenly yells, her voice like a jolt of electricity that snaps you out of your trance.

You slam on the brakes, the truck lurching as you try to stop in time. A man appears ahead, stumbling toward the truck, his body hunched in pain, clutching his side as he cries out weakly for help. His voice is ragged, his figure wavering as he limps forward. You freeze, uncertainty sweeping through you. 

You glance at Joel, hoping for some kind of direction, but you see the change in his posture immediately.--eyes narrowing and his jaw tight.

“Turn the truck around,” Joel says, his tone sharp, low, and dangerous. "Now."

“Aren’t we going to help him?” you ask, the question coming out quieter than you intended. A flicker of doubt crosses your mind. This stranger, he’s in pain. It’s only natural to want to help, isn’t it?

Joel’s gaze meets yours, his eyes dark and hard. “Do as I say!” he snaps, and you don’t hesitate. His tone brooks no argument, and instinct kicks in. You throw the truck into reverse, your heart pounding as you back up the street, your hands tight on the wheel.

Ellie remains quiet, her silence adding to the tension in the air.

Then it happens. Before you can even fully turn the truck around, you hear it—a loud crack from above, followed by a heavy thud. You barely have time to process what’s happening when a brick crashes through the windshield, the glass shattering with a violent crack. The impact sends shards flying, and you’re thrown off course.

“Watch out!” Ellie screams from behind you, her voice panicked, just as the truck veers off in the opposite direction. Your heart races, your palms slick with sweat, and you struggle to keep control as the tires skid on the pavement.

The truck swerves, and you can’t stop it. The weight of it feels like it’s slipping from your control, the sound of gunshots ringing out from all sides. You spin the wheel, trying to regain control, but everything’s moving too fast.

Then, without warning, the truck slams into the side of a building. Glass shatters around you, the sound deafening as the vehicle lurches forward, your body thrown against the seat. Your breath comes in sharp, ragged gasps, the world spinning as the engine sputters to a stop.

For a moment, everything is still—everything but the sound of your own heartbeat pounding in your ears. Then, footsteps. Heavy, fast, getting closer.

"Get out, get out!" you whisper, your voice shaky as you scramble to push Joel out of the passenger side. Bullets ping off the truck’s metal as you grab him, pushing him toward the door.

Before you can even make it out, you see a man coming up behind him, grabbing Joel by the neck, dragging him away from the truck. Ellie is yanked from the backseat, and you barely have time to process before your own door is thrown open. Rough hands grab at you, pulling you out of the truck. You scream, kicking and fighting as best as you can, but the man is stronger—his grip is iron.

There’s a commotion on the other side of the truck, scuffling and the sounds of grunts. You watch in a daze as Joel gets the upper hand, taking out the two men who grabbed him. But you don’t have time to process that, because the set of hands that grabbed you are now pushing you down to the ground. You kick, punch, fight with everything you have, but then there’s a heavy weight on your throat, and your vision starts to go blurry.

The last thing you see before you lose consciousness is a boot coming into contact with the face of the man on top of you, knocking him off. Another pair of hands pulls you up, and you gasp for air as you’re dragged behind the truck. Joel. His grip tight on your arms as he pulls you toward cover.

“Are you okay?” Joel asks, his voice rough, demanding as he checks you over.

You nod, your body still trembling, and he immediately turns to Ellie. “Go through that hole in the wall, and stay there. They won’t see you. Stay low and crawl. Go!”

Ellie looks at the gap between the truck and the gap in the wall, her eyes wide. She hesitates, panic creeping in, but Joel’s voice cuts through. “Ellie, look at me. Do you trust me?”

Her eyes flicker to him, then back to the gap, and she nods, a silent promise.

“Okay, then go! Stay low, they won’t hit you. I promise they will not hit you.” his head turns back to you, “Go with her, I’ll hold them off.”

“Like hell you will,” you gasp, trying to gather your breath, “I said it before and I’m saying it again, Joel. I’ve got your back, okay?” 

Joel’s eyes flicker with something you can’t quite place, but he doesn’t argue. Instead, he gives you a curt nod, his jaw set. Once Ellie’s safely behind the wall, Joel flips over to rest his gun on the hood of the truck, his focus sharpening. Without even a glance at you, he fires.

You follow suit, positioning your gun over the back of the truck, but your shot misses. The frustration crawls up your chest.

