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Colion Noir shows off his KORE EDC - CCW Belt
KORE Essentials Tactical & Leather Gun Belts are the Best-Fitting, Most Comfortable Concealed Carry Belts you'll ever wear! Our belts feature 40+ micro size positions to adjust with so you get a perfect fit - every time. Our proprietary Power-Coreâą center is ultra-supportive and virtually indestructible. Kore EDC belts (1.5â wide) fit any waist from 24" up to 44â & 54â (EXL Tacs to 72â). One Year Warranty & 30 Day MBG. Thanks to COLION NOIR for the awesome review. Â Visit - http://www.KoreEssentials.com
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new limited edition firefighter spacesuit hazmat itfs just dropped
#my art#jujutsu kaisen#jjk#yuji itadori#megumi fushiguro#itafushi#itadori yuuji#fushiguro megumi#fanart#jjk fanart#yuuji#megumi#ignores the clock NICE 2 draws up in a day :)#needed smth quick n loose n easy after th behemoth tht was my last draws#these fits r.....something#i still do not like megumi's colour palette here but i think adding extra values n making his skin tone a bit less saturated helped#also toned down the orange#also fixed his hair >:( ily gege i respect u so much but pls....respectufully.... do a better job slicking back his hair........#anyway i realized midway through sketching tht the angle yuuji is at does Not show the majority of the belts around his hips n thighs#so i made some educated guesses but i do not claim 2 b an authority on Belt Placement#similarly ! guessed at the text on their jackets i Can Not Read#is it a 9? is it an S? lower case g? cyrillic/???? who can say i went with 9#and gun 2 my head i cld not tell u what R-<3-T-E stands for . if those r even the letters#oh well i tried my best not bad fr 6 hours
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Level-One Intruder
Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader
Summary: Spencer apprehends an unexpected but adorable trespasser Trope:Itâs fluff in a meet cute type of way w.c: 1.8k a/n: I'm a liar. I said I was going to post once I get over this flu but I couldn't help myself, not at all. I just really really wanted to share this cute cute fic I wrote with you all. Not proofread. Comments and reblogs are highly appreciated! đ masterlist
The brown tweed coat on Spencerâs shoulders threaten to droop down his arms as he wrangled his keys to unlock his apartment door.
There was little light on the hallway, something that could be attributed to the late hour of twelve midnight. Muffled noises could be heard from next doorâa new tenant must have moved in while he was away.Â
The FBI agent could feel himself coming apart at the seams from the lack of proper sleep. The latest case took eight long grueling days to solve and the team had to make do with what the small town could offer as arrangements.
His back felt stiff from curling on the squeaky sofa bed, trying his best to make himself comfortable and now, all he wanted to do was decompress with a totem of a book and sleep like the dead until his alarm clock rang for the next day.Â
Dropping his satchel on the ground, silently assuring himself to get the laundry going the next day, a tiny scuffle echoed through his heavily darkened apartment.
Spencer tensed, unsure if his overtly exhausted mind conjured up the noise or if someone else found their way into his haven while it was otherwise unoccupied.
Another sound confirmed the reality causing him to draw his gun from his holster, ends pointing down, as he slowly made his way around the sofa to the first bedroom, minding his steps to avoid the sections with creaking floorboards.
He rounded the corner, eyes straining to adjust to the minimal light the outposts provide himâand nothing.Â
The room was stale from lack of use and everything looked to be in the right place. The stripped spare bed looked untouched and all the windows were sealed shut. Exactly how he left it.
Another noise caught his attention.
Spencer tightened his hold on the gun and tiptoeâd to the next roomâthe bathroom and in there, the first real evidence was uncovered.Â
His eyebrows threatened to meet in the middle as he took in the unspooled tissue roll hanging from its holder. The unused sheets of paper now sat on the green titled floor, no doubt flooded with organisms and bacteria that the naked eye couldnât see.Â
He shuddered from the thought.
Quickly moving on, he shuffled his way to the open kitchen. Right away he spotted something amissârather a few items amiss.
First, the lower cabinet was ajar. It was where Spencer stored his cleaning supplies and it was rarely opened as it was.
Second, his favorite Star Trek mug that he left out to dry near the sink was now precariously near the edge, threatening to break into a thousand pieces.
And lastly, the empty plastic bag of bread on the counter that he was sure had two more slices before he went away for the case.
There was an intruder and it seemed like he was hungry.
Weapon still in his hands, he slowly he crept his towards the slightly opened mahogany door of the main bedroom. He took a deep breath before rounding up to the room, pistol pointing forward to the unsuspecting guest.Â
Except there was no one.
âThatâs strange,â he muttered to himself, holstering back the revolver to his belt and to his surprise, someone answered or rather, meow-ed back. A fluffy orange cat with a collar on his neck.
The agent smiled. âYou must be my intruderââ
Meow.
ââNow, who are you and how did you get in here?â
The cat was silent, content with rubbing his body on his black pant legs, leaving behind stray hairs that Spencer would have to lint away before laundry.
He bent down to see if there was any information hanging from the catâs green collar.Â
âMr. Chewie. Is that your name?â
Feline eyes stared into his and blinked once.Â
âIâll take that as a yes,â he sighed. âIf I didnât know any better, Iâd believe you could understand me but actually according to studies, cats lack the cognitive skills to interpret human language so I still donât know why Iâm explaining that to you.â
Meow.
âNope, Iâm sure youâre just responding to the fact that I am talking to you and my rambling is clearly brought by my lack of proper sleepââ a knock on his front door interrupted his musings. ââone second,â he called out, swiftly unbuckling his holster belt and placing it on top of the dresser. There was no need to frighten the knocking neighbor with a gun.Â
Spencer turned back to the cat inquisitively sitting next to his feet. âDonât move.â
As he made his way back to the entrance, opening lights as he went, he could hear the click clack of the felineâs claws against the wooden floorboards. It clearly didnât take his order to consideration.
Spencer swung the door open as the stranger was poised for a mid-knock.
âUhâhi,â the woman breathed out.Â
âHi,â Spencer drawled out in reply. âCan I help you?â
You rocked on your heels, fingers pulling down the ends of your oversized sweater as if it could lessen your state of undress. Spencer didnât judge, it was early into the morning after all, nor did he stare long at your navy blue shorts and pink fluffy socks adorning your feet.Â
âIâm your new neighbor and itâs not really the time to introduce myself but by any chance is thereââ
âAn adorable intruder in my apartment?âÂ
You nod, sweetly smiling. The glint in your eyes filled with apologies.
âYes actually, I was trying to ask him where he came from but I donât actually speak cat and neither does he understand human.âÂ
You laugh sheepishly, fingers gently rubbing at the side of your neck. âIâm so sorry. I hope he didnât make a mess or bother you at all. I left my fire escape window open for a little bit to let the breeze in and he must have explored out while I wasnât looking. So sorry again, let me just get him out of the wayââ
A rustle from behind made him turn, not before he caught your eyes widening to the scene inside his apartment. Your cat kneading on his brown throw blanket before settling on the sofa.
âMr. Chewie, what are you doing?â You squeaked out.
Spencer laughed at the outrageous tone coating your voice. It reminded him of Garcia swatting the other agents away from her tech equipments.
The cat answered back with a meow.
âNo, mister. You cannot sleep here, this isnât our home! It belongs to this lovely gentleman over hereââ you flashed Spencer a smile. âNow, please get your butt off the sofa and back to our apartment.â
The feline seemingly rolled his eyes and turned his back on you.
âHuh,â Spencer observed. âThe studies might be wrong after all. I think he understands you.â
You laughed, shoulders shaking from the absurdity of his comment. âMr. Chewie might be special or at least thatâs what every pet owner believe to be. I never introduced myself have I? Iâm Y/N. I moved next door a couple of nights ago.â
âDr. Spencer Reid,â he replied back.Â
You tilted your head to the side. âOh, is that why I havenât seen you around, Doctor? Busy saving lives?â
He shrugged, scratching the back of his neck. In a way, you werenât wrong per se. His title did let people assume his career to be in the medical industry instead of having three PhDâs under his belt. The former was more plausible given how young he looked.
The sound of a door opening and closing at the end of the hall caught both your attention. Your eyes flashed back to his, twinkling. âSo, Doctor. Will it be alright if I step inside and grabbed my cat?â
He cleared his throat. âUhâyeah, yeah. Sure, come right in.â
You sheepishly smiled before entering his sanctuary. Eyes soaking in any piece of information that represented who he was.
Spencer felt your warmth as you passed his body. The smell of warm cookies wafting to his nose, dissipating the anxiety that threatened to creep up his spine from letting a stranger into his home.Â
âNice apartment,â you complimented. âThere seems to be a lot of books.â
He tucks his hands inside his pant pockets. âI like to read.â
âMe too. Itâs a great hobby to pass the time.â
You sweetly smiled before swiftly scooping up the lounging cat in your arms with little protest. âAgain, Iâm so sorry if he disturbed you in any way and please, let me know if he made a mess. Iâd like to make it up to youâas a thank you and apology, I mean.â
âItâs no problem,â Spencer watched your cheeks match the color of your socks under the fluorescent light. It suited you, he thought. âActually, can I just ask you a question?â
âAnything.â
âWhy is heââ his calloused hands reaching to pet the orange feline nestled on your chest. âânamed Mr. Chewie?âÂ
You giggled, the sound similar to wind chimes being rustled by a gentle breeze. It settled the ache caused by his lack of proper rest. It was fascinating, intriguing, and a little bit frightening if he had to be honest.
âWell, I actually named him after Star Wars, Chewbacca, because of how fluffy he is and the name just shortened itself once I found out how perpetually famished he is.â
âHeâs named well,â Spencer surmised, the empty plastic of bread flashing in his mind.
âWell, I shouldnât be bothering you any longer,â you slowly backed away from his space. âThank you, Doctor, and have a good night.â
With a sleepy smile on his face, Spencer watched you push open your apartment door. âGood night.â
You flashed your saccharine smile one last time before closing it behind you, leaving him feeling light and bemused for the first time in a long while.
And as he woke up to the gentle streams of the sun on his face, feeling well rested and ready to tackle the paperwork on his desk, the emotion still lingered causing the corners of his mouth to rise up into a soft smile. An after effect of your encounter that he didnât mind experiencing.Â
It was a certain type of high.Â
It was something bright and puzzling.
A note and a batch of cookies taped to his door caught his eye as he exited the apartment. The treats were in this clear, non-labelled package. Handmade then, Spencer noted.
His smile stretched his warming cheeks wide as he took in the scripted letters written on the pink post it that reminded him of your blush and your fluffy socks.
See you around, Doctor!Â
Have a great day saving lives!Â
- Your Nurse neighbor & Mr. Chewie xxÂ
Comments and reblogs are highly appreciated!
#spencer reid fanfic#spencer reid fanfiction#spencer reid fic#criminal minds fanfic#criminal minds fic#criminal minds fanfiction#dr spencer reid#spencer reid#dr Spencer Reid imagine#spencer reid imagine#spencer reid fluff#spencer reid oneshot#spencer reid one shot#criminal minds imagine#spencer reid x fem!reader#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid x y/n#spencer reid x you#spencer reid x self insert
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rub one outâ(for your viewing pleasure-verse)
pornstar!eddie x director!reader
a cheeky (pun intended) bit of filth based on part of my blurb series. I was trying to keep the snippets short, but this just kinda poured out of me over the past couple days.
cw: sex work, simulated adultery, oral (fem receiving)
18+, MDNIâ2.8k
Maybe this was a bad idea.
You couldnât escape the nagging thought as you stepped outside, tightening the belt on your fluffy white bathrobe, tugging at the terrycloth tail and twisting it in your fingers. Your eyes flitted to each member of your crew, all of them in position waiting to get this show on the road.
Why were you so nervous? Youâd certainly done this enough times before not to get stage fright. So why did your stomach feel more tangled than the box of electrical cords in Lennyâs truck?
Part of you almost wished it would rain, or the ground would open up and swallow you whole so you didnât have to go through with this. But the concrete remained solid under your feet, and the sky overhead showed no signs of altering its radiant blue color. Perfect.
Itâs gonna be fine, you thought in an attempt to soothe yourself. Itâs all gonna be fine.
And you almost believed it would be.
Sammy, who was barely a step up from an intern, had swiftly been promoted once the plan for you to replace your no-show leading lady was set in motion. You werenât worried about her, thoughâshe was smart and a quick study; she knew all the shots you needed, and she had a good eye.
If you couldnât be behind the camera yourself, she was pretty much the only one you trusted.
WellâŠmaybe not the only one.
Eddieâs eyes met yours as soon as you stepped out of the trailer. The sunlight hit his deep brown irises, making them glow the color of rich honey. But behind the liquid gold, you could see his own nerves and it made your stomach flip, wondering what he could possibly be nervous about.
âHey,â he said quietly as he came up next to you. âYou good?â
For a moment, you considered lying. Flashing him a thumbs up or shooting him finger guns like one of those tools you used to do this with. But you knew better by now when it came to Eddie.
âNope,â you chuckled. âIâm kinda shitting myself.â
âWell, thatâs just what the guy about to fuck you wants to hear,â he chuckled back.
A real smile breaks through your tense, fake one and a genuine laugh bubbles up out of your chest. Eddieâs eyes shine when he hears it and the sight makes your chest feel all warm inside.
âNo, youâre right,â you said. âIâm okay, I justâŠdonât know why Iâm so nervous.â
His plush pink lips pressed into a straight line, his tongue poking out as he licked them. He reached out a reassuring hand and placed it on your shoulder, rubbing it through your robe.
âYouâre gonna be great,â he assured, sounding a lot more certain than you felt.
Easy for him to say. Heâs a fucking natural.
Even on your best day doing this, you never felt like you were great at itâcompetent, sure. Maybe even above average. But not great. Not at all the way you felt since getting behind the camera.
You nodded tightly, your hesitation still written all over your face. His eyes scanned over you and he swallowed thickly, his throat bobbing. He then leaned in and placed his lips beside your ear.
âYou lookâŠreally beautiful,â he said.
His warm breath rushed across your neck, the heat coming off his skin making your ears buzz. An explosion of fluttering began in your stomach, like there were butterfly cocoons in your cereal that morning and now they were all hatching.
âWe should get moving,â you said, pulling back. âBurning daylight.â
Eddie straightened. He nodded and you nodded back, sliding past him to do final checks before you started rolling. Telling yourself he must have pumped or popped a Viagra to explain away that bulge in his pants that definitely wasnât there before he came over to talk to you.
The nerves didnât disappear once you started working, but your body and brain did snap into a kind of performance mode you remembered well.
You started with some still photography for the VHS box artâshots of you in progressing states of undress, your robe dropping off your shoulder, Eddie pulling it open to reveal your body, his hand running up your thigh in a slow caress.
He let it trail all the way up your stomach and chest until he curled his finger under your chin and tipped your face toward his, letting his lips hover just inches away from yours. Your eyes fluttered closed and your heart raced, thinking he might close the gap and actually kiss youâ
But after the shutter snapped, he simply let his hand drop and backed away.Â
The loss of his body heat sent a chill down your spine and you shivered despite the blazing sun overhead. Eddieâs eyes caught yours, the nearly imperceptible lift of his brow asking, âyou okay?â You nodded and another shiver skittered across your skin as you pulled your robe back up.
For the next shot, you climbed up on the massage table and he got into position behind you. His body pressed yours down, your back arching under him as he dipped his head low to take the lobe of your ear between his teeth, palming your exposed breast with his large, strong hand.Â
You let your mouth hang open, not even needing to fake the look of desperation on your face. And let yourself believe Eddieâs excitement you could feel digging into the fat of your ass was real too. The little grunts and whines he let out when you wriggled against him certainly didnât sound fake.
After the photos, there was nothing left to do but move on to the main event.Â
You and Eddie resetâhim standing in frame, you just outside of it. Sammy panned the camera around, establishing the setting, zooming in on the fountain feature in the pool and then coming around to film Eddie as he snapped a fresh towel and laid it out on the massage table.
From your spot off-camera, itâs impossible not to be mesmerized by the sight. Biceps rippling, tendons in his arms flexing as he smoothed the towel flat. His tattoos stood out even more than normal with him in white slacks and a white polo meant to give the impression of him being an employee of the resort. And the little twist your hair and make-up girl Jael did is something new that only further accentuates the thick column of his neck and his angular jaw.
Heâd left off his rings and bracelets, as was typical when he was filming, and you couldnât help but think about that day in the editing suite. When heâd touched your knee, and you felt the silver ridges press into your flesh. It had jarred you somewhat, how right it felt to have his hand there and how youâd nearly leaned in to meet his lips when you saw his face getting closer.
You hadnât kissed him that dayâpromptly removing yourself from temptation in an attempt to salvage some shred of your professionalism. And you (mostly) felt good about that decision. It would have been reckless and destructive and your entire working relationship might have been compromised. Youâd made the right call that day, you were sure of it. MostlyâŠ
But today was different. Today, it wasnât going to derail your career. If anything, your career was mandating you give in to those urges that had plagued you so relentlessly. And that was when it hit you all at onceâthe realization about as subtle as a train crashing through a wall.
You were going to fuck Eddie.
Youâre going to feel firsthand what itâs like to have his face and cock buried between your legs; what itâs like to suck on his fingers and soak them with your spit before he presses them to your clit; what he sounds like when he comes all over your stomach or tits (you canât quite recall what the script specifies, you just know itâs meant to be outside so he can dotingly clean you up after).Â
The barrage of thoughts that storm through your mind are so consuming, you nearly miss your cue to enter the scene. But once you do, youâre rather grateful for the distraction of the set-up dialogue:
âItâll just be me, today. My husband has a meeting he couldnât get out of.â
âNo, no, itâs not his fault. I got it as a surprise for our anniversaryâI should have known better than to book it without checking his schedule.â
âIâm afraid I never know how much to take off for a massageâŠwhat do you suggest?â
Eddie answered your last question with a smooth, âWhatever makes you most comfortable,â and a smile so warm it would melt the ice caps.
Giving him a smile of your own, you slowly pulled at the tie of your robe. It fell to the ground in a heap at your feet and Eddieâs dark eyes roved over you hungrily. Now revealed to be completely naked, you feigned some degree of shyness: ducking your head low, looking up at him from underneath your lashes, brushing your hand over your stomach as though to hide it while really drawing his eyes to its plush softness.
âIs this alright?â you asked him with a coy smirk. Eddie grinned, still drinking you in.
âAbsolutely,â he breathed. And the raptness in his eyes almost had you believing him.
You took your time getting up on the table, propping yourself up on all fours, letting him (and the camera) take a good, long look at the fullness of your hips before you settled in place. Arms at your side, you took a deep breath as you laid flat on your stomach, relieved there wouldnât be much dialogue needed for this next part.
Through the little donut headrest at the end of the table, you saw Sammyâs feet as she moved in closeâfilming tight on Eddieâs hands while he pumped massage oil onto them and warmed it by spreading it between his palms.
Your chest tightened, nerves coiling in your stomach as you anticipated his touch, forcing your body to keep still so you didnât pull focus.
He smoothed some oil over your skin, starting at the ankles and thoroughly coating your calves. The smell of clary sage filled the air, earthy and warm. And underneath it, a clean and woodsy scent you recognized as Eddieâs soap wafted up to your nose when he leaned in closer.
His fingertips began to knead your muscles, slipping and sliding easily over your skin that was slick with the oil. He made tiny circles with his thumbs, alternating back and forth as they moved in a steady pattern up your calf.
Oh, thatâs rightâŠ
In all the hubbub, youâd forgotten the whole concept for this shoot was borne on the fact that Eddie went to massage school for real. Heâd told you before, after he left his hometown (shit, what was it again? Hawk-somethingâŠ) that he started collecting different jobs like merit badges.
Just bounced from thing to thing, trying his hand (sometimes both) at whatever life presented. And that included porn. Heâd said he only auditioned for that first film he did because someone heâd slept with a handful of times knew a casting director and suggested heâd be good at it.
âHe certainly had the dick for itâ were her exact words, if you recalled. Strange to think in a way, you might owe that girl your career.
Through the pleasurable haze your mind dipped into having Eddieâs capable hands erasing every ounce of stress you carried in your muscles, you realized he was moving the scene right along while you just lay there humming and moaning with relief at his practiced touch.
Heâd lowered his voice to that deep, rumbly register he always used when he was building towards the next phase. His DM voice, as he so affectionately dubbed it. Rough and gravely, yet even and tempered, guiding both you and the audience along on the journey of this fuck.
âI hope you donât mind me sayingâŠbut your husbandâs a jackass for missings out on this.â
Your heartbeat picked up in your chest as he moved to your thighs. His fingertips dug into your flesh, kneading it like dough, letting his thumbs swerve dangerously close to your center.