“Dammit,” you mutter, reloading quickly. The sound of the bullet chambering makes you grimace. You’ve never liked these damn things. You always preferred the bow—the quiet, the precision. The kick of a gun just feels wrong, too loud, too clumsy.

Joel doesn’t look at you but you catch the briefest glance his way as he shifts his stance, keeping his eyes trained on the enemy in front of you both. You hear the gunfire around you, the cracks of bullets punctuating the air, and the shouts of the men advancing.

Your hands shake slightly, still unused to the weight of the gun. You grit your teeth, steadying yourself, trying to push down the sick feeling in your stomach. This is real. It’s happening. And you can’t afford to let hesitation get in the way.

Joel fires again. His shot finds its mark this time, and you watch as one of the assholes crumples to the ground, but you’re not fast enough. Another one appears just as quickly, creeping around the corner.

You squeeze your eyes shut for a second, letting the chaos of the situation fade from your thoughts. Focus. You need to focus. You raise your gun again, aiming with precision, and this time, your shot doesn’t miss.

“Atta girl,” Joel says lowly, but there’s no time to acknowledge it.

More footsteps. More shots. And you’re both right in the middle of it.

[oliversrarebooks]

The Rare Bookseller Part 83: Oliver's Leg

Prev > Masterlist > Next

tw: leg injury, body control, mind control, abuse, ableism, murder

October 1925

Oliver was trapped in nightmares that he thought would never end. Intense pain was radiating from his right leg, and his head pounded, all while the sleeping draught pulled him down into uneasy sleep that gave no rest. At some point, a nurse was trying to rouse him, but he couldn't understand what she was saying, couldn't answer her questions before dropping back into the abyss.

Among the twisted and terrifying images that his mind conjured, he kept seeing Alexander, Alexander pleading for help, Alexander turning to dust. No matter how hard he tried to push them away, his mind kept circling back to them every time he lost his grip on his thoughts.

And in so many of those nightmares, he was falling.

By the time he became more fully aware, the sun was shining bright on his eyelids. He opened them -- mercifully, he could keep them open this time -- and found that he was in a hospital bed. Curtains separated him from what was probably beds on either side of him, and through the large window he could see trees bedecked in autumn leaves.

The relief didn't last, because the next sensation that crashed into him was pain. It was if his left leg had been dipped into a fire. Through watering eyes he looked down and saw that his left leg was entombed in a vast quantity of plaster.

What had happened?

He couldn't remember. He'd fallen in so many imaginary ways that he had no idea which one was true. The last thing he remembered clearly was arguing with Vivian over killing Alexander.

And now, he realized fearfully, the sun was up. Alexander could be dead by now.

And if he wasn't…

Any thoughts he'd had about escaping the vampires were out the window now. He wasn't going anywhere, and it probably wouldn't be long until he was found. If the worst had happened and Alexander had been killed, it would be Lily coming to collect him, or worse…

And there was nothing, absolutely nothing, that he could do about it.

He sank into his pillow, trying not to sob.

"Oh, you're awake." A young nurse pushed back the curtain. "How are you?"

Normally Oliver didn't like to complain, but he felt he had to make an exception here. "I'm in a lot of pain," he choked out.

"I'm sure you are. I'm not sure if you were aware of it, but the doctor had to do a surgical procedure on your knee to set the bone. Otherwise, we might have had to amputate," she said. "I can go fetch the doctor to talk to you, and something for the pain, too."

"Thank you." The sleeping draught must have kept him unconscious during the surgery, or perhaps he'd been given something else. Everything from the night before was such a blur of the real and imagined that he had no idea. Oliver had never had surgery before, never even been in a hospital as a patient.

"Hello, Oliver," said a man with a white coat and a silver mustache, pulling back the curtain once more. "I'm the doctor who treated you last night. Seems that you had quite a fall."

"Sorry, but I don't remember." Oliver realized his throat was parched, and he choked on the last word. The doctor kindly handed him a glass of water from a nearby table.

"As the nurse told you, you had to have surgery to set the bones in place. Hopefully, that makes it more likely that your leg will heal. However, it's still going to be a long road to recovery."

"Will I be able to walk?"

"In time, if you heal well and exercise regularly, you may be able to walk with assistance --"

"With assistance?"

"You will likely need a cane or some other aid for walking. But first, you're going to be in the hospital for some time, while we keep you in that cast. After that, the staff here can help you procure a wheelchair."

"A wheelchair," Oliver repeated, seeing his brief hope for independence go up in smoke. Trapped in the hospital, the vampires could so easily subdue him if they found him; and if he required the use of a wheelchair, if he couldn't even walk, he'd be even more at their mercy. A thrall that couldn't walk, that could be pushed anywhere they wanted him to go.

How would he even climb the stairs at Alexander's manor? Would he require Alexander to carry him up and down the stairs every day?

And what of the Maestro, who strictly punished any flaw, no matter how minor? How would he treat a severely injured thrall? Would he convince Alexander that Oliver was useless, broken? Alexander could no doubt obtain another thrall, a healthy and able-bodied thrall, if he wanted one. He didn't know what vampires did to thralls that outlived their usefulness and he didn't expect to like the answer.

"I know it's a lot to take in," said the doctor. "But let me assure you, you can lead a very full life still."

Perhaps that would be true if he hadn't ever crossed the path of a vampire. "I suppose so, doctor," he said blankly.

"Do you have any family that will be able to take care of you?"

"No," he said.

The doctor looked concerned. "I see. Well, you'll need to consider what your options will be once you're released from the hospital. There are also some charities and homes that can help you -- I can have the nurses provide you with some brochures, in case you want to get in touch."

Oliver didn't care to explain that he already knew what his only option would be. "Thanks," he said.

"By the way, the person who brought you in didn't have your last name. Can we have it for our records?"

"Pines."

"Pines," the doctor repeated.

The nurse came back, holding a small cup. "Pines, is it? Who was it that brought you in? She wasn't very forthcoming about your relationship to each other."

It must have been Vivian, he supposed. "An acquaintance."

She opened her mouth like she wanted to say something, but thought better of it. "Well, I don't want to pry," she said, even though she obviously did want to pry. "Here, I've brought you some syrup that will dull your pain. Drink it all and take some water."

Oliver drank it without a second thought, eager to have some relief from the mind-bending pain. The doctor and nurse left him, probably expecting him to sleep, and as the pain loosened, Oliver's eyelids began to droop. He had just woken up from a deep, magic-induced sleep, but he was still so exhausted.

He didn't fight the sleep. Sleeping during the day would help him stay awake at night, in the likely event that a vampire came to collect his possession.

As he drifted off to sleep, he thought of his bookshop crammed wall-to-wall with bookcases, the narrow aisles just large enough for a person, the rickety old staircase leading up to his tiny apartment. Even if he were somehow completely free from the vampires, he wouldn't be able to navigate any of that with his injured leg. He might never be able to do that again.

---

The Maestro arrived at midnight precisely.

Oliver knew this, because he was wide awake and staring at the clock, terrified of the possibility. He had been expecting Alexander earlier in the evening, assuming that if he knew where Oliver was, he would arrive shortly after sundown. Oliver far preferred that to the alternative.

But he didn't have a choice. He didn't have any choices, any more. He couldn't escape from Alexander's sire any more than he could with Alexander there ensorcelling him. So he smoothed down his hair, his hospital gown, and his blanket as much as he could, knowing that no amount of trying to make himself look presentable would make up for the enormous, glaring injury sticking out of the sheets, encased in plaster.

The room seemed to grow darker and colder as he entered. Some of the other patients in the ward had been groaning or muttering or snoring -- all of this ended immediately, and the only sounds were the ticking of the clock and the tapping of shoes on the scuffed linoleum. It felt unreal, Oliver wondering if he were still somehow trapped in the hallucinations he'd experienced the night before.

All too soon, he was there, staring at Oliver in the hospital bed with sharp, dark eyes.

"Good evening, sir," said Oliver shakily.

"It can hardly be a good evening in a place that reeks of diseased and rotting humans. Even the blood stench is foul," he said.

Oliver could feel the control wrapping around his body. He wasn't moving Oliver, or doing anything but holding him still. Just a threat, a reminder, and a promise.

The Maestro could do anything to him, absolutely anything, and no one could stop him. Not even Alexander was there to plead for mercy. Surely this ruthless vampire didn't want Alexander to have a thrall that was below his exacting standards, and a freshly made invalid was no doubt far below those standards.