âYou deserve someone who puts you firstâŠwho knows what he has and worships youâŠâ
One of his thumbs swiped briefly over your puffy lips, and you knew he felt how wet you were.
âYou know, Iâd never let you out of my sight if you were mineâŠâ
His words dripped slowly and intentionally past his lips, his hands creeping higher and higher up your legs. At last, they slid over the globes of your ass and he groaned as he squeezed one in each hand, spreading you apart to see your center, soaked with arousal that had been pooling there, truth be told, from the moment Eddie had told you how beautiful you looked.Â
You heard Eddieâs next line in your head before he said it, âIf you really want to relax, I can try a very special technique. I donât do it for just anyone. Itâs a little bitâŠunorthodoxâŠâ
And you were more than ready to take him up on his offer once he delivered the line.Â
But Eddie went off script.
Instead of hearing words, you felt the wet heat of his tongue glide through your folds as he buried his face between your spread ass cheeks. Your head popped out of the headrest, letting out a breathy moan of surprise and delight.
The shock on your face was evident as Sammy pushed in close to capture your expression, but so was your pure and utter elation. Youâd never felt anything so good in your lifeâŠ
And it seemed you werenât the only one.
Eddie groaned loudly as he lapped messily at your folds, his spit mixing with your slick that covered the bottom half of his face. And it was only after a few blissful seconds of eager licking that he even realize what heâd done.
âIâmâmmphâsorry, Iâm sorry, Iâm so sorryââ He panted out in between sinful swirls of his tongue, his he words muffled by your ass cheeks because he couldnât stand to pull away even a little, even long enough to speak. âI had to taste youâŠâ
âItâs okay,â you answered, voice already wrecked beyond belief. âItâs okay, just keep goingââ
The command is directed at him as much as it is the crew, who only panicked slightly. Eddie never did stuff like this and they just werenât ready.
They got back on track quickly enough, Sammy signaling the boom mic to get as close as he can without dipping into frame in order to pick up every lurid slurp and suck of Eddieâs mouth.
After no more than a few minutes, the fluffy towel under you was bunched in your fists and your hips squirmed as Eddie continued to eat you out like a mad man. His tight grip on your ass cheeks held fast, spreading you wider still so his tongue could probe deeper. The sounds he pulled out of you didnât even sound human to your ears, let alone recognizable as your own voice.Â
But you didnât care.
However you sounded, however you looked, it was superfluous to what Eddie was doing and the precipice he brought you to. Your orgasm hit harder than any drug, than any physical blow. It had you shaking uncontrollably, reaching back to grip the hair at the crown of his head as your hips pushed back to meet every thrust of his tongue while you rode out your exceptional high.
You felt its tingling sensation spread to every inconsequential inch of your body, like an ocean of fire that crashed over you in wave after wave of scorching pleasure. Drowning you in it.
When you finally found the strength in your limp limbs to roll over onto your back, Eddieâs eyes were waiting to meet yours. You could see on his face how sorry he was, how worried he was heâd fucked up. And you tried to communicate with him in that mind-melding, wordless sort of way you and he always did that it was fineâthat people were going to love it.
Cocking your brow at him, dipping into a more salacious tone to really sell the transformation from demure housewife to lusty adulterer, you threw in a little adlib of your own.
âThatâs some technique youâve got there,â you teased him, propping yourself up on your elbows. âMy husbandâs certainly never done that before.â
Eddieâs sly smile returned, his lips curling as he reached out to grip your waist. He hauled you closer with one jerk, bringing you to the edge of the table so your hips were flush with his. The bulge in his white pants was harder than ever when it pressed against your cunt, and he grinned wickedly when he felt just how ready you were for more. He yanked up the shirttail of his polo and whipped it off his body, tossing it behind him where it landed half in the pool.
âOh, sweetheart,â he tutted softly, âyou ainât seen nothing yet.â
Tysm for reading! đž comments and reblogs keep your skin clear and your crops watered đ«¶đ»
#eddie munson#eddie munson x you#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson stranger things#stranger things fanfiction#eddie munson fanfiction#eddie stranger things#eddie munson fanfic#eddie munson smut#stranger things au
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take me home, country road
[ao3]
You have nothing on your person apart from a hastily packed suitcase and the dress you came into town wearing, on the run from trouble back home. Too bad John's missing a bride that matches your description. Or: the 1800s (mistaken) mail order bride au (chapter 18) tw: minor character death, injuries, and misogynistic language
masterlist
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Heâs far off still, the smoking gun held tight in his hand and aimed up at the sky. A warning shot. Â
At first, you donât quite believe it. He appears like a mirage in the distance after wandering through the desert for days, on the brink of starvation. Like a trick of the eye. You squint against the light, sure that youâve mistaken the familiar felt pinch front hat and the speckled Appaloosa he sits astride for someone else, a stranger come to save you instead of the man youâve been desperately pining for since Graves stole you from your home.Â
But the longer you stare at the man coming towards you, the brim of his hat casting a shadow over his face save for the grim set of his mouth, the harder it is to deny that it really is John.Â
Your chest is fit to burst. Heart pumping wildly against your ribcage. The sight of him is revelatoryâa burning bush, a stream of light through storm clouds, St Elmoâs fire. The euphoric high is almost overwhelming.
âSon of a bitch,â Graves hisses beneath his breath, hand reaching for the revolver on his belt.Â
John is quicker though, firing off another round, this time at the ground between them, alarming Graves enough to make his arm jerk away from his side. Even you yelp. The gunfire cuts your swell of adulation short, bringing you back flush to the surface of the real world again. Gravesâ horse scrambles back a few steps, nearly rearing up before Graves gets control of him.
âWhoa, whoa, whoa, nowââ Graves booms, right in your ear, so loud that you wince, curling into yourself.Â
The gelding chuffs at Johnâs approach, unsettled. Graves digs his spurs into the horseâs side when it takes a few nervous steps back, making it whinny in pain. Youâd tell him off, but youâve learned by now to hold your tongue around Graves. He only knows how to impose his authority through pain.Â
âEasy, alrightââ Graves calls out, holding out the hand not tangled in the reins to show that itâs empty, the revolver still sheathed in its holster. âNo oneâs gonna do anything stupid.â
The horse John sits astride is the one he never dared to train you on. The one you know would buck you straight off if you tried to hoist yourself up on its saddle. Heâs bigger than Buttercup, all muscle and broodsome aura like its owner, and he doesnât take kindly to strangers.Â
When it breathes out, you imagine its breath should smell sulfuric. Fire and brimstone.Â
Closer to you now, you can see his eyes under the brim of his hat. He glowers at Graves, the same look youâve seen only once before, staring through the window of the general store at the scowl carved into his face when he dragged a man across town, but intensified. Not so much as a glimmer of sympathy or understanding in his eyes. Just cold rage.Â
The lines in his face are deep from lack of sleep, dark troughs under his eyes. Shoulders stiff; every muscle of his tensed, poised to react. You wonder how long after Graves took you John realized and followed the two of you in pursuit.Â
âIâm gonna say this once and you best not try my patience: let the lady go.â
The sound of his voice rumbles through you, making the hair on your arms raise. Seldom have you heard him use that tone of voice, more man than sheriff.Â
Gravesâ hand tightens on the reins, knuckles going white. You donât have to look over your shoulder to know that he has the same obsequious look on his face as he did back in town, indignation relegated to his extremities. You can see it in the tensed muscle of his forearms.
âNow Sheriff, you may have the run of this county, but Iâve got the power of the law on my side. The state of New York has issued a warrant for this womanâs arrest.â Gravesâ smarmy evocation to the legality of his actions rankles you. He acts like the whole situation is out of his control, that he takes no joy in your apprehension. Simply a matter of duty.Â
Not that it seems to make a difference. Even you could tell Graves that.Â
âI wonât ask again.â Johnâs voice is threaded with fury, angrier than youâve ever heard him speak.Â
And true to his words, he doesnât. The silence stretches between the two men, fraught with tension. Graves is a rigid line at your back.Â
Heâs the first to break the silence; the first to give. âAt least let me show you the warrant, Sheriff,â Graves implores. âI ainât just some vagrant thatâs come and taken the sheriffâs wife without causeâand I assure you, there is cause.â
John doesnât say a word, blue eyes still severe. Colder than the waters of Cocytus.Â
Graves must take his silence as permission because he reaches a hand into his pocket, pulling out a folded piece of paper. He holds it out to John at first, perhaps expecting the man to come close enough to take it from his hand, but John doesnât even glance at the hand offering him the arrest warrant, eyes still locked on Graves.Â
âSee now, Iâll even read it outââ he says, clearing his throat and half turning the paper back to him. ââWhereas it has been represented to Government thatâââ
âGive the letter to my wife,â John cuts him off, gesturing towards the warrant in Gravesâ hand with his gun. âSheâll deliver it to me once youâve handed her over.â
The interruption stuns Graves into silence, the warrant still held in his outstretched arm. He must not be accustomed to men deferring to women instead of him, much less a criminal like you. Your stomach cramps with nerves. The blow to his ego worries you more than John getting his hands on the arrest warrant. His behavior up to this point has been predictableâviolent, but unsurprising. You arenât interested in finding out if losing his temper changes that.Â
Johnâs eyes flick to yours. The first time heâs really looked at you since arriving unannounced, just a quick glance over you to ensure that youâre well. He must not like what he sees because the skin around his eyes tightens.Â
The moment of inattention is all Graves needs, eyes trained on it like a hunting dog. Johnâs eyes barely twitch away to meet yours and Graves draws his gun, his aim wild when he shoots.Â
You donât see what he hits, but the gunfire drives Johnâs horse into a panic, throwing its head back and rearing up onto its hind legs. Graves fires again and the ground between you explodes, dirt and debris erupting into the air. The horse roars, the sound deep and throaty.Â
Graves grabs you by the back of your dress, forcing your back to arch and shoulders to pull back, using you, for all intents and purposes, as a meat shield. You can hear John try to take control of his horse, but itâs near mindless with fear, braying and bucking when Graves fires again, white smoke billowing from the muzzle. Panic seizes you by the throat when Johnâs horse bucks him right off, bellowing a curse when his body slams to the ground.Â
A scream bursts from your throat, but Graves holds you in place before you can slide off the saddle, spitting a tense shut the fuck up into your ear before digging his heel into his horseâs flank and steering him around, beating a hasty retreat. His horse moves in a wide arc until his body is turned back in the direction that Graves was originally heading.Â
You struggle against him until the horse moves at a speed too dangerous to chance falling from its back. It covers ground fast, moving at a breakneck speed.Â
âStopâlet me down!â you scream, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. The howling wind carries your voice away.Â
The violent toing and froing makes it impossible to cast a backward glance and see if John is in pursuit. All of your senses narrow down to whatâs in front of you; from the saddle horn digging into your stomach and the air whipping past your face to the feeling of Gravesâ breath wafting over the back of your neck as he pants.Â
A booming crack fills the air and you scream, fear soaring to an unfathomable height.Â
Graves grunts and tenses behind you, his hands spasming around the reins and letting go involuntarily. Then you feel the body behind you slump to the side, his weight almost unbalancing you until he falls off the horse altogether, feet slipping out of the stirrups.Â
The blood in your ears masks the sound of his body hitting the ground. Your head whips around to follow the trajectory of Gravesâ body, but a wave of vertigo slams into you, a head on collision that forces you to dig your fingers into the horseâs mane and turn your body back around.Â
The horse barely notices the body slipping off its back though, tunnel vision on the road ahead. Legs pumping furiously beneath it, kicking up clouds of dust and dirt. Youâd have thought the horse wouldâve slowed up with the sudden unburdening of the other person astride it, but if anything, it picks up speed.Â
You canât calm down enough to catch your breath; it gallops ahead of you as well, your vision growing spotty with the short, jagged breaths you take in. Lungs collapsing under the weight of your chest. Eyes squinted against the piercing wind. Sunspots brighter than light itself.Â
Your instinct is to make yourself small; shield yourself from the impending pain. That inescapable reality rushes towards you as quickly as you race towards it. Youâre going to fall. Itâs almost certain. You whimper when a particularly rough stride makes you slip an inch to the right, your fingers gripping into the horseâs mane ever tighter, desperate to keep yourself astride.
Someoneâs voice breaks through the noise and you open your eyes.Â
In your fearstruck state, you almost donât recognize the man riding beside you and keeping pace until he says your nameâyour real nameâand you snap back to yourself. No time to contemplate your name in his mouth though, no time for anything except keeping from slipping into total panic.
âPull up on the reins!â John roars over the clamor of hooves.Â
You peel your face from the horseâs mane to meet his eyes. The parallel of a memory from long ago. It flashes before your eyes and you remember yourself. Numb hands fisted in the horseâs mane unclench.Â
âPull up!â he shouts again, and this time you comprehend. Itâs the same as the time before.Â
Summoning every ounce of courage in your bones, you tighten your thighs and belly to lift yourself up, gathering and bridging the reins in your manacled hands. Half halt, release, and half halt again.Â
âGoodânow circle!â Johnâs voice booms in your ear and through your blood.Â
You flinch when you try to steer your horse into a wide, sweeping turn and he resists at first, but on your second try, he follows your pull, his strides gradually slowing, easing up. When your horse finally comes to a standstill, walking its last few strides before coming to a stop, you sit with that bubble of tension until it bursts. Under your thighs, you can feel your horseâs ribs expand and contract with its labored breath.Â
The world blurs for a moment. The adrenaline flooding your body dissipates more with every breath you take, but the crash is just as intense as the rise. You can feel the shakes that wrack your body in a way that your mind canât quite yet take in, still outside of itself. The first thing you truly register is your husband suddenly at your side, coaxing you down from the horse, your handcuffed hands braced on his chest as he helps you down and then holding on to him when your knees nearly buckle under you.
âThank Christ,â he growls, pulling you into his chest.Â
The smell of tobacco and cloves is woven into the fabric of his shirt and you breathe it in zealously because itâs his. The reassurance that your husband has you, that heâs with you now, and the bad is over, nearly bowls you over. Makes you shake all the harder.
When you finally pull your face away from Johnâs chest, he cups your cheek with a gunpowder dusted hand, tilting your head up so he can press his lips to your forehead. Your gaze flits up and you stare at him with bleary eyes, wondering what he sees when he looks at you. Messy hair and a fleeting breath that quivers out, breaks to pieces, illuminates the sky when you glance over his head and itâs so blue that you could swim in it.Â
John frowns when you accidentally roll your shoulder back and wince. âYouâre hurt.âÂ
Thereâs no use in lying when he'll find out the truth soon enough, so you just nod.Â
âHis doing, was it?â he assumes more than asks, inspecting you closely now and noting all the fresh abrasions immediately visible to his eyes. Â
Most of your injuries are surface level, more than apparent to him after a quick perusal. A split lip and plenty of scrapes just beginning to scab. Youâre too tired to recount the events of the day before though, so you just shrug. Then hiss, the pain so intense that your bones go cold for a split second.Â
His forehead pinches with his frown, ghosting his hand over your shoulder as if to hold it in place. âIâll look at it later, okay, darlinâ?â
Every inch of you aches. You wish it could just be over now and you could be back in your bed by sundown, but you know the way home will be just as long. No rest unless you want the journey to be twice as long. The exhaustion alone might have you keel over before night falls.Â
Then someone coughs and drags you back into the real world.Â
You follow the sound with your eyes until they land on its cause. The crumpled form of the bounty hunter that dragged you out of town lies a quarter mile back. Itâs difficult to make out the state of him from so far away, but you can tell it isnât pretty, mangled and bloody from the fall he took off the horse.Â
âOh GodâŠâ you murmur, eyes widening when the man twitches against the grass.Â
Johnâs hand falls away from your cheek. His anger is so palpable that you can feel it fill him back up, blue eyes going steely and jaw tightening as he stares at the man that tried to take you from him.Â
âStay here,â your husband growls, hand reaching down to draw his pistol again.
John leaves you by the horses some distance away as he makes his way over to Gravesâ prone form. Blood seeps from a gunshot wound in his shoulder, saturating his shirt and wetting the dirt beneath him, and even from where you stand, you can see the odd angle of his ankle from where he hit the ground.Â
With no small amount of effort, Graves props himself up on his good arm, the other hanging limp against the ground. Even the sight makes you wince, bile churning in your stomach. He has to be in tremendous pain. Even John limps a little as he approaches the other man, hip likely sore from his own fall.Â
Against your better judgment, and your husbandâs command, you take a step towards them. And then another.
You have no reason other than the sinking feeling in your belly. If it were you with the gun, things would be different, you think. Youâd do it again, without a second thought. Anything to keep Graves from opening his mouth.Â
The gun in Johnâs hand makes clear his intentions in no uncertain terms. Out on the plains in the middle of nowhere, even taking pity on the man and bringing Graves to the nearest town might not be enough. Itâs a rough world out there. Tougher still with a wounded shoulder and sprained ankle.Â
More to the matter, Johnâs face says it all, jaw clenched and lips drawn into a tight line.Â
âIt doesnât have to go this way, sheriff,â Graves wheezes when the other man draws close enough to hear.Â
âYou know I havenât got a choice now,â John says, gazing up at the sky for a moment before looking back down at the man on the ground. âNot after you laid a hand on my wife.â
Despite the distance, Gravesâ voice carries when he speaks. âYou think you know that bitch? You donât know this woman from Eve. What makes you think she wonât butcher you like she did that man back east?â
So casually he says it that you almost miss it. And then you donât. The words pour over you like a sudden rain and you are back in that room, dread so potent that it chars the flesh, leaving cratered, necrotic holes wherever it touches. The worst moment of your life.Â
And Graves says it like a sin of your own making, like it was something you wanted, not a moment in your life haunting you from beyond the grave.Â
Your heart stops when your husband looks over at you assessingly. The truth lours over the two of you now, out in the open at last. All those months of hiding it, squandered in a moment by an injured manâs words. All you can do is stare helplessly at the man outlined by the blue sky, the horizon forever etching him into your memory. Itâs the first time since you stumbled into the sheriffâs office all those months ago that you havenât wanted him to think that you werenât the woman that was supposed to be his wife.
âShoulda listened to me, sheriff,â Graves laughs, his voice pained and raspy. âThat Jezebel needs to answer for what she did.â
You can see it in his eyes that he believes Graves. And why wouldnât he? The man has committed no crime; spoken not a lie to this point.Â
John looks at you in such a strange way though. Thereâs no surprise there; just a glint in his eye meant only for you. A glint that says darlinâ, this ainât nothinâ new; you never couldâve fooled me.Â
He knew your name after all. And you wonder how long heâs known. If he found out sometime in those first days or somewhere down the line or if the arrest warrant fell across his desk in recent days and he knew it would come to this, someone hunting you down across state lines to bring you back. If he knew heâd always have to come after you and rescue you from the jaws of death.Â
Everything comes all at once, each moment flashing across your mind barely long enough to leave an impression. Everything is proven immaterial in seconds.Â
Thereâs so much between the two of you. History, obligation, duty. Tenderness shouldnât even be the half of it, and yet it bears down twice as hard. Itâs the only thing that matters when you look at himânot the thought of being dragged back east and forced to stand trial, not the injustice of being made to atone for protecting yourself against a worse fate, but the thought of being taken away from him, of never seeing him again.
You can feel that worry evaporate the longer you hold his gaze. Thereâs something intentional there, something he is saying without words.Â
These days, you do not think to tremble when his hands are on your lips. You tilt your head instead, wait for him to make his next move. Your trust, implicit, underlying everything. Knowing heâll break the bread and feed you from his hands if need be.
Though you canât unhinge your jaw enough to ask him to promise that heâll keep you, his eyes say that itâs a foregone conclusion. How could he ever let you go? Youâre everything heâs ever wanted, the only thing even duty could never take from him.Â
John looks back down at the man lying at his feet. âCouldnât help runninâ your mouth, now could you?â
Graves opens his mouth, but John doesnât wait for a response. He pulls the trigger.
#ceil writing#cod x reader#price x reader#john price/reader#price/reader#john price x reader#john price x you#price x you
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THE 40s: THE QUEEN AND TRADE YEARS 1. is barely out of his teens 2. is a queen 3. or a bit of a rough trade 4. dances with strangers 5. works in an office 6. or wears a uniform 7. has big hair 8. smiles sweetly 9. knows how to dance a Finnish waltz 10. irons his trousers 11. wears shoes 12. a sports jacket 13. and doesn't shrink from a bow tie 14. has serious eyebrows 15. has a narrow waist 16. and likes it to be close to yours (is that a gun in your pocket?)