It would be so easy for him to dispose of Oliver then and there, and disappear into the night. Only Alexander would mourn him, and not openly, lest he incur more of his sire's wrath. The burning, throbbing pain of his leg made it impossible for Oliver to think of anything but his own impending death.

But death didn't come. The Maestro was still standing there, observing him.

"Your master will be punished for his irresponsibility," he said, finally. "Allowing a hunter to steal one of his thralls is an utter disgrace. Still, this sort of disappointment is what I expect from Alexander."

"Yes, sir," said Oliver meekly, remembering how badly it went when he tried to defend Alexander. Alexander wasn't even here; the Maestro would certainly do as he pleased with his sireling regardless of Oliver's protests, anyway. "I'm sorry, sir."

"As well you should be. When a dog runs away, the owner is most at fault for allowing it the opportunity; but the dog must also be punished, so that it learns a lesson."

And Oliver could feel pressure on his broken leg, a deceptively subtle twisting that produced unthinkable agony. Oliver couldn't stifle his scream, couldn't keep himself from crying, until the controlling force sealed his mouth and stilled his tongue. He thought that whatever surgical measures had been put in to save his leg must surely be torn out, that any faint hope of walking again was disappearing before his eyes. The moment dragged on for what seemed like years.

Just as suddenly as the torture began, it abated.

"I trust you have enough of a reminder not to defy your master's will, even if his enthrallment was crudely torn from you."

"Yes, sir," he said, gasping from the pain.

The Maestro was staring at him as though he were lower than a bug. "You should understand that I ordinarily would never attend a thrall at such a lowly place. Nor would I care to preserve a human whose capabilities have been thus reduced. But you have a certain potential which cannot be ignored. What's more, disposing of you would likely result in Alexander obtaining a far less suitable thrall. His taste is decidedly uneven. I trust you are grateful for this mercy."

Oliver nodded, trying desperately not to cry.

His leg was twisted again. "That will be 'yes, sir'."

"Yes, sir!" he yelped, and the terrible pain was eased.

"Hmm." There seemed to be plans in those cold eyes, plans that Oliver was certain he would not enjoy. "See to it that you recover quickly."

With an artful flourish, he produced a single, perfect red rose from the inside of his coat, and handed it to a bewildered Oliver. Then, without a further word, he stalked out of the door.

Around him, Oliver could hear the stirring of the other patients. He wondered how much they'd heard.

He pulled the thin hospital blanket over his head, hiding himself from the world. He shuddered to think what the Maestro meant by his potential. He thought of Miriam, wiped of most of her memories, her mind so addled that she didn't know where she was sometimes. That was what Lily had done to her to shield her from the effects of whatever "training" the Maestro had administered. Wouldn't Alexander have the same thing done to him? And what would happen to him first, to make that treatment necessary?

Reasonably confident that the vampire was gone, Oliver tossed the rose onto the floor and out of his sight, pricking his finger on a thorn in the process. His leg throbbed, still in agony, as his mind churned in terror. He had been a fool to even consider that he might be able to gain his freedom. Perhaps it would have been better if the Maestro had deemed him useless and disposed of him.

Oliver assumed he would never be able to get to sleep after that, but at some point he must have, because he opened his eyes to a terrified shriek. The patients all turned to the door to the hall, and the more able-bodied ones were getting up from their beds to take a look. "There's nothing to see," said a nurse, blocking the doorway. "Get back to your beds."

"Is she dead?" a woman cried out, looking over the nurse's shoulder.

"It'll be a matter for the police. Back to your beds!" The nurse was joined by a janitor, who successfully herded the patients back and closed the door.

"What did you see?" The patients crowded the woman who had caught a glimpse.

"There was a woman, dead, bent over the desk. Her neck was all bloody, like someone slit her throat."

"It was one of the night nurses," said another patient. "Betsy, her name was."

As the group of patients near the door murmured in horror, Oliver shrank into his bed, wishing it would swallow him whole. A nurse dead of a neck wound, on the same night the Maestro had come to pay his visit. That wasn't a coincidence. That was a warning, a show of power. A demonstration that Oliver couldn't run and hide, not without leaving a trail of innocent bodies behind him.

He had known deep in his gut that something like this would happen if he tried to escape. Vivian was probably dead as well, and maybe even the rest of the people at the safe house, including Emily. Dead because Oliver, who had never been wanted by anyone, now had the most desirable blood in the city.

And what could Oliver do? He didn't want to go back, he didn't want to face any further punishment the Maestro had in store for him. But he was helpless with his shattered leg, and even if he wasn't, where would he go where the Maestro couldn't find him?

The only one who might be able to help him now was Alexander, the root cause of the problem, and Oliver knew he'd be seeing him soon.

Prev > Masterlist > Next

Next week: Alexander is turned.

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[raffe156]

Breakaway State Part 6

Pairing - Price X Female OC “Tank”

Summary - Finally, finally, finally

This one is a little dark towards the end, Not much of Price but this is the bridge chapter for what’s to come an I’m so thankful for all those who have waited patiently I love you all.

Warnings -17+ Angst. Language, Age gap Price (38) Tank (26), Violence, abuse, abuse of power, controlling behaviour, injury, implied torture, death.

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the Call of duty characters - Only Tank, Luke, Dredd, Mckinley, Crest and Falkirk.

“Thank fuck for that…” Mckinley’s laugh echoed through the van as it pulled away from the base. He turned in his seat, trying to catch your eye, but you only gave him a brief glance before turning to take one last look at the place you were leaving behind. You spotted Kyle just as the van rounded the corner—he would understand.

Once you were on the road, Mckinley couldn’t help himself.

“I hope you lot realize how good you have it,” he said, his voice cutting through the silence.

The van stayed quiet.

“Don’t any of you get any ideas about wearing a Halloween mask, either. I’ll shut that shit down before it starts… I’m looking at you, Dredd…” Mckinley chuckled, but the others remained silent. The lack of response was like a cold slap, and you could see it was starting to eat at him. No one found him funny, and it irritated him. Unfortunately for you, you were right in his line of sight. A nasty grin crept across his face.

“You going to sort things out with your fella before we head out?” he asked, his gaze fixed on you, watching for your reaction.

“Nothing to sort out…” you muttered, knowing exactly who he meant—Luke. You kept your eyes glued to the window, hoping he’d drop it.

“Haha, yeah right. There’s plenty to sort out. From what I hear, he’s playing the field while you’re off fighting in it. But then again, you’re not entirely innocent, are you? Little sleepovers with Price, weekends away with him. Dirty dog.” Mckinley shook his head, clearly enjoying himself.

You could feel the tension in the van rise, and it wasn’t just McKinley—everyone was listening now. You felt Dredd shift behind you, ready to jump in.

“Weekends away?” Crest’s voice cut through the tension, his head raising slightly, his interest piqued.

McKinley smirked triumphantly, like a predator who’d just caught its prey. “Yep, escape-to-the-country style. Up at Price’s house in Hertfordshire—nice and secluded. Found out from his missus, you know, the Doc at the base? The Irish one?”

The words hit you like a punch. McKinley knew exactly which buttons to push, and now, the squad’s attention was fully on you. A few brows raised, and you could feel the heat of their stares.

Dredd, bless her, quickly came to your defense. “It wasn’t just them two! Kyle was there, too. Doesn’t sound like a romantic weekend to me, does it?” She let out a soft laugh, trying to defuse the situation.

“They weren’t together..”

“What was that?” McKinley cupped his ear, feigning ignorance, his grin widening.

“They weren’t together… not that it matters.” The words came out sharper than you intended, your blood starting to boil.

Dredd’s hand squeezed your arm from behind, a silent plea to let it go, but it was too late. McKinley had already pushed you too far.

“Not what the Doc said, though,” he said with a mock sigh. “Ah well, only you and Price know what really went on. I wonder if that’s why you transferred?” He turned back around in his seat, content with himself.

The seed had been planted. To the rest of the team, you were now a suspected homewrecker—and worse, the home you’d wrecked was that of your former captain.

The squad exchanged a few fleeting glances, the tension palpable. No one spoke for the rest of the ride, and the silence in the van was deafening as the weight of McKinley’s words hung heavily in the air.

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

“I’m not looking forward to this…” You thudded your head back against the stained headboard, the frustration evident in the gesture.

“Just leave him on read,” Dredd muttered, sitting cross-legged on the bed next to yours, casually rolling a cigarette. “He already thinks you’re gone for a while.”

The motel room was a depressing sight, tucked away near the ship-out base, its stale air heavy with the smell of smoke and spilled beer. The two creaky single beds groaned under the smallest movements, their springs long past their prime. They had definitely seen better days, but at this point, it didn’t matter. As long as the door locked and kept Mckinley out, it might as well have been the Radisson.