THE 50s: THE LUMBERJACK YEARS 1. is in his early 20s 2. gets a haircut 3. keeps smiling 4. lives in the great outdoors 5. gets his muscles from logging trees 6. keeps that [waist], though! 7. has a knife 8. wears wading boots for work 9. really likes wood 10. starts wearing blue jeans 11. goes where his feet take him 12. has small nipples 13. and a washboard stomach 14. loses those eyebrows 15. knows how to handle a big stick 16. but doesn't have sex on his mind
THE 60s: THE BIKER YEARS 1. is in his late 20s 2. wears biker boots (machine's parked outside) 3. starts going to the gym 4. doesn't forget his pecs 5. grows a wider waist 6. grows his hair in a fringe 7. and sideburns 8. has lots of body hair 9. grows serious nipples 10. wears a soft leather cap 11. with a phallic logo 12. smokes 13. likes tight white T-shirts 14. doesn't go anywhere without his leather jacket 15. lives in his jeans 16. button fly, of course! 17. lost his belt 18. starts bursting at the seams 19. has 'fucker' written on his back (just in case) 20. is popular in bars 21. guess what he's after 22. smiles less 23. but is very happy to see you
THE 70s: THE CLONE YEARS 1. is in his early 30s 2. gets a serious haircut 3. but keeps the sideburns 4. and tries out a moustache 5. doesn't have a bike but gets around 6. grows veins 7. goes to gay bars 8. looks happy but doesn't smile 9. always has his poppers handy 10. gets a Tom belt 11. buys leather shorts 12. with a zip fly 13. wears biker boots 14. loses his body hair 15. likes a bit of SM 16. and doesn't spare the whip 17. knows his hankie code 18. gets his ear pierced 19. keeps up at the gym (late afternoon) 20. and grows his pecs 21. because he knows bigger is better
THE 80s: THE FETISHIST YEARS 1. in his late 30s (pushing 40?) 2. after '85 is often black 3. gets his head shaved 4. or has a mohican 5. and loses his sideburns 6. develops a love for hard leather caps 7. and starts to smile again 8. grows a big moustache 9. pumps more iron than ever 10. and knows big tits are here to stay 11. (not sure what happened to those nipples, though) 12. has cast iron hips 13. and his neck outgrows his face 14. sometimes has a foreskin 15. gets a sword-belt 16. jodhpurs 17. with a button fly 18. and a wide belt 19. wears riding boots 20. is clearly identifiable as one of Tom's men 21. uses a condom 22. and knows biggest is best
TOM'S MEN Tom of Finland: The Art of Pleasure
#Tom of Finland#Tom of Finland: The Art of Pleasure#Tom's Men#vintage gay#*#**#gayedit#holesrus#gay leather#men in uniform
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Rotten | cowboy!joel x f!reader
Part II
Summary: Joel just can't leave you alone, and you hate it. Rating: 18+ Explicit MDNI Word Count: 6.5k Warnings: No-Outbreak AU, banter and arguing, mentions of guns/violence, smoking, explicit language, sexual tension, brat taming, mild dubious elements, spanking, slapping, choking, rough unprotected piv sex, orgasm denial, multiple orgasms, squirting, facial/cum eating, joel doesn't really take no for an answer, lots of angst A/N: I just couldn't get enough of these two. all my love to @lotusbxtch and @mermaidgirl30 for squealing over the filth every single day with me. ride that cowboy girlies, it's worth it ;) Part I
Masterlist | Ko-Fi
Your fingers were wet from the condensation rolling off your glass of sweet tea, the steady stream of droplets splattering against your bare thighs. The day had been exhausting; the cattle were abnormally restless and decided to drift too far out in the fields. Hours riding Mac left your legs sore, and honestly, you just wanted to smoke your Marlboros and sip on your tea. With your boots kicked up on the porch railing and a cigarette between your lips, you were blissfully content.Â
That is, until your peace and quiet were shattered.
Dirt kicked up in the distance, and the steady rhythmic hum of an engine grew louder as it drifted closer to your house. You groaned in frustration, already knowing who to expect. Dear God, was Joel Miller relentless. You reached behind your porch chair, fingers curling around the shotgun propped up against the wood. You warned him.Â
His beat-up Red Chevy stopped beside your home, and you tracked his movements as he opened the door. Lifting the gun to your eye level, you aimed the barrel toward his truck. Your finger hovered over the trigger, steady and calm. Joel stepped out of the driver's seat, adjusting his belt buckle against his stomach. You wouldnât kill him; you werenât that mean, although it was tempting.Â
One quick pull of the trigger and you sent a warning shot into the side door of his truck, rupturing the metal with a resounding bang. Joel ducked down, letting out a startled grunt before turning his head to inspect the damage. Whipping head toward you, Joel stared you down with narrowed eyes.
âFuckinâ Christ,â he huffed. âThat how yâwelcome all your visitors?â
âOnly the ones who piss me off!â You shouted.
Joel ran a hand down his scruff, swaying in place as if deciding whether to approach you. Do it, you thought. He made one cautious step, and you rewarded him with another cock of your shotgun, the barrel loaded and ready to fire.Â
âTake it easy, darlinâ. I only wanted to come talk,â Joel cautioned, his hands raised in defeat.
âSânothinâ to fuckinâ talk about, Miller,â you said, your eye squinting down the barrel line.
Each step of his cowboy boots crunched the earth below, slow steps progressing forward. Joel walked to the edge of the porch; his shoulders hiked to his ears and arms still raised as if he were approaching a wild bull. Serves him right to be scared of you. You may have let him get the best of you the first time around, but you wouldnât let that happen again.
âCan yâput the damn gun down, darlinâ?â He barked.
âCan yâtake your ass back to your side of the pasture?â You tossed back.
The closer he got, the clearer his features became; the scruffy graying beard with small bare patches against his jawline, the worry lines deeply etched into his tan skin, and those damn brown eyes that plagued your thoughts night and day. You still thought about how soft they were when he looked at you before he left the stables, a kindness that flickered through the amber specks and filtered out that rage. It was truly unfair that such an insufferable man could be so damn handsome.Â
Joelâs boots knocked against the first step of the stairs, and your grip tightened around the shotgun. His eyes tracked your fingers as they flexed around the metal, your knuckles tense.
âI ainât take you for the murderinâ type,â he said cooley.
âReckon you donât know much âbout me to be assuminâ that. Who knows, maybe I got myself a pile of bodies lyinâ in the grass behind my house.â
A low chuckle rumbled through his chest as he advanced another step, still testing the waters with you. You rocked back in your chair, propping the heel of your boot on the railing for stability.Â
âWanna show me all them dead bodies then, darlinâ? Prove that youâre not all bark and no bite?â He smirked.
You angled the shotgun past the side of his head and sent a shot flying out into the yard. Joel flinched hard enough to knock himself into the stair railing, his weight jostling the porch. With a coy grin, you lowered the gun an inch and shrugged your shoulders.
âCanât show yaâ if youâre dead,â you grinned.
Joel lunged at you, ripping the gun from your hand and tossing it feet away from you. He gripped the back of your chair and drew his face closer, his pupils dilating the longer he glared at you. Rolling your tongue across your teeth, you raised your hand to his neck, drifting it up the scruff under his jaw. A shallow breath exhaled from his lips, and he stared at you in anticipation. Oh, he thought you were going to kiss him? Cute.
With a quick snap of your wrist, you smacked your hand across his cheek before shoving him out of your face. Joel barely moved an inch, your hands smacking into solid muscle that wouldnât budge. All that softness in his eyes was displaced with an unmistakable sense of rage, his friendliness shattering away as his cheek flushed from the impact.Â
âNow yâdone pissed me off, you fuckinâ brat,â Joel snarled.
His hand shot out to your throat, yanking you from your porch chair and to your feet. His grip was hardly as tight as last time but still forceful enough to render you powerless. Your eyes flickered toward the gun across the porch, so far out of reach and unattainable. You should have shot him when you had the chance.Â
âBe a good girl and invite me in,â Joel ordered, nodding toward your front door.Â
You wagged your head back and forth, your lips curled up and ready to spew venom. Joel only brought your face closer, his upper lip twitching under his mustache.Â
âDo it. Now. Or I swear to God, Iâll make last time look like a goddamn walk in the park.â
âSurprised yâgot any sex drive left in you, old man,â you gasped, his fingers tightening around your neck.Â
âChrist, you fuckinâ infuriate me,â Joel grumbled.
He used his grip on your neck to propel your feet backward, guiding you toward your front door and over the threshold. The heel of your boot snagged on the lip of the door, sending you flailing back, only for him to grab you by the waist and yank you forward into his sturdy frame.
Even with his hand wrapped around your throat, Joel had never looked more gorgeous than he did at that moment. Swimming through the rage inside his eyes was a hint of worry, as if he genuinely thought youâd stumble to the ground. The reaction time of his arm circling your waist and the small exhale of breath off his lips, a quiet I got you in his own way.Â
The moment dwindled as fast as it came, a flickering flame extinguished somewhere between the threshold and the entryway of your tiny farm home. Joel reverted to his aggressive tendencies, manhandling you onto your worn-down floral sofa. The springs beneath the cushions squeaked under the weight of your bodies as he pinned you down, his face a breath apart from yours.Â
âYou ready to play nice, darlinâ? Or am I gonna have to ruin that pussy again just to shut you up?â He questioned.Â
Your hands grazed over his torso, tracing the outline of his soft stomach and over the buttons traveling up toward the collar of his shirt. You watched Joelâs eyes flutter closed for the briefest moment, only to fly wide open as you sunk your nails into the hair at the nape of his neck. You tugged hard on his salt and pepper hair, enough so that his neck strained back.Â
âGet the fuck off me, Joel,â you seethed, the words snarling out between your teeth.Â
âWe both know that ainât fuckinâ happeninâ.â
Joel wrangled you over and onto your stomach, his hand still firmly clasped around your throat. He quickly caged your legs in between his muscular thighs, molding your body into the sofa cushions. Half your face was smothered into the dingy couch, your hair tossed in streaks over your eyes and clouding your vision. With his free hand, Joel cupped the curve of your ass, his fingers digging into the flesh that peaked out beneath the cut-off of the denim.Â
âYâstill got my handprints branded into your ass, darlin?â Joel asked.
He didnât care to know the answer as he smacked his hand down, the bite of his skin against the fabric sending electric jolts of pain up your spine. Truth was, the bruises he left were still thereâyellow, horrid welts that were a ceaseless reminder of last time. You wouldnât ever admit it, but sometimes you found yourself in the mirror tracing the outline of his fingerprints, fantasizing about his hands on your body.Â
âAnswer me,â Joel commanded.
âFuck you,â you said, your voice muffled into the couch.
âAlways gotta have an attitude, donât you?â
Joelâs hand connected with your ass again, this time hard enough to elicit a small whimper from your lips. You could deny it all you wanted, but it was making you unbearably wet. You squirmed under his grip, finding some sort of relief within the friction of your shorts. Joel caught onto your movements and chuckled at your lost efforts.
âGot you all riled up, huh? This sweet lilâ pussy need takinâ care of?â
He cupped your sex through your jeans, the roughness of his hand spurring you on even moreâstupid body for responding the way it did to this man. Joel pressed his fingers against the seam of the denim, finding your swollen clit hidden beneath. You exhaled loudly, your body sagging further into the cushions as he rubbed rough circles over the aching bundle of nerves.
âRight there, darlinâ? That feel good for you?â Joel taunted.Â
âMhmm,â you whined.
âYou wanna cum for me?âÂ
You sunk your teeth into your bottom lip, holding back the plea for release. Joel knew what he was doing; he knew you wouldnât beg. You were too stubborn and too defiant to ever beg for it. At least, not again. But his fingers worked fasterâharderâkeeping you on the edge of ecstasy the longer you stayed silent.
âCâmon,â he urged. âAsk nicely, and Iâll let you cum.â
You turned your head into the sofa, burying your face into the cushions as you let out a frustrated cry. Fuck this man. Fuck his ability to turn you pliant and easy. Your body bucked against his hand as he worked at you in tantalizing movements, the friction of his palm against your sex becoming dizzying.Â
âPlease,â you muttered, your voice muffled and quiet.
Joelâs hand unwound from your neck, taking its place within the tresses of your hair. A swift tug back, and your eyes strained to meet his as he loomed over you.Â
âI didnât hear you,â he growled.
You swallowed thickly, trying to form another plea, but you couldnât make a sound. Joel tugged on your hair harder, enough to make you cry at the pain. Your nails dug into the couch, and you managed a small please through a strangled moan.
âToo bad, darlinâ. Bratty lil sluts donât get to cum. I just wanted to hear yâbeg for it.â
He released his grip on your head, shoving you back down. You groaned in frustration as his hand vanished from between your legs. The couch shifted beneath you as Joel rose to his feet, wandering around your living room and into your kitchen.Â
âWhereâs your smokes?â He asked, rifling through the drawers as if he owned the place.
You lifted yourself, stretching your neck and detangling your hair with your fingers. Your clit painfully throbbed against your panties, your core still fluttering from the phantom orgasm that never came. Joel continued his search, slamming drawers shut and opening cupboards without a care in the world as if he didnât just have you pinned down and begging for release. The temptation to run out and grab your gun was thrumming inside your veins; just one shot and youâd be free of him. Joel glanced up at the exact moment you shot to your feet, gunning for the door.Â
âDonât even think about it, darlinâ,â Joel warned.
âYou expect me to let you roam âround my house uninvited?â You questioned.Â
âI expect you to be a good host and find me a damn cigarette,â he snapped.Â
âWell, theyâre on my porch. So, if youâll let me leave for a damn second, I can bring you one.â
Joel leaned against the kitchen counter, considering you with eyes narrowed. You folded your arms over your chest and stared at him, both of you in a silent showdown. With a lift of his chin, he motioned for you to go ahead and retrieve them. Disappearing out onto the porch, you scooped up your pack of reds and lighter, lingering an extra moment as you considered the gun lying on the ground.
âIâm waitinâ!â He called from inside.
âChrist, I fuckinâ hate you,â you said, walking back into the house.
Joel had made himself all too comfortable on your couch, his legs spread open and arm lazily draped over the back cushion. You immediately noticed the bulge in his jeans, a telltale sign that he was just as worked up as you were. Tough fucking luck. If he wouldnât get you off, you wouldnât help him either.Â
âYâ hate me, huh?â Joel asked, his lips curving into a smug grin.
You didnât respond as you smacked the bottom of the cigarette carton against your palm. Joel flicked his fingers, urging you closer, yet you stayed planted to the ground.Â
âGonna give me one of those, darlinâ?â
âWhy should I?â You huffed. âYâcome into my home uninvited and act like you own the damn place. Actinâ all demandinâ and rude.â
Joel let out a low whistle, rolling his neck back and forth. You continued smacking the carton, your lips set in a firm line.
âWhatâs rude is tryna kill someone who only came to talk. So, come here and sit.â
âAnd if I donât wanna?â
âFor one goddamn minute, can yâjust not be so fuckinâ stubborn?â Joel huffed.
âFine.â
You strode toward the couch, aiming to sit beside Joel, only to have him wrap an arm around your waist and pull you into his lap. Your thighs pressed against his as you settled into his body, the rugged muscles of his legs flexing beneath you. You were too close to him, too aware of the way his eyes sparkled with rich amber flecks in this nearness. Joel studied you without an ounce of anger as if none of what had happened between you ever existed. It made it terribly hard to continue hating him when he looked at you that way.
âYâgonna be a good girl and give me a smoke now?â Joel asked.
Rolling your eyes, you removed a cigarette from the carton, offering it to him. Joel only shrugged, parting his lips ever so slightly to invite it into his awaiting mouth. Your fingers brushed against the scruff of his jaw as you placed it between his lips, his mouth quirked up in satisfaction.Â
âYou trust me with a light?â You questioned.
Joel squeezed your waist softly, his other arm still thrown across the couch. You twirled the lighter between your fingers, your thumb rolling over the sparkwheel haphazardly. One good flick of the lighter, and you could send him up in flamesâburn your whole house down with him inside, and youâd finally be at peace. He was a ceaseless man with little regard for you or your damn peace, and you were growing tired of entertaining him.
âLight it,â he ordered, the cigarette hanging between his teeth.
You sparked the flame, letting the heat of it ripple over your skin as you brought it to the butt of the cig. The tip ignited with a flicker of embers, the cherry end burning bright as Joel took a long drag. He lifted his hand from the couchâstill keeping one firm on your bodyâand situated the cigarette between two fingers.
âWanna tell me where yâlearned to shoot like that?â He asked, his head tilted to the side.
âMy parents. They taught me everything I know,â you admitted.
âEverythinâ aside from manners,â Joel countered.
âShut up,â you snapped. âI ainât gonna sit here and let you speak of my parents like that.â
You didnât like talking about them; the reminder of their absence was sometimes too much to bear. You had so many responsibilities thrown onto your shoulders when they died, and although you took those responsibilities willingly, it didnât quell the grief still lingering. You didnât have your parents anymore, but you had their land to care for and their wishes to uphold.Â
Joel took a sharp inhale from the cigarette, letting the smoke plume between your faces. The stench of smoke was something comforting to you, always had been, but coming from his mouth, it pissed you off.Â
âHey, now,â he said softly. âWas only kiddinâ, darlinâ. Didnât mean to strike a nerve.â
âYour entire presence strikes a fuckinâ nerve, Joel. Why are yâeven here?â
âLike I said, I came here to talk.â
You pulled the cigarette from his lips, taking it to your own and inhaling a long drag. Joel arched a brow, watching as you hollowed your cheeks around it, the flicker of the butt burning brightly in his face.Â
âThen talk,â you hissed, tilting your head to exhale the smoke.
You leaned back, discarding some of the ashes against the tray on your coffee table. Joelâs hand urged you back to his chest, pinning you closer than you wished to be. You adjusted yourself on his lap, absentmindedly, shifting your body over his hardened cock. Joel choked on a breath, his fingers digging into your waist. Oh. Funny how you had all the power now.Â
âTalk,â you repeated, grinding your body down against his again.
âI know what youâre doinâ,â Joel grumbled.
âYâgonna talk or what, Miller? Iâm waitinâ.â
Joel cursed under his breath, grabbing the cigarette from your fingers and returning it to his lips. His eyes never left yours as he drew in a breath, letting the smoke linger inside his mouth a second too long before exhaling. The smoke billowed around your face, and you scrunched your nose in annoyance.Â
âI wanna negotiate,â Joel offered.
âNo.â
It was a quick response, one without a second thought. You wouldnât even entertain the idea of negotiations. Why? Because there was nothing to fucking negotiate. This land was yours, passed down through generations, and would remain that way. No amount of bitching and moaning from Joel would make you reconsider.Â
âYâdidnât even let me finish,â Joel remarked.Â
âI donât need to listen to you. I ainât negotiating my land.â
You reached for the cigarette again, yet Joel suspended it in the air and out of reach. You glared at him, trying to grab his hand to drag it toward you. Joelâs strength outweighed yours, and he had you beat every time you tried aiming for it again. Shoving at his chest, you moved to swing a leg over his lap and climb off, but he dragged you right back to his chest. His hand roamed up your side, curving along your hip and over the swell of your breast. Cupping your face with one large hang, Joel squeezed your cheeks together and forced your lips to part.Â
You struggled against his grip, your eyes full of rage as you watched him take another drag of the cigarette. With your mouth partially open, he leaned close and blew the smoke over your lips and into your mouth. The fragrant odor of the smoke licked up your nose as you inhaled, your lips inches away from his. You didnât like it. You didnât want him close. Joelâs eyes bounced between your eyes and lips, the temptation of drawing you closer palpable in his body language. The nicotine buzzed inside your head, and you pulled away from his face right at the same moment he leaned closer.Â
âDonât,â you warned, smoke exhaling from your lips.Â
Joel dropped his hand from your face, a clear shift in his mood arising as you watched his eyes flicker with disappointment. It was all over his face: the furrow between his brows, the downturn of his lips⊠He wanted to kiss you. You wouldnât let him, though; that was too much. If he wanted to manhandle you and fuck you however he pleased, that was fine. You welcomed it, actually, because you knew one taste of his mouth, and youâd be ruined. You didnât want intimacy with Joel, not when your familyâs land was hanging in the balance. Heâd reel you in with false pretenses and have you aching for more, only to tear it all away.