“I can’t leave him on read,” you muttered, running a hand through your hair. “I don’t want him thinking he has to wait around for me… He has no obligation to me. I’ve told him that from day one. He deserves more than this. Hell, I might not even make it back—might get taken out, put out of my misery.” You threw your hands up in mock exasperation, but the thought wasn’t as far-fetched as it sounded. For you, and for people like you, that card was always ready to be pulled. It hovered, high in the deck, just waiting for the right moment.

“More like put down by Mckinley,” Dredd said, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

She wasn’t wrong.

Before you could even let that sink in, your phone buzzed on the bedside table. It was Luke. Your stomach dropped, a strange weight settling in your chest. Why did this feel like a breakup? Could it even be classified as that? You’d never made things official. Hell, he didn’t even know what you did for a living. As far as he knew, you were just working abroad, setting up a logistics depot. Was it a breakup? Or just… a break? You hadn’t even thought about what to say, hadn’t planned for this moment.

“You gonna answer that, or you actually going to take my advice for once?” Dredd’s voice cut through the silence as she leaned out the window, struggling to light her cigarette.

Before you could even process, she was already at your side, grabbing the phone and answering it for you. With a flick of her wrist, she put it on speaker, then casually leaned back out the window, puffing smoke as if nothing was amiss.

The phone crackled to life.

“Hey, city girl.”

You took a breath, your heart suddenly heavy. “Hey… you okay?”

Dredd was still trying to push herself further out the window. You glanced at her, then back at the phone. For a split second, you thought about joining her.

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

Price sat at his desk, shuffling through papers that required his attention, but his mind wasn’t on the job. He lacked the patience, the energy—anything really—to deal with the endless stack. But more than anything, he couldn’t shake the thought that you were gone. Not just off base, but probably out of the country. That fact was hard to swallow. Yet, as the door to his office creaked open, there was a fleeting moment of hope—hope that you’d walk through it, storming in with that familiar, thunderous look on your face, ready to give him an earful. You’d tell him what a twat he was, how you wanted to come back, to come home. But no… standing in the doorway, where you should be, was Kyle, holding a mug with a large carp on the front and the words “Master-Baiter” emblazoned across it.

It was another secret Santa gift from you to Soap. The memory made Price chuckle despite himself, recalling the pride on your face as Soap unwrapped it, immediately accusing Ghost of being the culprit and starting one of his usual ruckus-filled tirades. The theme for the gift exchange had been “shit mugs.” Soap had Ghost, who received a blank mug that only revealed its true message—C*NT—when it was heated, drawing laughs every time someone used it. Kyle had drawn Price’s name, gifting him a mug that read “World’s Best Dad.” Price had smiled when he opened it, raising an eyebrow and saying, “Thanks, SON.” Kyle had sworn blind that he’d ordered “World’s Best Boss” instead, but either way, it was perfect. Ghost had given Kyle the “Shit in Bed” mug, and Price had watched with a wry smile as you unwrapped yours, reading the words “Accident Prone” across the front.

“Very funny!” You had swatted his arm, and he’d laughed.

“Glad you like it,” he had said, his grin widening.

“Very fitting, lass,” Soap had added, raising his mug in a mock toast. The rest of you had joined in, clinking mugs and sharing a moment of camaraderie.

The memory faded, and Price snapped back to the present. Kyle was now sitting in the chair across from him, carefully placing the “Master-Baiter” mug on his desk, his face a mix of concern and hope.

“You heard anything?” Kyle asked, voice tight.

“Not a thing, lad. All hush-hush on this one,” Price replied, leaning back in his chair and taking a slow sip from the mug. “Not even Laswell’s got a whiff of anything. It’s one of those ‘need to know’ deals, and right now, we don’t need to know, I guess.”

Kyle’s face darkened, and he started picking at his nail—a nervous habit that only appeared when he was truly wound up.

“Fuck’s sake… don’t ask me why, but I’ve just got a bad feeling about the whole thing.”

“Same, lad… same.” Price’s voice was grim, his eyes distant as he looked out the window. The weight of the situation hung heavy between them.

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

You couldn’t even remember how long you’d been sitting in the freezing cold truck. All that mattered was staying close to Crest—he was like a human furnace, a welcome warmth in the biting chill. You shifted closer to him in the front seat as the truck rumbled through the quiet streets of Tiraspol. The streetlights flickered on, casting long shadows across the road, and you knew you weren’t far from the safe house.