He cursed under his breath as he pressed his body to yours, leaning forward to discard the cigarette into the ashtray. The bulge beneath his jeans prodded your sex at this angle, eliciting a ripple of pleasure up your spine. A small gasp bubbled out of you as Joel readjusted himself beneath you.Â
âYou donât wanna talk?â Joel asked, raising his voice. âFine. Better not say a damn word unless itâs my name while I fuck you.â
In a millisecond, Joel had you pinned down to the couch again, your hair splayed around you and your breath whooshing from your lungs. His fingers worked at the zipper of your jeans, yanking them down your legs and discarding them over his shoulder. Propping a knee onto the couch, Joel undid his belt buckle and freed his cock from the confines of his jeans. Precum glistened on the tip, and he stroked himself slowly as he pulled your legs apart, molding you into the position he desired.Â
âOnly wanna hear yâscream my name. Yâunderstand that?â He growled.Â
Joel coated the head of his cock with the slick covering your folds, pushing himself in with one deep thrust. You groaned, squeezing your eyes shut as your body adjusted to his size. This angle was so much different than last time, and you could feel every vein and ridge of his cock rub against your fluttering walls. You focused on your breathing while he plunged deeper, breaking you open and fucking into you with hard thrusts.Â
Caressing the back of your knee, Joel drew your leg up and over his shoulder, bending you in half until he was spearing into your core.Â
âLook at me,â he ordered.Â
You shook your head, whimpering at the sensation of his cock splitting you in half. Searing pain bloomed across your face as Joelâs hand connected with your cheek. Your eyes shot open, tears welling on your waterline, the sting of the pain churning into a wave of pleasure through your core. You forgot how addictive his touch could be when he was angry. His pupils swallowed the entirety of his eyes, a dark, endless abyss staring straight back at you.
âDo. You. Understand?â He grunted between thrusts.
You didnât respond, a tear slipping down your cheek. The phantom touch of his fingers on your skin lingered still, and your clit throbbed with a sudden flurry of arousal. Joelâs hand wrapped around your jaw, forcing your mouth open. He leaned down, pressing his weight into you as his face neared yours. A trail of spit fell off his tongue and crashed into the back of your throat, and you flinched away from Joel as he pressed harder.Â
âSwallow, brat.â
You struggled to swallow it; your throat constricted as his grip around your jaw tightened. He plowed into you, drilling your core with violent strokes until a gargled wail left your mouth. His spit slid down your throat, and he hummed in approval.Â
âGood girl.â
He stretched your other leg up and over his shoulder, your ass lifting off the couch. You wanted to beg him to stop, yet nothing would leave your lips. Not even a sound as the noise of his hips slapping against yours filled the air. The thrum of your heartbeat vibrated through your chest, the pressure inside your stomach growing stronger as you propelled closer to the edge of your orgasm. Every muscle in your body grew taut, your clit aching to be touchedâŠaching for relief from the violent flames lapping at your spine. So close. It was so close you craved for more.Â
Maybe you didnât want him to stop.Â
âIf you ainât gonna listen to me in a normal conversation, then youâre gonna listen now,â he gritted.Â
You flexed your jaw under his hand, trying to shy away from his piercing stare. You didnât want to look at him, didnât want to listen⊠didnât want anything but the opportunity to seek release. You could handle the painâyou welcomed it. The harder he fucked you, the less you had to think. And if you kept thinking, youâd drown in the consequences of your doubt. Keep him angry, you thought. Keep him the enemy. You couldnât let him be anything more.Â
âI donât want your land,â Joel punched out through clenched teeth. âKeep it. I donât give a shit.â
The buzzing inside your skin dulled out at his words. It was so hard to focus on what he was saying when your mind was melting from the inside out, his cock driving into you with brutal speed. He didnât wantâŠ
âWhat?â You choked out.
Joelâs hand clamped down on your mouth, muffling your words as he bottomed out and kept himself seated inside you. The rhythm of his thrusts stopped, and he let his hips press into yours as he stared down at your tearful face. You were so fucking full of him you couldnât breathe.
ïżœïżœListen,â he snapped.Â
You muffled out his name, the sound slipping through the space between his fingers. He only pressed harder, your body folded in half beneath his weight. You clenched around his cock, rocking your hips slightly to quell the need curling inside your stomach.
âI ainât gonna take your land from you, âkay? All Iâm askinâ for is permission to come âround without you tryna kill me.â
No. The word was lost inside the palm of his hand. You wanted your land, and you wanted Joel gone. You didnât trust him when he said he didnât want your land. How could you trust him when he had you pinned to the sofa?Â
âThis is whatâs gonna happen,â Joel offered, snaking a free hand down between your legs. âYouâre gonna agree with me and let me come and go as I please. Then maybe Iâll let you cum.âÂ
Calloused fingers circled your clit, forcing a cry from your mouth. Tantalizing, slow draws over your sensitive bud pulled desperate sounds out of you, each one of them stifled against his warm hand. Joel worked himself into shallow thrusts, pulling out to the tip and driving right back into you. You couldnât fend off the orgasm bubbling under the surface, the nerves inside you lighting on fire.Â
âPlease!â You screamed between his fingers.
Joelâs lips twisted into a sneer, beads of sweat rolling down his temples as he pressed his fingers harder against your clit. Your eyes glossed over with fresh tears as you fought off the impending release rolling through your body.
âSay it.â
Your back arched off the couch as you chased the strokes of Joelâs fingers. Circling and circling⊠You were so close to the threshold of ecstasy, and you knew heâd tear it away from you if you didnât relent.Â
Joel ripped his hand from your mouth, tangling in the hair at the crown of your head. He forced your eyes down to where your bodies connected, your focus on his cock as it disappeared inside you.Â
âYâwanna cum on my cock, darlinâ?â Joel taunted.Â
âFuck! Please, Joel!â You gasped.
With your chin tucked into your chest, your legs dangling over his shoulders, and his cock spearing into your core⊠you couldnât hold back your orgasm any longer.Â
âSay it!â Joel commanded.
âOkay!â You sobbed. âJust let me cum, Joel! Please!â
Joel assaulted you with a repetition of thrusts, each stronger than the last, until your orgasm exploded through your body. His name tore from your lips as your back curved off the couch and your legs squeezed around his neck. He kept his thumb circling your clit, your orgasm never ceasing to end as the inferno burned inside your core. Wet, hot arousal gushed out of you, splattering onto Joelâs navel and staining his denim shirt. His eyes flicked up to yours, a wicked grin splitting his face.Â
âLook at the mess youâre makinâ. Just drenchinâ my fuckinâ cock.â
âJoel!â You whined, squirming against his hand.
âNuh uh, darlinâ. Wanna see how messy yâcan get. Keep goinâ.â
He released his grip on your hair, forcing your head to fall against the arm of the sofa. Shuffling his knees forward, Joel continued his brutal thrusts until your arousal sprayed around his cock and dripped down the seam of your ass. There wasnât enough air in your lungs as you alternated between screaming his name and begging him to stop.Â
âSince yâwanted to cum so goddamn bad, youâre gonna keep takinâ my fuckinâ cock âtil you ruin this damn couch,â Joel grunted.Â
You were crying⊠hard. Your mind was on the precipice of hysteria as waves of your orgasm bolted through your veins. Lewd sounds of his body slapping against your wetness echoed through the room, the cushion beneath you soaked from your arousal. You attempted to claw yourself backward and away from Joel, but his grip was violent, and he only yanked you closer.Â
âI canâtâI canât anymore!â you sobbed. âPlease, JoelâŠplease.â
âGimmie one more,â he demanded.Â
You shook your head in protest, your sobs hiccuping inside your chest. Your core was too fucked out, your clit was painfully sensitive, and you were sitting in a pool of your arousal. How did Joel manage to turn the events of the day around in his favor? You had control at the startâyou had the gunâ but now he had you folded in half and strewn out in a heap of tears.Â
âI canât!â You wailed. âToo muchâtoo muchâŠâ
âPoor thing,â Joel taunted. âAlways begginâ for it but canât take it.â
You writhed beneath him, your body twisting and bending to alleviate the painful sensations rolling through your nerve endings. This was it; this was how you died. Drunk on pleasure and torn apart by the man you wanted to hate.Â
Another orgasm tore through your body, consuming you from the inside out. Your scream pierced through the air, and you collapsed into the cushions, soaked with sweat and tears. Joel made a strangled noise above you as your sex clamped down around his cock, no doubt pulsating harder than it had the last several orgasms. His cock slipped from inside you, leaving you hollow and aching to be filled again. Your body craved the fullness, yet you sagged with relief knowing he stopped.
âCâmere,â Joel grunted.Â
He slung your legs off his shoulders and yanked you down the couch by your ankle. Positioned over your face, Joel stroked his cock above you, his fingers glistening from the arousal that stuck to his velvety skin.Â
âOpen that fuckinâ mouth, darlin',â Joel urged.Â
Your head was so hazy you hardly registered his words. Parting your lips, you whined softly and stared at himâŠwaiting. Joelâs eyes connected with yours, that deep furrow in his brow more prominent than before. Rage still sparked behind his eyes, but in your delirium, you saw more. You saw right past his facade, just as he saw right past yours. Whatever terror etched itself into your features, it caught his attention, but he was painting your lips and face with his release before he could decipher it. Hot ropes of cum spattered against your lips, the salty taste covering your tongue as it trailed into your mouth. Remnants of his release coated your chin and neck, warm reminders of his futile efforts at staking his claim.
He hadnât claimed you, no matter how hard he fucked you. You wouldnât let him claim you. And you most certainly wouldnât let him claim your land.Â
Joel slid his finger through the mess along your neck, scooping his cum onto the pad of his finger and dragging it across your lips.Â
âSo fuckinâ pretty all covered in my cum,â he praised.
âFuck you,â you whispered, though your words meant shit, as you rolled your tongue over your bottom lip.
Joel gave you a soft grin, smoothing down your hair and cleaning the mess off your face with one hand. The same hand that had inflicted pain just moments ago, the hand that brought you to release more times than you could physically endure.Â
But now the touch was softâcaring, even. And that frightened you more than the violence he showed when he was provoked. It was this side of Joel that made you scared, and you wanted to run as far from it as you could.Â
âLetâs get you up, darlinâ,â Joel said, hoisting you by the shoulders until you sat under his shadow.Â
He massaged your legs as you swung them over the couch, attempting to relieve the tension within your muscles. You shrunk away, standing on unbalanced limbs, and distanced yourself from his wandering hands.
âI need a shower,â you decided. âYâcan see yourself out.â
âI ainât done talkinâ to you.â
âWell, Iâm done fuckinâ talking!â You argued.Â
You spun on your heel, your hands clenched at your sides. Joelâs eyes stayed focused on you as he worked at stuffing his cock back into his jeans. Half-naked before him, you felt a million times smaller than you had when he arrived.Â
âWhy are you so hateful?â He questioned, rising to his feet.
Your lips curled up, a slew of spiteful words dancing on the tip of your tongue. But Joel wasnât finished.Â
âThis is your land,â he said, stepping closer. âI ainât gonna argue that anymore âcause itâs a lost cause. And I ainât tryna steal it from you. I can promise you that.â Another step closer. âSo, why do yâhate the idea of me cominâ around?â
âBecause I hate you,â you responded.Â
âYou hate me, huh? Is that how yâfeel âbout me when Iâm pullinâ orgasms from your body? âCause I think you fuckinâ love it. You love beinâ fucked by me. You get me all riled up âcause yâknow whatâs cominâ for you.â
âI hate you,â you repeated.
Joel lifted his hand to your face, cupping your cheek with a featherlike touch. You wanted to shy away, but you were too tired to move.
âI donât think yâhate me at all, darlinâ,â he whispered.Â
He leaned closer, placing a kiss on your forehead. You squeezed your eyes shut, holding off another round of tears brimming over the surface. Pushing your hands against his chest, you shoved Joel away, your body staggering back with the force of your action.
âGet the hell outta my house,â you cried, no longer keeping the tears at bay.Â
Joel stared at you with a pained expression, his eyes searching through your glassy eyes for the falter within your words. He didnât budge; he didnât move an inch. You shoved at his chest again, but it was no use as he wrangled you into his arms and lifted your chin to meet his eyes.
âWhen are you gonna quit fightinâ me?â He asked softly.Â
It was a sincere question; you saw it swimming behind the rich chocolate of his irises. Pleading. Begging. He wanted the truth, but you wouldnât give in. You couldnât.
âIâll quit fightinâ when yâlearn to leave me alone.â
âWhat if I donât wanna?â
He was a breath away from your lips, the rich scent of farmland wafting off his skin as it mixed with the smell of sex. It was intoxicating being this closeâclose enough to wonder what his lips would feel like on yours. While your body ached for him in one way, your heart ached differently. It was an ache you wanted to keep fighting because the moment you lost that battle, youâd lose everything.Â
âI donât want you cominâ here anymore, Joel.â
âWhy?â he pressed.Â
Silence blanketed over you, weighing down the words lodged in your throat. The rapid beating of your heart matched his as he kept you tight to his chest. You were suffocated by the emotions you couldnât say, and you were slowly sinking further down.Â
You struggled against the arm that bound around your waist, helplessly trying to break free of his hold. He finally relented in defeat, letting you shuffle back until there was a healthy gap between your bodies. Running a hand down the scruff on his chin, Joel gave you a simple nod and retreated toward the front door.Â
âUntil you can give me a reason, Iâm gonna keep cominâ back.â
He left without a glance over his shoulder, the room around you shrinking in size without his presence looming over you. Searching for your shorts, you quickly dressed and hid behind the window curtains as you watched his truck rumble to life and speed down the dirt roads. There was no goodbye between you, and you knew there wouldnât be. Joel wasnât giving up, no matter how hard you pushed him away, and eventually, heâd win.Â
And you hated knowing the truth.Â
**
Behind the billowing dirt trail of his truck, Joel watched as your house faded from view. His knuckles were white around the steering wheel as he thought about the way he left. He was doing this for fun; at least, thatâs what it felt like at the start. Getting on your nerves, pissing you off, seeing you completely unraveled underneath his hands, Joel loved it. He loved the thrill of having you tamed down and quiet, compliant to anything he asked and did.Â
Then he had you pinned underneath him, and he saw the fear in your eyes. You werenât scared of him. You were scared of the emotions electrifying between the both of you. Then you pulled away from him, denying him any affection, and he fucking hated it.Â
He couldnât understand why you got under his skin the way you did, nor why he cared so much. It wasnât supposed to end up this way, yet Joel wanted to keep tearing down your walls. He wanted to hear you tell him the truth.
He wasnât going to stop until he got it.
#joel miller#joel miller fanfic#joel miller x f!reader#joel miller x reader#joel x f!reader#joel x reader#tlou#cowboy!joel#no outbreak!joel miller#no outbreak au#smut#mini series#joel miller smut#joel miller tlou
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Tim having a younger girlfriend who gets princess treatment from him, she very obviously in love with Tim, and nobody at the station believes he has a girlfriend, so one day she shows up and work and everyone gets to see and meet her and see just how much she has Tim wrapped around her finger <3
Sorry if it doesn't make sense
puppy love - tim bradford
{ masterlist }
đȘ: hopefully this lives up to what you were thinking!! i did my best to capture all the main elements that you wanted in the story <33
word count: 1039
âââââââââââââââââââ
Tim was notorious for being a hardass, his rough demeanor and strict ways of teaching made him seem like a total douchebag, for lack of a better word.
However, for you, he was a ball of sunshine, just don't let anyone else know that.Â
Tim was awoken to the deafening sound of his alarm clock, he looked over at the red numbers, the clock reading â6:00amâ, he sighed and reached a hand over to turn the blaring sound off. He turned over at the movement of your sleeping body, his hand now brushing through your hair with a small smile on his lips, waking up wasn't so bad when he got to see your face every morning.
You woke up gently at the new warmth that was on your head, âdo you have to leave today?â you whispered with annoyance, one eye looking at him while the other stayed shut hoping to retain some sleep âunfortunately i do, baby, but i'll be home in time for our dateâ he responds, leaning over and kissing your forehead.Â
He gets out of bed and heads for the closet putting on his uniform, once heâs done getting ready he reaches for his duty belt and gun that he keeps in his nightstand. Finally he leans over to give you one last kiss goodbye, âi love you, iâll text you on breakâ you felt his lips move, âi love you too, be safe and come home to meâ you respond as he walks out of the room gently shutting the door.
You shortly go back to sleep to get extra shuteye before having to go to your 9:00 am psychology class.
===
Tim made it to work early, going into the locker room and putting his duffle bag full of extra clothes and little snacks that you had snuck in there âjust in caseâ, once he left the locker room he made his way to the debriefing room. âHey Tim, you still owe me the 13 bucks for that burrito i bought you last weekâ Angela points out, while walking in behind him âah rightâ he groans pulling out his wallet simply forgetting the little photo he kept of you in there.
The photo fell on the ground as Tim pulled out the cash, Angela reached down holding the picture âwho is that?â she wonders while looking at the piece of paper âmy girlfriendâ he responds while holding out the $13, âyou? You have a girlfriend?â she jokes âyeah, and i'm a millionaireâ she finished sarcastically and walked away to sit down in her seat.
Tim just silently rolled his eyes and put your photo back in the safety of his wallet, after Grey gave his briefing, Angela and Nyla both started talking about Timâs âgirlfriendâ the others overheard and suddenly everyone knew about Timâs private life.Â
âTim has a girlfriend?â Lucy questioned, while walking over the group and grinning. âThatâs what he claims, when he was paying me back a photo slipped out of his wallet and when i asked who it was he said it was his girlfriend, but i don't know who would torture themselves like thatâ she explained, Nolan had his eyebrows raised âcome on guys, Tim canât be that badâ Nolan continued âhe probably just doesn't like usâ he smiled making the others laugh.Â
âOkay! Are you guys ready to stop being a bunch of highschoolers and gossiping about my love life so we can, I don't know, do our job?â Tim dead panned, they all quietly snickered, and some started getting ready to head out.
Tim heard the faint call of his name, and fast feet, âTim! you forgot your lunch!â you spoke quickly while softly jogging towards him. âThatâs what i forgot, thank you babyâ Tim mentally smacked himself for forgetting the meal you had prepared for him the night before. You smiled at him, rushing as you had to get back to the campus as you had a final in 45 minutes.
Everyone looked slightly gobsmacked, realizing that Tim was in fact not lying about having a girlfriend, Angela came up to the love sick couple, âso youâre the pretty lady Tim keeps in his walletâ she spoke with playfulness, âyou must be Angela! Tim talks about you all the time, im (Y/N)â you introduced yourself with a big smile. Tim smiled at you with all the love in the world, looking at you while you introduced yourself to his friends and colleagues.Â
âAs much as i would absolutely love talking to you guys more, i have a really important test i have to go takeâ you explained with haste, everyone was extremely understanding and wished you good lucks, âOne last thing, Tim, before you come home will you please pick up milk from the store? I used it all this morningâ everyone looked at Tim awaiting his response âYes maâamâ he complied, you kissed his cheek and gave everyone a last goodbye before leaving.
âMan she has you utterly whippedâ Aaron spoke, while shaking his head, âyeah, you are so done for sirâ Celina giggled. Tim looked at both of them with a stern face immediately making them shut up and get back to doing whatever they were doing.Â
âI'm glad you found someone Tim, you deserve a good personâ Lucy quietly mentioned, Tim gave a silent nod of acknowledgement letting Lucy know that what she said meant a lot to him as she left and continued on with her duties.
Tim carried on with his day, doing paperwork, and counting the minutes until he came home to you.
Once he got off of work, he made sure he picked up milk and even got you you're favorite snack, as soon as he got home you two made dinner together and sat at the kitchen table, you told him how youâre very sure you passed your final with flying colors, and he told you about the mountains of paperwork that made him wish he was in bed watching a stupid reality show with you instead.Â
When it was time for bed you and Tim continued to talk about random thoughts, and your futures together before you both drifted into a peaceful sleep.
#tim bradford x reader#tim bradford#the rookie#tim bradford fluff#tim bradford x you#tim bradford x younger!reader#reader insert
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rafe + gun play đ«
warnings: dealer!rafe, bratty!reader, gunplay, a little self discovery lol
âwill you put that down already? jesus, youâre going to kill somebody.â rafe took the loaded gun out of your hand, his tall figure towering over your own. you two had been stuck here at barryâs dingy trailer for about an hour already, rafeâs business partner leaving your boyfriend in charge of looking after his shit while he ran a few errands. âiâm bored! what are we supposed to do here, ray?â you followed rafe back inside, plopping down on the couch with a sigh.
âjust sit and look pretty. barry should be here soon.â he emptied the chamber of the gun, placing it on the kitchen counter. âbut iïżœïżœïżœve been doing that!â rafe pinched the bridge of his nose, ây/n..â his tone was firm, a warning for you to stop giving him a hard time. ultimately surrendering, you fiddled with a loose thread on the hem of your denim skirt. you two sat in a comfortable silence for a few minutes until rafe joined you on the couch.
âwhatâs your sudden interest in my gun about? i thought you hated that thing.â he draped an arm over your shoulders, pulling you into his side. you smiled, knowing he was warming up to you because he felt bad for getting stern with you earlier. âi did.. but i saw you use it the other day and i wanted to see how it would feel in my hands.â your hand was under his shirt, fingertips tracing shapes into the soft skin of his abdomen. âand what did you think?â he hummed.
âwell, i donât know. somebody took it away from me before i could figure out how i felt about it.â rafe shook his head, retrieving the gun before cautiously handing it over to you. running the pads of your fingers across the cold metal, you shivered slightly when your mind went back to the cracking noise it made when you first saw rafe fire it. âso?â he leaned in, the stark contrast between your pink manicured nails, and the black color of steel, making a humored smile form on his lips.
âitâs heavy..â you held it up, with rafeâs assistance of course. âitâs heavier when thereâs ammunition in it.â he placed his hand over yours, making you grip the handle. âammunition?â your eyebrows knitted in confusion. âbullets, babe.â you giggled, âoh, right.â rafe pressed a kiss to your temple before bringing you up to your feet. âyou see that beer can on the table? aim at it.â you tried to ignore the way the buckle of his belt pressed against your ass, a shaky breath leaving your lips once you had the gun pointed at your target.
âpull the trigger.â your heart was beating in your ears as you slowly pulled, flinching once you heard the hollow click of the barrel. âsee? itâs easy.â you sighed in relief, jumping excitedly as rafe laughed along with you. âcan we load it now?â rafe stopped abruptly, clearing his throat. âno.â he reached for the gun, making you move away before he had the chance to take it again. âgive it, itâs not a toy-â he froze when you pointed it at him. even though there was nothing inside the damned thing, the sight of you smiling with a weapon in your hand was unsettling⊠and kind of sexy?
âaw, are you scared ray?â you pushed the metal into his chest, âsit down.â rafe did as he was told, holding his hands up defensively as he settled into the couch cushions beneath him. you couldnât help the satisfied feeling that pooled in your belly from having your usually dominant boyfriend now bending at your will. âtake your shirt off.â the corner of rafeâs lips lifted in a smirk. surprisingly for him, he was enjoying every second of you thinking you had the one up on him.
he slipped the garment off, your eyes traveling down his torso. god, your boyfriend was glorious. rafe leaned back, manspreading as you stood between his thighs. âwhat do you think youâre gonna do with that?â you shrugged at his words, trailing the gun up his thigh âi donât know.. maybe make you take your pants off next.â your next move was a bold one, but it riled up rafe in the best way possible. with the firearm now pressed against his erection, he was practically buzzing with the need to flip the script on you.
as if on cue, you heard the motor of a dirt bike riding up the dirt path to the trailer. rafe took your moment of distraction as a chance to grab the gun out of your grasp, which was deemed successful when he pulled you down onto his lap, the steel now digging into the skin of your thigh. âthought you were tough shit, huh?â you whimpered at the slightly painful sensation, his arm draped over your chest, holding you in place.
âno!â you squeaked, a shiver running down your spine as he trailed the gun between your legs, briefly touching your clothed cunt before bringing it up to your chest. âstill think we should load it now?â rafe teased. you shook your head, confused as to why you felt horny with a gun pointed to your cheek. just as you grinded yourself against his hardened cock, barry walked in with a duffle bag. âwhat are yâall freaks getting into now?â
#â€ïžâ âč works#dealer!rafe#outer banks#rafe cameron#rafe cameron smut#rafe cameron fanfiction#rafe cameron x reader#rafe outer banks#rafe cameron blurb#rafe cameron x y/n#rafe cameron fic#rafe cameron imagine#rafe cameron x you#obx rafe#obx#rafe edit#rafe fluff#rafe x you#rafe fanfiction#rafe smut#rafe x reader#rafe imagine#rafe fic#outerbanks rafe#rafe obx#drew starkey
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â into the fire
[series masterlist]
cooper howard / the ghoul x f!reader
rated e - 1.6k
Tags: dubcon, power dynamics, vault dweller!reader, bounty hunting, pwp, restraints, sex for favors, rough oral (m rec.), 2 seconds of boot riding, flashbacks, sorta implied mutual pining, threatening with a gun, light degredation, spitting
a/n: please mind the tags! đ I heard him say âsweetheartâ (derogatory) and I was a goner. (Cooper is referred to as The Ghoul because I felt like he sure as hell wouldnât have given Reader his name yet.)
âBeen a long time since Iâve had mouth as sweet as yours.â
His tone then grows sharp, as the metal digs into your skin, âDonât make me regret it.â
(Or - when youâre captured for a bounty, you make a deal.)
Your knees sink dig into the ground, with the downward gesture of his finger.
Eyes tracking the hand that now wraps around his belt buckle, then up to the tongue that traps between parted teeth.
No more than a week ago, he had lassoâd a rope around your throat. Bringing you to the ground - his weight of his hips pinning you solidly against the earth.
âThereâs a bounty out for a Vaultie like you.,â The Ghoul had growled, as you bucked uselessly against him. âYou know that?â
The days since were spent leashed by his side - almost like a pet, with the way he kept a handle on the rope twined tightly around your wrists.
Making you walk ahead, a sharp tug that sent you stumbling if you wandered too far.
All the while, you still felt that gaze that slipped over you.
Dipping with the zipper that had dragged down, pinched between fumbling fingers. Just wanting to feel the breeze against your skin - luxury you never had in the Vault. It lingered where the sweat beaded, nestled down in the shadow between your breasts.
If he needed permission to want you, youâd give it to him.
âYou can use me,â You had told him - desperate, one night. âWhatever you want. Please, I canât go back.â
âYou best think twice about what youâre offerinâ, sweetheart.â The Ghoul has rasped. A tilt of his head, as his eyes dragged over you.
You let them, your own eyes wandering as well. Across gaunt eyes and roughened skin, trying to piece together the man beneath.
Picking up on tiny things in the days that followed. Clinking spurs, his accent - akin to old programs they used to show back at your Vault. Hints that heâs been around a long, long time.
The Ghoul was terrifying in a way that thrilled you. Youâd never seen someone move like he did, drawing faster than you could blink. A nightmare shrouded in a tattered leather coat, moving like a ghost.
He could rip your throat out with his bare teeth.
But he hadnât.
You hadnât had much to bargain with but you begin think even if you had caps - you might have ended up right here anyways.
But he hadnât made a move to touch you.
Not until today, when your packaged water had run dry.
Until he saw the way you eyed him, envious. Another ten miles of desert road ahead, the sun following you from above and your throat growing drier with each one.
âYou want some?â He asked, letting you watch the bead of water that rolled down his chin. âThen I think you know what you need to do, sweetheart.â
Heâs collecting on your offer, now.
Adjusting himself, under the shadow of a crumbling building. Your thighs parting as you find your balance, fists pressing into uneven ground. The rope tied around fixed firmly under the heel of his boot, leaving you unable to use them in a manner youâd like.Â
The Ghoulâs hat shields his eyes, but he canât hide the curve of his cock against his pants - the interested twitch, when he frees himself.
âDonât get shy on me, now.â He clicks his tongue, fingers wrapped around the base, âThis was your idea, after all.â
Thereâs a warmth pooling in your belly, as you shuffle closer. The part of your lips, the peek of your tongue against the tip.
Itâs much like the rest of him. Pulled-tight pink skin, roughened and wrinkled divots. Velvety and warm, as you take him into your mouth and suck.
He swells, as your lips wrap around him. As he inches deeper, with the shallow bob of your head. Heavy against your tongue, itâs not long at all before heâs fully hard.
You try to take more, struggling with your limited balance, the full size of him. Teeth scraping against skin, when his hand twists in your hair.
Thereâs a ragged groan rattling in his throat - then thereâs the cool press of a muzzle against your cheek, the low growling drawl of his voice.
âBeen a long time since Iâve had mouth as sweet as yours.â
His tone then grows sharp, as the metal digs into your skin, âDonât make me regret it.â
Your heartbeat thuds beneath your ribs. His message clear - fuck around, use your teeth on him, and you wonât live long enough to find out.
You donât test him. His grip lingers, until you go loose. Eyes lifting to meet his, letting him guide you.
The tightness in him unknots as well, when you let him into your throat. A low grunt, risking a glance down to see how well you take him - an unconscious buck of his hips into your waiting mouth.
âNot even two weeks out and youâre already sucking cock,â He grits out, âSo fucking eager to do it, too. You like ghouls sweetheart? Or just me?â
His voice rips into you, sending your nerves alight. He leaks against your tongue as you trace the rough skin, unable to help groaning.
âFuck,â The Ghoul growls, âJust mine. Let me hear you say it.â
His grip loosens, pulling himself from you. Spit clinging from the head of his cock to your lips as you swallow. A hand pinching at your chin, forcing your face to stay tipped up to his as you answer.
âJust yours.â
âGood,â He thumbs at your chin until you open again, tongue waiting against your lip. Filling you slowly this time, until heâs nudging against the back of your throat. Tears prick at your eyes, as you try not to gag around him.
The slow saw of his hips picks up. Itâs difficult without your hands - messy, with the way he uses you. Though thereâs something about it that itches at you, deep inside.
Something that makes the tight Vault Suit feel even more constricting. More than aware of the dampness that pools between your thighs. How the sound of his groans, the tight tug of your hair in his fist makes you clench.
Itâs has your thighs pressing together, as he fucks your mouth. A shift of your wrists so you can press the back of your hand against your center - easing some of the ache.
The pull of the rope beneath his boot has his eyes flicking further downwards. A cruel smile, when he sees.
âGetting off on this, sweetheart?â
You whine, and the smile widens.
âFilthy thing, arenât you?â He drawls, with the shift of his thighs. The other boot knocks against your wrists to move them, before fitting it between your thighs. Nudging against your center, giving you something to grind against.
Itâs not enough, but you both knew it wouldnât be.
It would be too kind, otherwise. And heâs shown that heâs sure as hell not nice.
A tear tracks down your cheek with the steady roll of his hips, your nose brushing hot skin with each thrust.
Your eyes shut - mindless, a soft buzz in your throat as you moan around him. Focused on his breath, how it grows short and panting and ragged.
Until heâs pulling himself from you with a grunt, his fist wrapping around his length.
âUnzip, darlinâ.â He growls, as he works himself, âAs much as Iâd love to fully use that pretty mouth of yours, I ainât about to share my RadAway.â
It takes you a second to catch the zipper on your Vault Suit, dragging it down. From your sternum to your abdomen - revealing the worn, white cotton of your bra, the inches of smooth skin beneath.
A hand frees from his grip in your hair. Touching you again, yanking at your suit and bra until it bares the tight peaks of your nipples.
âGoddamn,â He growls, âJust look at you. Bet youâre nice and messy beneath that suit.â
Fingers cup the weight, before heâs pinching down. Eliciting a soft moan, as his eyes sweep across your face - soft and half-lidded as you watch him.
âShouldâve just fucked you. Wouldâve taken me so well, wouldnât you?â
âYes,â You breathe - imagining it. Bent over one of the broken tables inside. His cock buried in your cunt instead of your mouth.
The moan he makes sounds feral - bitten back between clenched teeth. His other hand sliding to wrap around the back of your neck, holding you in place as his fist tightens.
âLook at me,â The Ghoul commands, and you do. Meeting his gaze with pupils that are blown wide, watching how pretty and ruined you look as he comes.
His groan is long and low as he spills across your cheek. The next against your lips, then chin. The jerk of his fist working himself empty across your breasts, until youâre marked thoroughly with him.
Smeared sticky against your skin, leaving you empty and aching as he admires his work. A whine when The Ghoul tucks himself away, his hat tipped down low again.
âOh,â He mocks, âYou think I forgot?â
For the briefest moment, you think he means to touch you. To ease your need - or offer something to clean yourself with - but instead heâs pulling the canteen from his bag.
âOpen.â He commands, before heâs taking the last remaining pull.
The protest is caught, as his hand grips your cheeks. As your lips part, like he told you to.
His jaw rolls, pooling the water against his tongue. And with the dip of his head - he spits.
This time, you swallow.
Nothing more was said, after. A cut-up scrap of cloth from his pack, tossed at you. He still clings to your skin, beneath the suit.
But as you start traveling again - as a crop of building rise up along the horizon in the north, that you realize -
Youâre pretty certain the path has changed.
ahh I just finished Fallout! What did you all think?? I loved it, and I canât see what they do with Cooperâs arc in s2 (and of course everyoneâs, I loved Lucy as well!) (And would love to know what you thought about this, as well! I have thoughts on a follow-up if thereâs interest!) đ
#heâs so MEAN I loved his character#the ghoul x reader#the ghoul x you#cooper howard x reader#cooper howard x you#fallout smut#fallout series#fallout#amazon fallout
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e!42 miles w/ a y2k girlfriend
e!42 miles who immediately shuts his girlfriend down when she complains about him spending his extra cash on her claiming âwho else Iâm gonna spend it on, mami?â
e!42 miles who likes to pull his girlfriend by the belt loop of her miss me jeans for a kiss goodbye.
e!42 miles who is of course beyond excited for his girlfriend when she finally gets the job he knew she worked so hard to get.
e!42 miles who starts to regret letting his girlfriend get the job when he sees a dude flirting with her at the counter.
e!42 miles with a y2k girlfriend who begs him to match outfits with her.
e!42 miles who wonât admit he loves the baggy ed hardy jeans his girlfriend bought him for his birthday
e!42 miles loves when his girlfriend wears the and I quote âthe really nice jeans with the sparkly jewel design shit on her assâ
e!42 miles who carries his girlfriend bags as she buys everything her heart desires in the mall.
e!42 miles who will stop in the middle of the sidewalk and willingly get down on his knees to tie his girlfriend shoes.
e!42 miles who likes the look of his girlfriendâs brown lipliner and shiny gloss smudged all over his face after she showers him with kisses.
e!42 miles who doesnât care where he is and whispers in his girlfriend ear to say âgive me kisses, maâ
e!42 miles who loses his absolute mind when he sees his girlfriend bought him the shoes he had been wanting
e!42 miles who pays for every last bit of his girlfriendâs maintenance expenses.
e!42 miles who likes the feeling of his girlâs nails scrapping up and down his back while they cuddling at night.
e!42 miles who loves watching his girlfriend run around the kitchen with his mommy cooking
e!42 miles who tries his best (but ultimately fails) to put his girlâs lashes on.
e!42 miles who likes matching shoes with his girlfriend.
y2k girlfriend who convinces e!42 miles to get his ears pierced.
e!42 miles who holds his girlfriendâs hand tight cuz ( tho he wonât admit it) heâs really scared of the piercing gun.
y2k girlfriend who makes e!42 miles feel better by offering to get her helix pierced
y2k girlfriend who leaves the piercing shop with an industrial and a helix.
e!42 miles who shows up to his girlfriendâs house with flowers and snacks to make up for what he calls âbeing a pussyâ at the piercing shop.
e!42 miles and y2k girlfriend who spends the rest of the day binging every bring it on movie.
#across the spiderverse#spider gwen#spider man: across the spider verse#earth 42 miles morales x reader#earth 42 miles x reader#earth 42 miles fluff#miles morales#miles morales x reader#y2k aesthetic#y2k reader#x reader#across the spider verse spoilers
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( đ»đŹđŹđ»đŻ ) ৠâ
àłă
€ÛȘ pairing. biker/drug dealer! chris x fem! reader : genre. age gap, dark romance, angst, smut : warnings. read at your own risk â mdni ! use of pet names, smoking, explicit sexual content, possessiveness, obsession, severe anger issues, violence, flawed characters that make mistakes : word count. 10.1k
àłă
€ÛȘ synopsis. he was born with a gun in his hand, a ticking time bomb in his head. itâs been counting down since, the brain has festered into a landmine, a battlefield. no. peace is a foreign word. reserved only for you.
PROLOGUE.
You cannot begin telling this story if you donât first punch your own mouth. His gun, safety off, shiny and awful in the dead of night, the barrel of it pointing at your temple, a patient irony. Itâs three in the morning and the red bleeding is sweet, oh so sweet.
Thereâs no love without violence, sweetheart, and did you know? He loves you so much, heâll kill you. He loves you so much, youâre calling for help. Of course, it cannot be your voice, and if he gives you another chance, youâll say everything differently this time around likeâthis bed is where he fucked me slow and rough, I think he was trying to bury some part of himself in me, and here, you see, the sheets smell just like his cigarettes, and this, here, is where he brushed my hair, just like this, so careful, but never mind the cracks in the mirror, the shattering is always the same, it has nothing to do with me, everything to do with him.
You hear his voice in your head all the time, haunting, your dutiful ghost; heâs there when you sleep, heâs there when you wake up, a nightmare concealed as a daydream, and you want him to do his worst, you want it to hurt, to scar, to be a permanent mark, because itâd mean youâd loved him; that love has been here and it was ugly and terrifying, and you survived it, even if you could never survive him.
Upstairs, the bed is unmade, stained with wine and your climax. Chris is gentle in all the ways he is not, which is to say he kisses you with teeth, he holds you with fists. You saw him on a black motorcycle once, an impressionable girl in a dark place, lost, searching for purpose, and he looked like a knight in shining armor, he looked like hell and heaven combined, a savior and captor, and youâd wished to crawl inside, to make a home out of him. Youâd smiled and waited, you've always waited, you always will.
When he came, he was so cruel, he burned brighter than fireâyou believed in him; after all, how can a man be so consumed by flame and not put his own hands around his neck, not succumb to his charcoal painted flesh? You were a fool, and he saw it, and you paid the price for it. He wants to keep you forever now, heâs never going to let you go, do you understand that? Why, why, why did you go ahead and do that?
For what? A scrap of metal heart and a ribcage, bone and muscle?
What about your own heart?
What about the eternal winter residing when he's not there?
ACT ONE: before.
He smiles and the world expands. His face blooms into a thousand different shades; the pink of his mouth curving, the red of his cheeks rounding, the dark of his brow straightening. A stop motion picture, the beginning of autumn, the turn of the leaves, the crisp air replacing warm winds.
His fingers weave through yours, interlocking, thumb running down index, mouth a breath over yours, so close he could graze your lips if he wanted to. You look between you, noses touching, then back to brown so deep you imagine raw honey gliding, real amber in the face of the sun.
Chris. You whisper his name in your head. It sounds like a secret. Your best kept one. Chris, Chris, Chris . . .
Thereâs blood on his shirt underneath the leather jacket. Thereâs a loaded gun on his belt strap, a knife tucked in his boot, a razor engraved on the ring he wears, and heâs not so careful with it, and you donât think you want him to be. You assume itâs normal to want thisâif his blood mixes with yours, well, isnât that enough to take you with him? Isnât that almost a wedding ceremony, isnât that almost a declaration of war?
Do you think Iâm crazy, you think to yourself. Do you think Iâm crazy, would you want me if I am, would you want me, do you want me? You donât dare say it out loud, but heâs staring at you as if he could eat your face rawâa demon, a demonâand shove the rest of you in the deep freezer, so you decide to bite him instead. You get on your tippy toes and nuzzle into his neck, biting the soft flesh underneath his earlobe.
He doesnât exclaim, not a hiss, not a gasp, not even the slightest of inhales. He withstands the pain you inflict him, and you feel his desire digging into the inside of your thigh. His arms reach out around you, pulling you to him in that all-encompassing way, and youâre left to witness what can only be the slow consumption of your beating heart. His bike groans under the sudden weight, but heâs got you. You donât think, then, of what that entails.
â(Y/N).â
The night sky comes into focus, all dark indigo, starless, and the streetlights flicker bright, sounding the late hour. The light never seems to go anywhere near you two, it refuses, it hesitates, and back then you found it all so mysterious and exciting, ignoring the warning bells, swallowing down the instinct of danger, danger, danger.
âYes?â
Your eyes fall shut at having his rough palm grabbing hold of your face, thumb tilting your head upwards to meet his sizzling gaze. You hold onto his wrist for support, your body floating, mourning the loss of his body heat against the biting cold. He notices this, and moves to shrug off his huge jacket, wearing it over your shoulders in one swift move.
âWhat will I do with you?â Itâs a plea. A threat. Both.
Chris looks down at you, and the earth shakes to its core. He looks down at you, and you donât want to be alone anymore. You want this, this, this, every day, all the time, forever. You wish to wake up in bed next to him and know heâs yours, wake up and not wish for some other dream so you can find him again. To be awake and want to be awake.