Crest was a soft-spoken Yorkshireman, a man you knew only in passing. He had served briefly with your first captain, Falkirk, and often spoke of him with a fondness that made it clear the two shared a bond. Over time, you’d found common ground in stories of Falkirk and tales of the infamous 141. Crest, with his quiet admiration, had something of a man crush on Price—something you couldn’t ignore. It showed in the way he’d let his beard grow out, shaving only the center to mimic Price’s signature look. And when he spoke, most of his questions were about Price, with a few curious ones about Ghost thrown in for good measure.

“Does he sleep in the mask?” Crest asked, voice thick with curiosity—he was voicing the question that had been on everyone’s mind.

“He does, yeah.” You smirked, recalling the moment vividly. “Shit me up one night. I’d just come off watch, crashed out on one of the mattresses, and rolled over to find bam—his bloody skull mask, just staring at me. What made it worse was that his eyes were closed, so all I could see were these pitch-black holes in the dark. I nearly had a heart attack, rolled right off the bed, and landed on Soap. He starts shouting, waking up the whole room. Price comes running, thinking we’ve been made, and Ghost just sits up, all casual, asking why I’m on the ground next to Soap.”

The memory made you smile.

“Sounds like a right laugh,” Crest muttered, raising an eyebrow. “But, uh… how does he eat or shower with that thing on? Does he shower with it?”

He furrowed his brow, clearly trying to picture how Ghost managed to drink a cup of tea with that mask on. It wasn’t a pleasant image.

“Jesus, Crest, how would she know if he showers with the damn thing on?” Dredd chimed in from the backseat, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Plus, if she’d seen him in the shower, don’t you think I’d be the first to know something so important?”

Dredd’s laugh rang out, her gun was hidden under a blanket, but the tension in the air had lightened—at least for now.

Crest, however, had turned a deep shade of red as the weight of his question settled. He stammered, suddenly aware of how ridiculous it sounded.

“Sorry Tank, I…”

Crest didn’t finish his sentence—he couldn’t. You turned toward him, but it was already too late. The bullet struck without warning, its sharp hiss inaudible in the chaos. You just heard the sickening sound of him choking on his own blood as his body slumped forward, sending the truck veering off the road and crashing into a ditch.

Everything seemed to stretch into slow motion as the truck rolled. You felt a dull pain spreading through your head and wrist, but the rest of your body felt strangely numb, as if it no longer belonged to you. You tried to prepare yourself for what was coming next—find your gun, defend yourself—but your hand wouldn’t respond. The pain in your skull splintered like shards of glass, each jagged piece tearing through your senses.

The last thing you felt before everything went dark was the gradual fading of Crest’s warmth, slipping away from your side.

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

“Well, look who’s finally awake.”

The voice was unmistakable… Soap? You tried to sit up, but a steady yet gentle hand held you back.

“Easy there, kid. Take it slow. You’ve got quite the bump on your head,” Price said with a reassuring smile, helping you sit up.

“Where am I?” you asked, glancing at Price.

“Told you she was accident-prone,” Soap chuckled, giving Kyle a playful smack on the back.

“How did you all get here?” you asked, turning to Soap.

“Guess that means he’s terrible in bed, then?” Price shot a teasing glance at Kyle.

“Yeah, and he’s a C*NT” Soap laughed, his voice echoing through the room as he clearly found himself hilarious.

Your eyes shifted to the corner, where Ghost stood motionless, his presence looming. He hadn’t said a word, just observing in his usual quiet, unreadable way.

“Where’s Crest? Is he ok? I didn’t even see the shooter?” Your eyes pleading with Ghost to give you answers. How were they all here?

“Well we all know your mug is a perfect fit eh fairy liquid!” Kyle laughed.

“Will someone tell me what’s going on please?” You glanced from Price to Ghost, your voice cracking, a lump in your throat forming.

Price cupped your face, his touch firm yet oddly soothing. Though his touch wasn’t necessary, it was comforting, and your reaction made that clear. You almost melted into his palm, the warmth of him seeping deep into your bones, filling you with a sense of safety.

You glanced up at his wide smile, and just as you were about to return a weak one, his hand slipped away from your face.