His big hands caress your face, sink into your hair. He stares at you intently, as if heâs holding back from saying whateverâs turning over and over in his head. It can switch so fast, that look, faster than you can blink, a clipped temper, a quick anger.Â
Youâve only seen it once, and youâd been quickly turned away. Heâs got people watching everywhere, heâs been haunted by darkness and shadows long before you served him that drink in The Bloody Muse. You almost forget about returning to your shift, time slipping away, responsibilities fading whenever youâre near him.
Seungmin will be missing you, Felix will be looking for his good luck charm before he goes on stage. Midnight means you return from dreamland. Still, you have a couple of minutes left. Enough to hear the gunshot, enough to panic and let out a scream and have Chris slap a hand over your mouth, willing you with his gaze to calm the fuck down.
You breathe hard, stiff with fear. He appears perfectly composed, relaxed even. Itâs then you realize who he is and what he does, and how this is probably his or his clubâs doing. Thereâs misdirected anger in you ricocheting on all corners. You want to bite his fingers, you want to demand an explanation. You work here, dammit, and heâs kept his bullets away from this place so far, for what you thought was your sake.
Chris was a handsome hypocrite, a skilled liar.
âItâs not what you think,â he says simply, removing his palm from your mouth, shaking his wrist off. âDonât overreact.â
All of his previous warmth disappeared, instead, the cold, menacing man you know very little of and have never dealt with taking its place. You understand he has to be this way, but you hate that he has to act like this with you too. Because of your reaction. Because you couldnât keep your cool.
Silly girl.
âWhat is it, then?â A naive question, so many untrue answers he could give you.
He passes a finger over the cut on your cheek. The cut he gave you. You lean into his touch, desperate for anything, hungry, starving, even. You donât want him to leave, but he wonât stay. You hate, hate, fucking hate this part.
âSomething that needed to be taken care of,â he chooses the words carefully, you can tell, and you decide that, if he wants you to stay in the dark, you will. You have to.
You love him.
âSomeone,â you correct, quietly.
Chris smiles, mouth curving, and his hand moves to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. The touch is tender, affectionate. Something inside you cracks and caves, it melts. You would withstand too, you think then. You would deal with anything, put up with everything, for that single touch. For that one single look.
âSomeone,â he echoes, his own voice smooth blue velvet, an overture. âYou should get inside.â
A sharp pang of bitterness in your chest. âI should?â Because I questioned you?
He drops his hand, and brings his arms over his broad chest, crossing them there. Closed off and done for the night. You unconsciously take a step back, hurt from the sudden change, whiplashed and upset.
âIf you donât want to be late,â he states matter-of-factly, but he says it in this kind of open tone, a mere suggestion rather than a complete dismissal. Yes. âDonât look at me with those damned eyes, sweetheart, what can I do against them?â
You wipe at your cheeks, and try to fix the mess, try to smooth over, to make right again. âIâm not, Iâm sorry.â
âCome here.â A command.Â
You go like a kicked puppy, your leash short, your loyalty unshaken, despite the scolding. He reaches out and slams you to his chest, a hand pressing the back of your head there, and you inhale him, all of him, memorizing his scent, trying to hold on to whatever parts of him you can in case he decides to never come back for you again. Itâs pathetic and itâs pitiful, but this is what you know. This is all you know.
âYouâre my girl, you know that?â He mumbles in your hair, his breath hot on your scalp. You lean into him, wrapping your arms around him, and almost cry yourself dry from the prospect of ever losing him.Â
Youâd die. Youâd die, itâs entirely unthinkable. Itâs the worst pain imaginable.Â
âYouâre my girl, baby. Iâd never let anything happen to you. Do you believe me?â
You nod your head yes. He squeezes you against him tighter. You feel so safe, then, the safest you ever have. Of course you believe him. Youâd believe his every word, youâd follow him into anything, blindly, willingly. You want to please him. To make him happy.
He grabs a fistful of your hair, suddenly and pulls you back to look at him. His eyes are manic, black. âI need your words, (Y/N). Do you believe me?â
âYes. Yes,â you yelp, your mouth falling open from the sting.
In your stomach, something lights on fire. You rub your legs together, trying to relieve it. He glances down between you, curses.Â
You started it.Â
The descend.Â
It was your fault.Â
Heâd never touched you so savagely before that night, heâd never shown the same need you had. That he could want you the same way you do. . .You felt so giddy you could squeal, so happy you would gladly reduce yourself to schoolgirl-and-her-stupid-little-fantasies.
âIs this fucking getting you wet?â And he pulls harder, tilting your head all the way. His tongue comes out to lick from the base of your neck all the way up to your lips. Youâre on fire, youâre on fire! You moan hoarsely and try to keep your footing. âYou like me being rough with you, sweetheart?â
Youâre too embarrassed to respond. So, you guide his hand under your skirt. Chris curses again, more lewdly this time, nasty things, words youâve never heard him say before. Oh, this fucking cunt, fuck me . . . So goddamn wet, baby girl, I bet it tastes so sweet. Will you let me? Will you let me have a taste right here?
âIâ I have to go back, Iâmââ but his fingers are already dipping into your underwear, his palm cupping your burning sex.
âYouâre not going anywhere,â he growls into your ear. âYou hear me?â
You jump, and look around, paranoid. He grabs your face and forces your eyes back on him. Heâs got that crazed look again, the one that lets you know heâll stop at nothing to have this. Out here, in the open. And heâll fucking make it worth it. You succumb, too flushed, too bothered, unbecoming in his arms, as he backtracks you into the wall next to the exit door, and gets on his knees, tugging your undergarments down with both hands, hooking your leg over his shoulder.
Your fingers dig into his hair, dark eyes staring up at you. In your mercy, kneeling in front of you. Do you love me? Is this you, saying it? Is this your way of showing it? You caress the soft strands, staring back, overwhelmed. The beginning of the end for you. Youâll never escape him after this. Heâd never accept it. Youâd never survive it.
When his face gets lost in between your legs, you almost collapse, your entire body shaking with the forceful need to come. He licks and laps and sucks your clit into his mouth, and itâs too much, itâs fucking unbearable, itâs incredible, itâs so much, itâs everything, you want more, you want him to stop, more more more, oh my God, please, pleaseâyouâre being so loud thereâs no way they havenât heard that, that Seungmin hasnât, heâs really only around the corner, and what about everyone else, oh God, oh God, youâre close, youâre so fucking close, if he could justâoh, fuck yes, fuck yes . . .
Chris pulls away, his lower face glistening with your juices. You whine at the loss of contact, your pussy clenching around nothing, aching.Â
âDonât fucking come,â and heâs getting up, heâs unzipping his pants, and youâre eager to help, youâre eager to reach inside and grab him, free him. âI have to get inside you, baby.âÂ
His cock is standing rock hard, angry. He wraps one hand around your neck, and the other slides over his length once, twice, youâre so entranced you canât look away; heâs so big, heâs so erect, and you want him so fucking much, youâd do anything right then, youâd be anything.
He turns you around, and you barely have time to get a good grip on the wall, before heâs entering you with one long, violent thrust. You scream out, pressing your temple on the cool brick, allowing him to take whatever he needs. His fingers squeeze around your neck, tighter and tighter still, until all you see is stars, until all you feel is him slamming into you, his hot body over yours, your mixed moans of pleasure.
I could come to this image forever . . . Look at this fucking ass, you beautiful fucking girl, I never want to stop . . . fucking tear you apart, lay inside you . . . Taking cock so well, made for me, made for me, made for this . . .
His movements turned sloppy and primal, reaching the end, and you, forever following him, forever after him. He was no more than beast, pistoling into you with vigor, all animal, your sides bruised from the way he was holding onto you, but you loved it, you wished heâd never stop, exploding into a million pieces, coming apart under him in vibrant streaks of color and tears. His head dropped on your lower back, whispering there she is, there you go, sweetheart, there you are, my baby, as he gave one, two, three final thrusts, before reaching down and removing himself from your soaking cunt, flipping you around, and forcing you on your knees, his cock in his hand, on the verge of climax.
You open your mouth wide, and he shoves in, fucking into it no more than three seconds before you feel his cum hit the back of your throat, warm and salty.Â
âYou fucking vex me, woman. Look at the sight of you.â
You breathe through your nose slowly, as he grabs your face and makes sure you swallow, fingers rough, before pulling out at once, tucking his softening length back in his jeans, and lifting you up by the waist.
He fixes your skirt over your ass, and smoothes over the edges, making sure no indecent part of you shows. When you catch his eye, he winks at you. You bubble over like a soda can, spilling everywhere, and he chuckles low and raspy, before reaching for your hand and pulling you flush against him, trailing kisses on your shoulder, your knuckles, your cheeks, your brow.
This is the Chris that looks at you and sees you. The one you love, the one you miss the most when heâs gone. This Chris comes out only when youâre alone, when heâs forgotten what else there is, what he has to do after you go back to the club. For now, he loves you, no violence, no hunger.
You almost weep at the sight of him.
âIâll talk to your boss,â he murmurs, pecking your lips over and over.
You giggle, and he twirls you once, your arms extending as you try to go towards the door. He pulls you back in at the last minute, handsome, glowing, smiling.
âI havenât lied to you,â he says, and half of you doesnât miss the solemn way in which he says it. âI wonât let anyone touch you. Ever.â
You pause for a split second, still remaining in the post bliss of your orgasm, but then youâre moving again, slipping from his grasp, heading back to your drinks and suggestive conversations.
âI wouldnât want to be touched by anyone else, Chris,â you retort, blowing him a kiss, and disappearing through the big black door, letting it close behind you.
You donât see the way you leave him standing there, how he closes his eyes and has to breathe through the loss of you; how he drags his feet to go pick up his jacket from the floor. How he inhales your sweet smell, and instantly wants you back, a corpse in his arms that canât go nowhere.
The corruption began when you told him your name. It invaded his bloodstream and blackened his mind.
Heâd rather kill you than have you walk away from him like that.
ACT TWO: in the midst.
Chris fucks you with the purpose of possessing you.
Thereâs not a minute of peace when you are with him, he envelops all senses, he erases all other thoughts, until all you know is him, his touch, his cock. Months into sharing a bedroom, and coming apart underneath him every night, heâs never once mentioned that incident, the first one.
Heâs never apologized for how he treated you, never brought it up. But heâs never once treated you the same since. Now that you live together, he gets to call all the shots, know your exact whereabouts, control what you wear, what you eat, how you come, how many timesâheâs fucked you in places you never thought possible. Heâs fucked you in front of people, shamelessly; on the banister, in the pool, on the kitchen counter and the office. Against walls and on the hood of his car, parked in the garage, Changbin, the road captain, working on his bike not a few steps away.
No one ever said anything to you, tried anything. They didnât have a death wish, or they respected Chris too much. His influence was a testimony to his abilities. No one questioned him, but everyone obeyed him. They treated you like one of their own, they protected you when their sergeant would leave the house.
Other thingsâthe shitload of drugs hidden in every trinket, every crevice, places youâd never think to check, and the meticulous way they deliver said product, how the trucks come in the middle of night, motorcycles deconstructed, filled to the brim with cocaine and sent to wherever, distributed to whatever unfortunate person. Chris never touched the trucks, you never saw him near them.
That was Minhoâs job.
You spent entire days in bed after the deliveries, fucking, improvising stories of hunters and angels falling in love, how the hunter is always attracted to the angelâs light, how the angel forgives the hunter for his nature, and willingly dies by his axe. Chris bathes you and washes your hair with lavender, then carries you over to the vanity and brushes the strands with such care, you think heâs always loved you, in every life. That, perhaps, he was born loving you, and that this was predetermined; inescapable, inevitable.
He doesnât sleep. He spends hours making love to you, feeding you; he works for even longer, meetings with the president, meetings with the suppliers, mountains of paperwork that you see him burn afterwards in the fireplace downstairs. If he does close his eyes, itâs flitting, twenty minutes here, an hour there; after he comes down from the high of being buried inside you, after a shower, at night as he watches you sleep, you pretend to close your eyes and feel him get comfortable on your stomach, his lips kissing any spot of naked skin he can find. When he does drift off, you lift your head and observe a man such as Chris Bahng sleep, how he does it, so unaware and off guard, so unlike his usual self.
Itâs endearing. You love him the most when you find him in those positions, so peaceful, and a part of you thinks, ashamedâat least no one is dying by his hand tonight. His soul is something you think about a lot, the wretched, poisoned thing, paying for his actions. You asked him once; what keeps him up, why is he so unable to fall asleep?
âNightmares,â he mumbled against your neck, teasing the sensitive flesh there. âEvery time I close my eyes . . . someone is waiting for me. Itâs always different, but they always end up dead. Everyone I care aboutâ you. When youâre in my dreams, I canât stand it. Iâm always the one holding the gun. Youâre always falling, orâ fucking . . . walking away from me. When I wake up, I always check if youâre next to me,â his hand travels to yours, interlocking your fingers. He avoids your gaze. âIf youâre not, itâs . . . it gets hard to breathe. I think Iâve killed you, that Iâve finally fucking lost it and, and done it, and the walls close in around me . . . Christ, I sound fucking insane.â
Itâs difficult for you to say anything after that, so you slowly make your descend at the foot of the bed, making sure to kiss every inch of him, to let him know youâre right there, that heâll never lose you, that the day itâll come to that youâd rather he does kill you, that he does make that decision for you, because youâd have clearly gone mad; you cannot see yourself beyond him, cannot see a future where heâs not there, even as a fixture, even as someone whoâs loved you once, a very long time ago. A friend, a lover, itâs all the same, and itâs all him, and youâll always get whatever version of him you can.
You know you sound crazy, and maybe you are, maybe you deserve each other in that way, but itâs irrelevant to this story. This is not for the faint of heartâloving someone like him does not come easy, itâs not one of those ridiculous wordsâfate or destinyâor anything simple like that; loving him is hard fucking work, itâs torment and agony, itâs excruciating, and itâs a choice you make every single day, because you need it to live. An addiction, perhaps, though youâve never been an addict.
You know this is how it feels. The needle in the vein. The snow on your nose. The smoke in your lungs. The burning, the boiling. This is it. When you take his cock in your mouth, when you hear that broken gasp fall from his lips, the familiar groan, the guttural sounds from the back of his throat, and how he grabs the back of your head, forcing you down to the hilt of him; when youâre so full you might as well inhale him entirely, become part of his crotch, his most private part, the one he keeps to himselfâyou think this is what itâs like to wait on someoneâs steps, a beggar, a desperate girl giving her heart on a silver platter for the one in the house, the one holding the reins.
Chris is kind and generous. He opens the door, he allows you to come inside. Thereâs light and warmth here, but thereâs also shadows in the corners, thereâs locked doors and no one else around. Itâs a lonely house, but heâs right there, all you need, all youâll ever need. He welcomes you with open arms.
You get lost in the labyrinth of him.
âWhat the fuck was I doing before you, sweetheart? Who was I, who was I without this fucking mouth, fucking hell, baby . . .â
Itâs a savage act, some would call it cannibalism, but itâs only been known as love to you. Your insides are aflame, roasting a pretty crackling orange, when he finally comes on your tongue, his hips lifting, eyes shut tight, your head in his big hands, keeping you there, making sure youâre swallowing every last drop. You do. You do. Youâre licking circles around the shiny, swollen tip one moment, and heâs got you bouncing on it the next, manhandling your ass, facing you away from him, wrapping muscular arms around your waist, ravaging your back with his teeth, biting and soothing, putting out the forest fires himself, braving the danger.
A devouring hunger. Stripped to its most primal state. Everything within you is jumping. No one talks about thisâscrewing for the sake of the flesh. You need to come, and keep coming, and he does too. Thereâs no other thought, no other reason. Heâd mount you if he could, knot in you for hours, pump you full of his seed. If this is the way itâs meant to be, then let it be. Let him fuck you until heâs satiated. Let him fuck you into your last dying breath.
But his words. You want those for yourself. He whispers them in your ears, his mouth everywhere, the hotness of his breath, the raspiness of his voiceâjust as lost as you. This is how you need him.
âThis cunt is mine, fucking mine, mine . . . Say it,â he drills into you, skin slapping on skin, sweat like water, and your tears, so uncontrollable, so manyâ âSay it, damn you.â
âYours,â you comply, your arm reaching out to wrap around his neck. He kisses your shoulder, he bites, he marks. âAll of me. Forever.â
âSwear it. Donât ever leave me.â
âNo . . . no . . .â You moan loudly as he reaches deep inside, to spots that make you see stars.
He shoves your face in the mattress, and gets on top of you, pistoling his length into you, hard and fast, chasing after the high he craves. You cry out and take it. The pain is so intense, bleeding into pleasure, overwhelming your body. You canât feel your own heartbeat anymore, only Chris, only his pounding.
âSuch a goddamn slut. Look at you,â he slaps your ass once, âfucking look at you,â twice, three times, four. You sob into the sheets, grab onto them. Heâs relentless, heâs so close, youâre so closeâ âWhy are you crying, huh?â He pulls you by the hair hard, lifting your head. You gulp down air, youâre glutinous, deprived. âDid you need my cock that bad? Have I not fucked your needy little hole enough?â
âYou have, you have, please . . .â
Let go for me, sweetheart, fuck, you feel so fucking good . . . Never get tired of this pussy, taking me so well, baby, so fucking well, come on, one more, one more, thatâs it . . .
Coming felt like the gates of heaven liquifying inside you. Your orgasm tore through you so savagely, you forgot how to breathe for several moments, your limbs unresponsive and extremely sore. Only thing you could do was convulse under Chrisâ massive body, and let him ride his own, his nails digging into raw flesh, voice groggy and incredibly deep after three rounds of sex.
âDid I hurt you? Did I hurt you, baby?â
You hadnât realized you were still crying ugly, terrible sobs. You immediately missed the weight of him as he got off you at once and flipped you on your back, panic-stricken honey eyes searching your face, your chest, any part of you he mightâve harmed.
âWhere does it hurt? What have I done?â He kisses your temple, your eyes, he tastes your tears. Heâs so worried you almost feel guilty for not responding. â(Y/N), I need you to tell me, sweetheart, I canât see it, I canâtâis it yourââ
âIâm fine,â you pacify him, placing your hands on either side of his face. Youâre still breathing abnormally fast, but so is he. The room is spinning. âYou didnât hurt me anywhere, Iâm fine, Chris.â
âBut if you were, youâd tell me, yeah?â
He was so handsome, so handsome when he loved you.
âI would.â
His gaze was piercing, honeycomb giving way to molasses. His hands were trailing off again, doing their own thing, what they knew best; how to please you. His thumb on your clit, rubbing soft circles, your creamy entrance making lewd sounds that had the man over you growing impossibly hard again.
âAnd what about this?â A warm, tingly sensation grew low in your belly. âDoes this hurt?â
You trap his hand with your thighs, and he smiles. You smile back.
âMaybe a little,â you lie, stretching.
He doesnât let up. His fingers slip inside again, his other hand moving on himself, veiny and sure. Chris masturbating to the sight of getting you off is perhaps the hottest thing youâve ever seen. Your body is a tool heâs acquainted well with, and has made his sole expertise. So many hours on this bed, learning each other naked.
âYour cunt says something else,â he smirks, pumping his fist over his girth slowly, deliberately, growling low in the process, making you wetter, making you want, want, want. A chain of chemical reactions, youâve become. âI wanna eat you out, (Y/N), you think youâll be able to handle that?â
Yes. Yes, yes, yes.
âIâve been thinking about it all day,â he mumbles on your stomach, placing a kiss there, and traveling down, nose dangerously close to where you want him most. âYour face when you come apart on my tongueâI wish I could die between your legs, baby.â
âDonât say that,â you hide your face in embarrassment, as you feel him get in position, opening your legs wide, staring shamelessly at your swollen pussy.
âIâll say whatever the fuck I want,â he licks it once, tongue pressing flat on your clit and flicking, and youâre fucking gone. Youâre writhing, trying to get away, moaning so loudly the whole house mustâve heard you. âThis is mine, youâre fucking mine, and youâre so goddamn beautiful.â
He doesnât get to work much on you, youâre coming apart in minutes. Youâre so overstimulated, your legs are shaking uncontrollably, the muscles twitching. He doesnât seem to care though, because heâs fingering all of your cream on his cock and finishing himself off, an ungodly sight, something out of a renaissance painting, the most explicit one, all well defined abs and veins popping on his neck, mouth formed into a perfect silent scream, as he pumps, and pumps and shoots on your thighs, white thick streaks, hot and sticky.
Thereâs a knock on the door, a throat clearing.
âBahng,â Changbinâs voice. âItâs important.â
The room drops in the negatives. You see the abrupt change on your boyfriendâs face, his expression freezing over, his jaw clenching, moving, as he stares at the door like he wants to break it, and then beat his friendâs face in. You get on your elbows and whisper softly, âItâs okay,â to which he ignores.
âWhat the fuck do you want?â He calls out, furious, getting off the bed and grabbing a pair of discarded jeans from the floor.
âMeeting in ten,â his captain replies, and then thereâs footsteps shuffling away.
âI need to shower, anyway,â you try to lighten the mood, reaching over the bed for your shirt. âWeâve been holed up here for hours. I donât even know what time it is.â
âWhy do you need to know?â
You donât let his tone ruin what youâve been building for the entire day. He was perfectly fine up until two seconds ago, it has nothing to do with you. You repeat this to yourself as you move around the room, clipping the hair away from your face, wiping the makeup from your cheeks.
âItâs really alright, Chris, youâll only be gone for a bit.â
He ignores this as well. What he doesâhe takes two big strides towards you and grabs your face roughly. You meet his eyes, dark and menacing, and keep your cool. You donât let his anger scare you, youâve seen it all before. It has nothing to do with you, it has nothing to do with you.
âAll you need to know, is Iâm still in this fucking room and you smell like my cum, and thereâs a lot of fucking things I can do in ten minutes,â he snarls, patting your hair down, bringing your hips together. âAll you need to know is you have no use for clocks, because youâre not going anywhere. Am I fucking clear?â
You try not to let your body take over your mind, as itâs happened many times before. He knows your weak spot, he knows how good he can make it feel, and he uses it to his advantage any chance he gets.Â
You will not be manipulated. You will stop falling for his words.
âYouâre going to regret saying that,â you retorted, suddenly sad. âYouâre only being like this because you want to stay.â
To that, he visibly calms, he mellows. âOf course I do. I never wanna be anywhere else. I wanna fuck you until youâre on the verge of passing out, and then I want to take you in the water and make it all better,â he tries to kiss you but you turn your head. There are no words to describe the hurt etched on his face, then. âYouâre the only thing that matters, (Y/N). The only true thing.â
âWhy do you treat me like this, Chris? Hot, then cold, again and again.â
You mightâve as well slapped him. He untangles himself from you at once, and walks over to the closet for a shirt. Your stomach drops. You definitely said something you shouldnât have. Who knows how heâll be now, what he might do. You might not see him for days. He knows how to hurt you and keep hurting you. One coin, two sides.
Nevertheless, you have to know. He never gives you any answers. Youâve given away so much to be here, to be with him. He walks the thin line of having something like that, a line between holding youâbroken glass on his shaking palm, recklessly picking up the pieces when they fall, unafraid of the blood, of the cutting and maiming, and the repercussions afterwards.
His self destructiveness has never been more prominent before. Now itâs all you see.
âOne true thing, Chris. Please.â
He looked so severe, the set of his jaw, the glint in his eye. When he punches the closet door closed and smashes the mirror with his fist, you donât think heâs quite there in the room with you anymore. Heâs in that faraway place again, in that hole, so hard to find.
Of course, the blood. The blood is always there. Itâs been there from the start.
He motions for you not to move, his hair a mess sticking in all directions. Such violence and itâs all within him, thereâs nothing you can do to pull it out of him. Only when it lashes out, only when he becomes the weapon.
âDonât fucking come near me,â he barks, and you stop, you remain perfectly still, your gaze locked to his knuckles, bleeding profusely, staining the carpet. âI will never hurt you,â he rasps, and thereâs iron will behind his words. âI will never fucking hurt you, Iâd sooner die. Iâd sooner fucking die . . .â His eyes fall closed, his breathing deepens, and youâre pretty sure you only have a few seconds before this all goes to shit.
You grab your clothes, and shoes, and whereâs your phone, whereâs your stupid phoneâ
âGet out of here. Get out of here now.â
You bite your lip until you taste copper. You wonât cry. You wonât fucking cry. This is not your fight. This is not your problem.
âI love you,â you squeeze out, before you throw the door open and spill down the stairs, the beast bellowing behind you, âGET THE FUCK OUT, GET THE FUCK OUT.â
âWhat the hellâs going on?â Changbin puts his hands out, grabs your shoulders.Â
Felix doesnât even have to look at you; he curses, and climbs the stairs three at a time, calling for backup. The demolition has already begun.
You wonât cry. You refuse, you refuse, you refuse.
Thereâs no love without violence, sweetheart, and did you know?
ACT THREE: intermission.
In a fight, heâs devastating.
Youâd told him time and time again, none of it meant anything, not a thing, just some mindless flirting to get better tips, it was part of your job, it was silly, little, nothing, nothing at all. Youâd warned him against coming inside the Muse. Itâd only cause trouble.
He would only cause trouble. Itâs why he had Minho permanently positioned in there, itâs how the club was under Strays payroll, it was his excuse for visiting that night.
Making sure the product was being distributed properly. Keeping an eye out. Bullshit. You were so mad at him. He never showed up for these things, they went through other people. Chris was too important for it. And yet, here he was, disrupting your workflow, beating your regulars into a pulp.
You didnât recognize anything from the man he was the last time you saw him. He had none of the tenderness, none of the ember in his gaze, no softness; only sharp, obliterating cruelty and the gun on his strap. His fists were bloody, his anger palpable.
Your tables had emptied out, unpaid. You were so angry.
âTry it, motherfucker,â your boyfriend smashed the poor guyâs head against the hardwood floor, repeatedly, in succession, until your voice was scratched raw from shouting for someone to stop him. âTry getting near her again, let me see you. Walk a straight fucking line to my girl, see if you get to live another goddamn day.â
âI didnât know she was your girl, man! Iâm sorry, Iâm sorry!â The man had been reduced to tears, his face so beat up you could barely make out his features under all the blood.
Minho stood in one corner, observing passively, while Seungmin tried to keep his friend back, ever the security guard. Chris was gone, though. There was no way to bring him back. Thereâd be a death tonight, and all of you would have to pretend it never happened. You think about that. About the first time you lied for him. For them.
âBet you wanted to fuck her, hm?â He pulls his head up, only to bring him to his knee, kicking his nose broken, and throwing him back on the floor, chairs wobbling and falling over in the storm of him. âThatâs what youâve been coming for, isnât it, you sick fuck?â
The whimpering is what did it for you. âI didnât know. Please! Please!â You couldnât just stand aside; you couldnât let this go on.
The stage was empty, the band long finished with their set, now sitting at the counter over at the bar, glancing curiously your way. It was infuriating how none of them wanted to get involved. It was too late for this. Too fucking late, and you were tired.
So, you walked over to where Chris was stomping on the manâs ribs, making sure you were in his line of vision. When you got as close as you could, you called out his name. Nothing. You tried again.
âChris. Chris.â
âIâll fucking kill him, baby, heâll never look at you twice, he wonât be able to, I swear it to you.â In what dark, dark place have you crawled into, my love? How do I get there?
You try to keep your voice steady, reasonable. From the corner of your eye, you see Seungmin shaking his head at you, motioning you to step back, away, out from the line of fire.Â
âI donât want that, Chris. I want you to let him go.â
âWhat?â
âAnd then I want you to go home.â
In retrospect, you shouldâve heeded the bouncerâs advice. This version of Chris does not belong to you, it has nothing to do with feeling or logical thought. It festered in some terror-stricken hole heâd found as a child, and grew into a large open wound, the heart tree of all inhumanity in him. Youâd have to carve it out if youâre to ever save him. But to carve it . . . No. You couldnât. Not you.
Two terrible things happened that night, things that youâd quicker forget than let yourself remember fully.
His calloused hand attacked your neck, wrapping around it with such brutal force, it knocked the air out of you. Immediately, four men jumped to your rescue, circling you like hounds, yelling at Chris, trying to snatch him away from you.
âStand the fuck down,â he snarled at them, never taking his black eyes off you. âYou think Iâd actually fucking hurt her? She can take this, canât you, sweetheart?â
You nod, willing yourself to breathe through your panic, to combine this touch with the one he uses when he makes you feel good, the pain only pleasurable, only flitting, almost enjoyable. He watches you do this, and something flashes in his expression, a recognition, a moment of clarity. Itâs gone as soon as it arrives.
âDonât ever tell me what the fuck to do, you understand? Iâm doing this for you, so you can be safe,â heâs never raised his voice at you, and heâs not doing it now, either. Youâd take the screaming over this eerie calmness, this polite rage.
This is the monster under your bed, the demon in your closet. You canât do anything about this, you donât even know whatâs hiding there.
âI didnât ask for that, Chris,â you manage to say, placing a hand over the one on your throat. No one speaks, no one moves.
âYouâve no fucking idea whatâs good for you, do you?â
âClearly,â you reply, calmly, bitterly.
You see him swallow, and fight with the shadows clouding his judgment. You see the split decisionâand the way he shoves you away, the way he refuses to look at you any longer.Â
âHave it your way,â he snaps. Heâs still so beautiful to you, even like this, the way a severe thunderstorm is, the way gray clouds can cover an entire sunny day in minutes. Not despite, but in spite. âBut this fucker dies today.â
In a split second, your lifeâan infinite whirlwind, a dizzying dance with no end in sightâit changes, it shifts, becauseâChris takes his gun out, a single click, and shoots the man on the floor beside you. All it takes. A blink of an eye. No one seems to get what happened, probably accustomed to the death looming over, but youâyouâre covered in blood now, blood thatâs not yours, and youâve never seen someone die before. You donât even think it registers in your mind, really. You just stare, and stare, and hope that heâll get up and go to a hospital, because he looks terrible.
âDonât feel too bad, princess,â Felix whispers somewhere from behind you. âHe was a registered sex offender. Boss found out today. Chris had to do it.â
âChris is not a hit man,â you say mechanically, paralyzed, something else looking through your eyes, inhabiting your body.Â
Where are you? Whereâd you go?
âNo, heâs not,â he agrees. You faintly feel a hand on your shoulder. You donât react. âBut heâs the one thatâll always get the job done. No matter what.â
This is the second thing. Learning that your boyfriend might be more of a collection of ghosts than an actual person. That the blood sprayed on your legs could be anyoneâs, could be yours. The thing is, you werenât truly scared before, but you are now.
And the terrifying truthâyou still love him. You love him, you love him, it beats as sure as your heart, it fills you with guilt and despair, because . . . you donât even really care. You should, surely. This is a horrible situation. But Chris is standing a mere few feet away from you, and he wants nothing to do with you, not when heâs like this, and somehow thatâs more severe, thatâsâthatâs the real tragedy.
âTake care of it,â he cracks his neck, addressing no one in particular. Any of these men would do anything for him, for the club. Honor and loyalty, above all. âBring me the books. Thereâs still business.â
Minho and Seungmin get to work, while a third person goes in the back. You donât know who, you donât see them, your gaze hasnât moved from Chris. You whisper his name again, like back in the alley, over and over, and hope for him to turn around, to look and see, to dance with you, to shake you and make you spill. But he doesnât. You donât think he ever will again.
Youâre one of them now. He didnât keep you away, he failed, and so now you know.
âAnd for fuckâs sake, someone take her the hell away from here.â
You kickstart. âNo, I wonât go.â Youâre here, youâre here, where would I go if youâre here?
He wonât even spare you a second, a moment. Heâs walking towards the bar, heâs lighting a cigarette, his hands are still raw and bleeding. The club is closed for the night, youâre no longer needed. Just another witness, just another person in the room. He can make you feel so small, so incredibly small, like you never mattered at all.
Felix steps up and offers to drive you.
âTo the house,â Chris instructs firmly, skimming through pages of numbers. âStay with her until I come back.â
Thereâs tears stinging your eyes. You fight not to let anyone see them. Thereâs so much movement around you, itâs making your head spin. Red, fuschia, orange, yellow, blueâthe lights never stop turning, they bleed over everything, a dream, a technicolor dream. You lift your hand to your cheek to confirm youâre still real, that youâre still breathing.
Youâre sick to your stomach. Not enough. Not enough.
âWhy are you sending me away?â You try again, foolishly hoping heâs going to pay you any mind, give you any explanation.
âCome on, (Y/N),â Felix mumbles close to your ear. âYou donât wanna be here for the clean up, trust me.â
Why are you sending me away, why are you sending me away . . . You donât remember the ride to the club house. You donât remember much of anything after the click of that gun. It echoes. The manâs eyes roll to the back of his head, a loop of red, fuschia, orange, yellow, blue, redfuschiaorangeyellowblueredfuschiaorangeyellowblue
Someone screams.
ACT FOUR: after.
âIâve never had a momentâs peace.â
Shirtless, with bandages running down his chest and over his shoulder, he looks like a tortured man returned from war. Burned. Turned inside out.
He was born with a gun in his hand, a ticking time bomb in his head. Itâs been counting down since, the brain has festered into a landmine, a battlefield. No. Peace is a foreign word. Reserved only for you.
You listen, you let yourself become the body he loves. You canât find it in you to be angry at him, not anymore.
âHow can I hold a thing like you in my hands and not break it? When you asked me for the truth . . . I couldnât think of anything, (Y/N), not a single fucking thing,â he wraps a towel around your head, sure, capable hands pulling you up and helping you out of the bathtub. âWhat I feel for you is poisonous, itâs disturbing. You donât want that. You shouldnât want that. Itâs not what you deserve.â
âYouâre saying all this like youâre saying goodbye,â you whisper, letting him dry your skin, noticing the way he wonât allow himself to linger too long.
You see his mouth curve, his brow furrow. A strange image. Itâs almost as if . . .
âIâve only ever been a monster. A pathetic fucking excuse of a man, and I cannot keep you caged, I canât keep being selfish with you,â when heâs once again met with your silence, he circles around you, hides behind your back. âYouâre incredible, you know that? Other girls wouldâve been running for the hills, but not you,â when he lets your hair fall, thereâs a horrifying sound, like the earth ripping apart, the heavens fallingâ
Chris is crying.
Chris is crying and something is very, very wrong. Nothing feels right. He wonât let you turn around. His hands hold you still, his face is buried between your shoulder blades, and he.wonât.let.you.turn.around.
Your eyes sting with the effort it takes not to break down alongside him.
âYou justâwonâtâfuckingâleave. You wonât give up,â he sobs, and then heâs hugging you, heâs hugging you so tight your ribs burn, but it doesnât matter. It doesnât matter, because you never in a thousand years ever pictured this man crying, much less in front of you.
âIâm never giving up,â you reassure him, trying to soothe the boy trying to come out, to escape. âBecause I love you. Whatever that means for you, Chris. I love you. Iâm not going anywhere.â
He feel him shake his head, his hand wraps around your throat, bodies flush against each other. âI want you. I want you without . . .â
He lets go.
You turn to him, tilting your head, looking for his eyes. He exhales shakily, and moves away, grabbing his lighter from his back pocket, the cigarette from behind his ear. He rubs his face raw, then lights it, tip cherry red and burning fast, and he uses a hand to sit on the tiled floor, one arm resting on his knee. You get in front of him, towel forgotten, numb, completely numb.
âThe club?â You say, quietly, so as not to anger the spirits, the demons. For no one else to hear but him. âYou want to leave the club?â
He chuckles bitterly, and scratches his brow with a thumb, avoiding your gaze completely. Smoke swirls around you like snakes hunting for prey, an ominous presence. âI canât even fucking say it. Itâs been my whole life, my whole life. This fucking placeâI know nothing else.â
âWeâll figure it out. If you want out, weâll find a way. Chris, these people look up to you, they trust youââ
âNo, the fuck they donât. That trust goes out the fucking window as soon as I walk. If I leave Iâm a fucking traitor. If I leave Iâve betrayed all of them.â
You reach for his empty hand. He pulls away. You canât ignore the Deja vu of this action. âAnd what about you?â You press, still. âWhat about what youâve given for them, for their laws and rules? Your soul, Chrisââ
He laughs, then, a proper laugh. When he does, finally, meet your eye, you see it all. The tortured, the choked, the repressed. It will never be easy. Ever. He might not ever make the decision, he might not ever leave. But dreaming about it . . . He has the right. No matter how unattainable, how unrealistic it seems to him. Why has no one ever shown him how?
âThat battered, old thing,â he muses at his cigarette. âLost it a long time ago, baby. Nothing there.â
âI donât believe that.â
His smile breaks your heart. It looks so defeated, so devoid of any real happiness. âThis is why I canât let you go,â his fingers reach out and touch your bottom lip, the intention pure, nothing more than a reminder youâre still there, still his, but his gaze speaks of something darker, something youâll never be able to quit.
âI got charges against me,â he says. âIf I take the fall, the club remains. If I donât, it all goes to hell.â
No. No. âLet it,â you choke out. âLet it! Chris, we can leave. We can go. Letâs just go. Please, I donâtâI canât, I donât want to loseââ
The biker puts his hands on your shoulders, shushes you, cradles you like a baby. You comply, a million different things bubbling inside you, ways to get him out, words you never said, everything you didnât get to do yet. Itâs not fair. Itâs not fucking fair.
âListen to me,â he continues, cigarette hanging limply from his mouth. âItâs already done. Iâll be gone for a long time, alright, and I need to make sure youâre fucking taken care of. Be a good girl for me, yeah? Listen to me, (Y/N).â
You couldnât. You were crying too hard, you missed him already. What you two had was nothing but burrowed time, you knew this, and you still mistook it for forever. This was why he didnât want to get too close. This is why, every time you tried to hold onto him, he slipped away like quicksand. It was all coming down to this.
âSweetheart, come on, stop crying. You know who I am, yeah? Donât worry about me, I can take care of myself. Listen to meâIâve hidden money away. I want you to have it, okay? Use it to get yourself a place, somewhere safe. And donât fucking go back to that club, I donât wanna hear you went back, you hear me? Do something for yourself, go to school, I know how fucking smart you are, youâll fucking blow them away. Hm?â He lifts your chin with his thumb, kisses your forehead, staying there, lingering for one, two, three seconds, before he pulls back and looks into your eyes, willing you to agree, to accept the money, to go on living without him. âI love you, alright? You got all of me, whateverâs still there, itâs all yours. Donât wait for me. Live.â
âI donât want to.â
He deflates, sighing heavily. âDonât make this harder than it is, (Y/N). Do what I say.â
You shake your head, sniffling, wiping at your cheeks. âNot without you. Iâm not doing any of that without you. Iâll wait. Iâll wait for you.â
His expression is pleading, his nails digging into your skin like he wants to crawl inside and change your mind. âItâll be years, baby. Too many. Youâve no fucking idea the shit Iâve done. They got it all, some fucking snitch went and gave it all away. Iâm turning myself in tomorrow, Iâm notâIâm not fucking asking you to wait. Youâre not. Find some lucky boy thatâs got nothing to do with this life, and be normal. I never meant to bring you into all of this. You didnâtâdidnât fucking deserve it.â
âJust like that?â you ask, defeated. You could never picture yourself being with anyone else, no one at all.
After Chris, nothing. Alone. Lonely, forever.
He chuckles, crushing you to him, his arms strong, and steady, and home, home, home. âJust like that. Iâll wring his fucking neck out if heâs not good to you, though. Iâll always keep an eye out, always make sure youâre safe.â
âCan I hear it again?â Such a quiet request, barely anything.
He knew exactly what you meant. Your heart broke, fresh tears making their descent on your face. He wiped all of them away. He held you as if, if it was up to him, heâd never, ever let go.
âI love you. I love you so fucking much, sweetheart. Youâll be alright. I got you. I got you.â
You reach to where you know he keeps his gun. His hand flies out to stop you, gaze flaming with fear, with anger. Ash burns your arm, but you donât even feel it. Youâve seen him use it; undo the safety, press down on the trigger. It was so easy for him. Itâll be easy for you too.
âShoot me, then,â you bellow. âIf youâre not gonna let me do it myself, shoot me! I donât fucking want this, Iâm not losing you, Iâm not getting with someone else! What about me? You got this great planâdid you ever stop to think about what Iâd want? If Iâd be able to move on like how youâre expecting me to? I canât just switch off my feelings for you, Chris, it doesnât work like that, okay? Iâve gone through too much, Iâve seen too fucking much to justâto justââ
He wrestles you down, pinning your body on the floor, and getting on top of you, his smooth, cold gun resting on top of your heart. His mouth had curled into a tortured snarl, a bitter smile, his eyes shiny, crazy. You were shaking, he was shaking. You started crying, he started crying. With his thigh against your cunt, you felt his erection, hard and twitching.