“You need to wake up, kid…”

“What? … I am… I’m…”

The words felt heavy on your tongue, but something in the way he spoke made the air shift—unnervingly cold, like a warning you couldn’t quite place.

The icy cold water struck you like a violent slap, ripping the breath from your lungs as you jolted upright, gasping in shock. But before you could even steady yourself, you were dragged down by a force and the deafening clank of chains.

Collapsing to the ground, your eyes shot forward, locking onto the heavy iron door looming in front of you. Just beside it, a dark figure stood, holding a bucket with a sinister stillness.

The room was cold, the air thick with the stench of damp concrete and stale air. You turned slowly, the harsh scrape of your shackles echoing in the silence. Looking down, you saw the heavy chains binding your wrists, the cold metal biting into your skin. They were bolted to the concrete floor.

Your mind raced, adrenaline surging as the questions piled up. How had you missed the shooter? You’d let your guard down, gotten comfortable—no, lazy. That was the mistake. Crest… where was he? Had he made it out? Was he alive? Dredd—had she escaped? Had she managed to slip away, lay low until things cleared up? Maybe she’d gotten back to the safe house, or even to the backup house. But the uncertainty gnawed at you, each thought more unsettling than the last.

Did McKinley know? The thought hit you like a jolt of cold electricity. This mission had been clear from the start—if caught, you are not acknowledged. There were no backup plans, no rescue team, no second chances. You were disposable.

You were on your own.

The realization settled in like a heavy stone in your chest, and for a moment, everything felt impossibly still. No one would come for you, no one would speak your name. If you didn’t get out of this yourself, there would be no one to blame but you.

Before you could ponder your fate any further, a second figure appeared in the doorway. The sound of footsteps echoed through the cold, empty space, each step deliberate, measured. A tall, thin man made his way toward you, his movements almost unsettlingly calm.

In the dim light, you could just make out his features: dark eyes, sharp and unblinking, and hair as black as coal, stark against his pale skin. He was impeccably dressed in a suit—clean, pressed, and entirely out of place in the grim surroundings. His presence made your pulse quicken, your instincts screaming that he was not someone you wanted to meet.

And then, the realization hit like a gut punch. Staring at you with cold, calculating eyes was one of the world’s most wanted criminals—the very reason you were here in this godforsaken town. Vladimir Makarov.

The name alone was enough to freeze your blood. His reputation preceded him—ruthless, cunning, and without mercy. Every mission, every brief, every intelligence report had warned you of him. But no amount of preparation could have ever truly prepared you for the man standing in front of you now.

“Good morning, Tank. How very nice it is to finally meet you…” Makarov’s voice was cold, each word laced with a mocking sweetness that made your skin crawl. “…I’m sorry about your friend.”

His words cut through the silence like a knife, but you couldn’t help the sick, twisted laugh that bubbled up in your throat. It was probably hysteria setting in, a coping mechanism for the absurdity of the situation. All those years spent hearing about Makarov—the Russian scumbag that Price had been gunning for relentlessly—and now, here he was. Standing right in front of you, casually offering some sick version of politeness.

Good morning, like he wasn’t the very reason you’d been dragged into this nightmare. Like you weren’t sitting here, shackled and broken, Crest dead, Dread MIA, all because of him.

You almost wanted to laugh again. Almost. But it died in your throat, the weight of reality sinking in. This wasn’t some briefing room or war room banter—it was real. And Makarov, for all his cold composure, was here because he wanted something. That much was certain. His eyes never left yours, calculating, waiting for a reaction, a weakness. The mockery in his voice was a mask, but beneath it, you could feel the tension—the thinly veiled threat of what was to come.

You had no doubt he was enjoying this moment, savoring the control he now held. But what was it that he wanted? Information? Revenge? Or something more personal, something that would break you in ways no one could predict?

The silence stretched, thick and suffocating, as he took a slow step forward. You could almost feel the weight of his presence pressing down on you, and despite everything—despite the pain, the fear—you refused to let him see how much it rattled you.

Not yet. Not until you knew what game he was playing.

The figure in the doorway bent down, reaching for something on the floor. It was square, bulky, and heavy. With a cold, deliberate motion, the man placed it down next to Makarov. A car battery. The heavy thud of it hitting the ground felt like a warning, its significance sinking in with a quiet dread.

“Let’s see how strong Price makes his toy soldiers, eh?”