âYou think I didnât think of this first?â He said roughly. âChrist, (Y/N), Iâm trying to do the right thing here. You think Iâll be able to fucking kill you? I fucking adore you. Iâd rather shoot myself in the head first, get it over with. Donât ever fucking ask that of me again. Iâll be a dead man the second I do such a thing. Iâll be a dead fucking man if Iâm not able to have you. Donât ever fucking do that again.â
âCoward,â you spit in his face, and fight against his death grip. âSentence us both then. Iâll be dead either way.â
He smashes your lips together. It hurts, it hurts, you wanna say, but you donât think itâll ever stop. Thereâs nothing in his way, everything in yours. In the time it takes to unzip his pants, grab his cock and guide it inside you, youâve mourned him a thousand times over. To never have this againâhim, again. . . Youâll die from missing him. Youâll cry yourself dry. Thereâs absolutely no way to escape this fate. Youâre not ready, youâll never be. How ridiculous it all seems in the end, faced with losing him.
He makes love to you slow, gentle, like heâs never done before. Itâs not so much to get you off, than it is to make you understand. He could kill you both, but heâll never be able to see you again. His place will be hell, the lowest level, the one heâll have to keep walking for all eternity, while youâre up with the angels. If he doesnât, if he hides the gun and never thinks of it again, at least he knows youâre somewhere out there, where there might be a one in a million chance he gets to be with you once more. If youâll take him. Old and grey. Heâll never see you again as you are underneath him right now.
You stay like that on the floor for a while, with his seed spilling from between your legs, your scent all over him. You kiss him and for the first time, he kisses back. No teeth, no fists.
When he moves you over to the bed, he sleeps for the first time since he was born.
He sleeps and he dreams of you, of little hands reaching out, of being away from all this, far, far away. What he would give.
Everything. Everything.
#bang chan scenarios#bang chan smut#stray kids scenarios#stray kids smut#bang chan#chan scenarios#stray kids#skz scenarios#skz smut#bang chan fanfic#chan smut#chan x reader#bang chan x reader#skz fanfic#stray kids fanfic#stray kids imagines#âmine.
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I don't trust the world with you
I wrote this on my phone while I was at work so there's probably a ton of errors. It's not a particularly original piece, my take on deep cover Danny working for Red Hood and offering Jason the chance to take out his rage on Danny.
Viewer advisory: Mentions of sex but no descriptions, descriptions of violence.
----
Red Hood was furious, he was furious and there was fuck all he could do about it! He had been on a hunt when the piece of shit had decided he'd rather take his own life them give Jason the pleasure, leaving the pit madness swirling in his guts with no release. He wanted Blood, he wanted screams, he hated it and he had no other prospects. And no matter how much of a villain he was he wasn't going to take this out on anyone who didn't deserve it, including or especially the people who worked for him.
Best he could do right now was lock himself in his office and pace, snarling furiously and making aborted little motions with his hands as he held himself back from breaking anything.
"Wow boss, you're really pissed aren't you?" A familiar voice said conversationally. Before Red Hood processed he had drawn his gun and had it leveled at Fox, who did not flinch, grinning at him with his unusually sharp teeth.
Fox had worked for Red Hood for longer then just about anyone, Hood had picked him up half on a whim. With his green-blue eyes and his hair, black on top and white underneath it was like looking in a mirror, a younger version of himself. Fox was good, strong for his size and resourceful, with his filed teeth and odd demeanor he must have had a History but he never spoke about it.
"Fox! How did you get in here?! Get out," Jason demanded in a snarl.
Fox didn't move for a moment, then he stepped forward, his eyes calm and resolute and a small.smile still on his face. "It's okay. There's more to do and you're useless like this. You need to hit something? Hurt something, hit me." He said calmly and Hood balked.
"No! You've seen me-"
Fox had seen Hood at his worst, he knew how violent Hood could be, how could he offer-? But then Fox darted forward and grabbed q knife from Hoods belt. Hood tensed, ready to defend himself but then Fox turned towards Jason's desk, slammed his hand down on the wood and then stabbed the blade through his own hand.
Jason gave a startled yelp but Fox didn't make a sound, his teeth gritted as he pulled the knife out. He turned back towards Hood, holding out his bleeding hand only for it to heal in moment under Jason's shocked gaze. Fox smiled at him and offered the knife, handle first, back to Hood who took it on autopilot.
"No matter what you do to me I'll heal, and it won't be the worst pain I've been through. So, Boss," he said hopping up on the desk and sitting there staring at Jason daringly. "Hurt me."
It was a mad impulse that had Jason driving the knife down into Fox's leg. Fox arched and let out a pained little whine that soothed the beast in Jason even as he froze with shock and regret. He pulled out the knife, leaving Fox breathing heavily. When Hood tried to pull back Fox grabbed the collar of his jacket and yanked him back.
"I know you're not done, that's not enough for you. Keep going." He nearly snarled, his eyes more green then usual.
He wasn't wrong but Jason didn't want to hurt him, but being handed handled like that triggered Jason's fight reflex again. He cut Fox's arm making him yelp, but not let go. Jason pressed the knife into Fox's shoulder until he let go.
The smell of blood was filling his nose and his vision was tinged green around the edges. Fox collapsed back against the desk and Jason cut the young man's stomach with barely enough presence of mind to not go to deep. Each cut drew small sounds of pain from Fox but none loud enough to be heard from outside Jasonâs office and all healed in moments leaving only a bit of blood on Fox's clothes and Jason's knife.
Finally the green retreated from Jason's vision and Fox was no longer just flesh capable of feeling and bleeding and became his loyal employee again. Sprawled on the desk, clothes and hair mussed, eyes half lidded and breathing heavily. He looked beautiful, and under different circumstances it would have been so... erotic, but now Jason just felt like a complete monster.
"Fox, I'm so sorry," Hood practically groaned, offering Fox his hand. Fox took it but didn't get up yet. "I'm so sorry, I should have,"
"No," Fox murmured giving Hood a small reassuring smile. "I told you to. You feel better don't you?"
Jason froze, because yes he did. "Is there anything I can do to... help?"
"Kiss it better," Fox said with a crooked little smile, he seemed almost high. Jason choked and Fox laughed. "No, just stay, hold me if you don't mind. I'll be fine in a minute."
Jason nodded and pulled Fox into his arms, holding him, hesitating for a moment before combing his fingers through Fox's hair. They were quiet as Fox's breath evened out again.
"I didn't know you were a meta," Jason murmured and Fox twitched, tensing for q moment and then relaxing again.
"I was trafficked when I was pretty young, I've kept it on the down low as much as I can since then. I don't want anyone to know, but I trust you Boss," Fox said giving him a little smile. Oh man that sweet trust made his heart flutter in a way he really Shouldn't be feeling for a man he's just basically tortured.
"I won't tell anyone, and I won't take advantage of it." Jason promised softly, Fox was a good worker and Jason wasn't going to lose him.
"Alright," Fox said, giving him another smile and pushing himself back. "But if this happens again and you need to hurt someone, call me okay? I make a good punching bag," he said with a bitter little curl to his lips.
"I'm... really not sure I want to do that," Jason said worriedly and Fox shrugged.
"Alright then I'll just break in here again next time. Now get back to work Boss," he joked as he walked over to the door and unlocked it to leave.
"Wait if it was still locked how did you get in here?!" Hood demanded suddenly.
"Byeee," Fox cackled as he dashed out the door leaving Jason confused, but not as upset as he would have been had it been anyone else who'd managed that. Fox could probably be trusted with keys at this point, even if he apparently didn't need them.
--------
Jason managed to control himself properly for another month but then things went wrong again. Not another misplaced hunt but a confrontation with Bruce about how Everyone deserves to live and other bullshit! It had him furious with no easy outlet and pacing in his office again. He has passed Fox on his way here, hesitated, then continued. He would Not ask.
He didn't need to, it was less then ten minutes before he turned again and Fox was there. He was sympathetic and worried, last time he'd been there for the last time, this time he didn't know why Red Hood was angry, though that didn't stop him from approaching, he kept his posture low, submissive but unafraid and for some reason Jason completely Hated it.
He grabbed Fox by the front of his shirt and slammed him against the wall forcing his breath out in a wheeze. Fox covered Hoods closed hands with his own, staring back at him with a serious expression.
"Stop this! You're worth more then being a punching bag, I don't care if you've been through worse it doesn't make it okay for me to hurt you," he snarled in Fox's face practically lifting him off the ground.
"That's sweet, Boss," Fox wheezed, unable to breath properly with Jason bearing down on him. "But you need this, and I'm not leaving till your calm. If you think you can calm down by talking about your feelings we can go with that," he said with a sharp and crooked smile. He knew Hood well enough to know that wasn't enough.
"You self sacrificing piece of shit," Jason nearly yelled, pulling Fox forward and slamming him against the wall again before punching Fox in the face. Fox let him, barely flinched away and didn't fight back as Jason hit him. Bruises bloomed and faded on Fox's skin almost instantly and the stupid man didn't even shield his face. His nose crunched and his head snapped back against the wall, he let out a slight gurgle, the blood on gloves and Jason recoiled in shock at his own actions.
He let go and Fox slid down the wall till he was sitting, he set his nose with a grimace and shook his head. He held up his hand and coughed up a bit of blood that must have flown down the back of his throat. "You done Boss?" He asked with another soft cough.
One lost flare of anger shot through Jason and he kicked Fox in the side making him yelp and fall back against the wall again. "Okay, now I'm done," Jason sighed, slumping back against the wall and sliding down to sit next to Fox who was looking at him a little warily now, even as he leaned closer. Jason sighed and lifted his arm, hating himself and loving it as Fox brightened and ducked under his arm, leaning against his chest.
"What upset you?" Fox asked softly.
Jason twitched he knew Fox meant well so, after a moment, he answered. "It's a long story, but the short version is family bullshit. Something really bad happened to me a few years ago, and my dad just... let it happen, didn't avenge me, nothing. He's still dragging his feet and acting like I'm a villain for wanting some justice," he sighed, moving like he was going to run a hand through his hair only to remember he was still wearing his helmet.
"I get that, it's part of the reason I never went back to my family after everything that had happened to me," Fox agreed softly.
"You know I go after traffickers all the time. If the people who hurt you are still out there..." he trailed off, the suggestion hanging in the air.
"Trust me," Fox said with a humorless laugh, "that's not something you can help me with."
"If you can trust me with it, I'd like to help you," Jason said, brushing Fox's bangs out of his face.
"I trust you with everything Hood, but I don't trust the world at all, not with me, or with you really. But... my real name is Danny, I left it behind a long time ago, but that's my name." Fox, no Danny, said softly. Proof of his trust.
"Thanks Danny, just between us huh?" Jason agreed, wishing he could trust Danny with his name in turn, but he wasnât rest to.
"It feels good to be called that again," Danny murmured nuzzling into Jason's armored chest as if there was no where else he'd rather be.
---------
Danny just kept coming back, and Jason shouldn't have been shocked when the fifth time ended in them fucking. It was a much more pleasant way to work out Jason's anger and after that he was much more willing to call Danny for help. Even to meet Jason at one of his safe houses, this time wearing a domino mask instead of his full helmet.
When Danny arrived at the safe house he immediately kicked off his shoes and darted into Jason's arms, looking up at him with wide eyes. "We match," he said with a grin, tugging on the little lock of white hair in Jason's bangs. Jason laughed and nodded, tugging Danny towards the bedroom.
"Yep, it was one of the first things I noticed about you. It made me wonder if..." he trailed off.
"If," Danny prompted softly.
"Easier to talk about after, once I'm calm," Jason said, shoving Danny down on the bed. Thankfully Danny liked it rough, or it probably wouldnât have worked.
A couple hours later they lay in bed together, Danny absently tracing a few of the scars on Jasonâs chest. Danny still had his shirt on and Jason hadn't argued, if Jason was keeping his mask on Danny could keep his shirt on. "So, it made you wonder if...?" Danny prompted and Jason winced, he sort of hoped Danny would forget.
"It made me wonder if you died too," Jason said softly and nearly jumped at the way Danny flinched and then gave a nearly full body shudder. He sat up and stared down at Jason with wide eyes.
"I did," Danny said softly and Jason froze.
"What?" He croaked softly.
"I did, I died when I was 14. I was electrocuted," he pulled up one sleeve of his shirt to show the branching scar.
"I was 15, got murdered," Jason said, feeling a familiar burning pain, he wondered if Danny felt it to.
Danny shuddered and lay down against Jason's chest again. "I thought you might be like me too, I felt it when we first met, but the way you act and... some other stuff, I sort of talked myself out of it." Danny said and Jason nodded.
They were quiet for a long time, but there was tension in Danny's back that said he wasn't done. "It wasn't actually traffickers that hurt me," Danny said softly. "It was the government. A branch called the Ghost Investigation Ward, a exception was carved out of the meta protection act for people like me, like us. The government wanted to find out how I came back, how powerful I was, everything. They did a lot of awful shit.
"I destroyed that base when I escaped but I know there could have been more so I ran. Changed my name with every new town and never stayed anywhere more then a few months, until I met you." He looked up at Jason with such utter trust and adoration Jason's breath caught in his throat.
"You made me feel safe, and wanted. I always wanted to help people and you gave me a way I could and still be safe, and keep you safe in case you were like me. I don't have much of a life, still hiding like this, but I have more of one then I thought I would and Red Hood, you know I'd do anything for you right?"
"You've proved that many times over," Jason murmured caressing Danny's jaw. "And it's Jason, my name is Jason."
"Jason," Danny murmured reverently.
"So, how does dismantling a government organization as a first proper date," Jason asked and Danny laughed. It wasnât bitter, or dry, it was a true, loud, joyful laugh and it was the most beautiful thing Jason has ever heard.
Part 2
Masterpost
#fanfiction#danny phantom#dc x dp#red hood#jason todd#dead on main#descriptions of violence#beatings#Hyena!Danny
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Woven Hands
jason todd x reader
A/N: thank u to @heavysighing-dreamyeyes for their post linked here for their jason headcanons, they got me dancing and swinging my feet while I wait for my classes. đ€ ENJOY my small drabble, tell me ur thoughts in the comments :D
also small rant but tell me why i never undated my tumblr app and i was struggling for so long and everything didnât look like how it was supposed to? đ please donât be like me and update yo shiz like responsible human beings
âDonât make me do this.â You muttered, standing on top of the couch cushions, water gun hoisted in your pocket, filled completely with sink water.
You felt the weight of the water droop in your pants, you squinted, trying to frighten your opponent. You didnât have a holster, so your sweatpants pocket was the next best thing.
The couch increased your height, made you stand tall, allowed your voice to be more direct. You wanted to overpower Jason, part-time Red Hood, full time smack talker.
âAnd what are you gonna do if I donât listen?â Jasonâs eyes lowered, voice deepening to a menacing tone. Invisible cowboy hat tilted on his head.
He stood tall, spreading his legs shoulder width apart, letting muscle memory place him in an opposing stance thatâs proven effective each time someone has tried to stupidly test the Red Hood.
He lowered his hands, fingers dancing in the air as he waited to reach for his water gun in his holster.
Lucky fucker was wearing a holster because heâs the Red Hood. Not only does he get a cheat, but he has two water guns?
Completely absurd.
âYou might not live long enough to find out.â You tilted your chin up, trying to attempt to be arrogant, but the smirk on Jasonâs face was telling you it wasnât as effective as you hoped.
Maybe if you could actually be taller than him, it would make you sound tough, but looking from just above his eye-level was the best you were going to get.
Jasonâs shook his head, slowly, calculating your moves as he never took his eyes off of you.
You met his stare, never blinking as you watched.
You could feel your eyes wavering, shaking the longer you looked.
Jason was calm, his stare locked onto you. Countless interrogations under his belt, aiding him the experience you didnât have.
âYou know we both canât walk away from this. We have too much history.â He spoke, letting the words settle between your showdown.
You firmly frowned.
âI stand by what I said and if you canât live with thatâŠI guess you leave me with no other choice.â You quickly grabbed your water gun, angling it to your partner.
By the time you could pull the trigger, water was hitting your shirt. Soaking into your skin as you looked down, watching the fabric darken.
Like in slow motion, you fell to your knees, watching Jason also get his shirt soaked, but not nearly enough as yours.
âNo, no, it wasnât supposed to end like this.â You dropped your plastic water gun, reaching up with your free hands to grab your shirt.
You plopped down onto the couch, letting your body go limp as you laid there.
âI told you, only one of us would walk away from this.â Jason walked over, kneeling next to the couch, where your body lay.
You reach up, feigning shaking hands as you reached for the muscular man with his imaginary cowboy hat.
You gestured for Jason to lean closer, following along with your antics.
You carefully lowered your voice to a whisper, a final wish.
âDelete my search history.â
You closed your eyes, arms going limp as you stuck your tongue out in a bad rendition of fake dying.
Jason laughed, reaching out to grab your hands in between his warm ones.
You never moved, zeroing in on the feeling of your fingers.
Soft caresses. A small peck before Jason littered your knuckles in kisses. Kissing down to your finger tips, then repeating down to your wrists.
âI shouldâve chosen a sword fight, how could I choose water guns of all things?â You opened your eyes, shaking your head as Jason continued to worship your skin.
âYouâre just pouting.â He said in between kisses, nose pressed into your palm.
âCome on, you always get to kiss my hands, when can I hold yours?â You watched carefully, thoughts slowly lost to the repeated warmth from Jasonâs lips.
âWanna sword fight to find out?â Jason smiled into your hands.
end a/n: serial hand kisser jason changed my life, thank u pooks for ur headcanons and restructuring my brain. and thank u đ«” for reading my drabble, i just thought this was a silly idea :D
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âč á(á ÂŽ Ë)à© âĄ âŠ PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE âĄ
track two of the short nâsweet series. pairing: criminal!jj x reader â based loosely off the song please please please by sabrina carpenter. enjoy! à»ê°Ő Üž. .ÜžŐê±á
you knew what you were getting into, getting involved with an ex-convict and all.
itâs not that jj didnât treat you well. no, he spoiled you in all the ways he could no matter how unconventional that might be. youâre talking bouquets of flowers heâd so clearly stolen from the gas station, pulling guns on guys that hit on you and threatening to âblast their freaking eyes outâ when theyâd merely asked for your number, producing a wad of random cash when the nail lady asked if he wanted to pay contactless for your new set of nails. you figured he was trying his best, romantic in a way he knew how to be.
what you absolutely couldnât take however, way the random disappearing acts. it was jj maybank youâre talking about here â you knew heâd be reckless and fly off the handle sometimes and you were pretty well equipped for that, infact that dangerous attitude was one of the things that drew you to him in the first place oddly enough. but every sunday, like clockwork the blonde would come up with some half ass excuse and disappear through the entire night, only to arrive home in the morning with pockets stuffed with cash. it made you anxious. whatever he was doing, whatever he was lying to you about â you wanted it to stop. donât make me the girl whoâs man goes back to jail and i still stick around, because i willâ but itâs embarrassingâ you beg to no one in your diary. you try and muster up the courage to ask jj about his doings, but each time you even toe in that direction he gets defensive, shaking his head with a little irritated scowl.
âlook, i look after you right? thaâs all that matters mama. papa jâs got it figured out, you donât need tâworry all the damn time.â
you wanted to trust that things would be fine, you really did.
heâd had a long week, and yet still when sunday rolled around you uneasily watched your boyfriend zipping up his hoodie ready to depart to wherever the hell it was heâd go to make all that money. you had a bad feeling, anxiety thrumming in the base of your stomach that something was going to happen tonight. you couldnât let him go.
âjayj i jusâ i just want you toâ câmon jay i have a fun idea, letâs just⊠letâs just stay inside!â you whine, verging on tears as you paw at him. his quick patience be damned, you were an emotional wreck and you needed him to listen.
âi gotta. you donât get it.â he huffs, but even he doesnât sound convinced, eyes lingering on you as you subtly pull your tank top down to let more of your titties spill out. that whiny tone in your voice usually meant one thing, and that one thing the two of you had been too busy to do that week.
âif yâneed money i can give you some. whatever you need.â you wanted to yell at yourself to stand up, but trying everything was definitely on the cards. he scoffs, the provider in him repulsed by the idea and he gently grips your jaw between his thumb and pointer finger for a moment.
âwhat kinda fuck ass boyfriend would i be then, huh?â he brushes it off, but your pout remains.
âi need you. you canât go. i need you.â it comes out all as one breath, and nowâ now you have his attention.
âthat right sweetie?â he drawls, tongue in his cheek as he stops his movement towards the door to face you down, eyebrow twitching up in anticipation. keeping your desperate eyes on his, you stride back infront of him and all but fall to your knees, shaky hands going for his belt.
âplease, please-pleaseâ as long as you need it. want it all nightâ you plead, and now heâs smiling â all big and malicious like a wolf as he thinks about using your throat, all thoughts of criminal activities becoming a memory.
he scrubs a hand down his face in deliberation before getting to work on his belt.
âah alright.â he shrugs with a mischievous little chuckle. âfor you, pretty thing? anything.â
the money could wait.
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