#flaming rib rub

[embers-lewds]

Midg's Flaming Rib Rub Sugar, seasoned salt, paprika, and black pepper come together in this dry rub for prime rib or any type of meat that keeps for months.

[lee-pace-everyday]

Midg's Flaming Rib Rub Sugar, seasoned salt, paprika, and black pepper come together in this dry rub for prime rib or any type of meat that keeps for months. 2.5 cups white sugar, 1/4 cup chili powder, 1 tablespoon onion powder, 2 tablespoons mesquite-flavored seasoning, 2 tablespoons ground cumin, 1 cup seasoned salt, 1/4 cup ground black pepper, 1/4 cup paprika

[dmitriene]

cw: age gap (legal but not specified), mentions of readers virginity, just two people in love.

simon ghost riley doesn't think he's ugly outside, but he does think he is inside, too rotting comparing to you, so much more sweeter when you flutter your eyelashes at him and brush your fingers against his biceps in fleeting touches, trying so sweetly to gain the attention he doesn't let himself give you.

you're younger, it's visible in the lines on your face and cheerful smiles you flash him, in polite behavior that you keep up when you talk with elders, not yet on the same line of age with them, in how you call him sir and make his whole body shudder as it slips from your plump lips, and it's shouldn't make his cock chub up.

simon knows you're not a baby, you're a capable young woman, and even his friends date girls looking like you, but he feels like his hand are too dirty, bloodstained and calloused from the years of military service, his face is rugged and he can't even keep his stubble shaved properly, a mess of a man.

but you gaze at him with heart shaped pupils and trail around him like affectionate kitten, rubbing yourself all over him for at least one bit of attention, and the way you erupt in giddy smiles and sincere giggles when he garners you these bits.

pats at your head or accepts some baked treats you made, and there's something acidic behind his ribs, little sparks that instead of smoking erupts in licking flames, burning scorching hot across his whole body, and he's so addicted it's embarrassing to voice out, forbidden fruit is always sweet.

you were throwing yourself willingly at simon, and when he accepts your shy invitation to keep you an evening company in some town pub, where you sit under dim light on plush leather couch, body adorned with tight fitting dress that is too revealing for your usual attires, simon let's himself snap.

he knows it's all for him, the fabric ridding up all the way your plush thighs, pressed together when you squirm and tug it down, just so you won't sit with you ass bare on the leather, simon fists his hands until they whiten on his thighs as he tugs at his jeans, suddenly too tight.

all for him, the way you lean against the table, as if to hear him better, teasing your teeth at the plump flesh of your lips, warm breath mingling with his, smoky, made to make you push away, but your eyes grow heavy, swallowed dark by dilating pupils, and simon is fucked up badly.

he barely makes it to the front door of his apartment, you're feisty, nipping little teeth's at his stubbled jaw, rubbing sloppy kisses against his skin that grows hot and itchy from want, from the feeling of your body pressed against his tightly, legs wrapped around his hips, for him, all for him, his.

your body is soft, welcoming his touch with small goosebumps and small shudders, supple under his fingers that he traces too carefully across your curves, shedding every piece of clothing off you, like a kid with christmas present, hands trembling when he tugs your panties to find them sodden.

you're wet, wanting, squirming on the cold sheets that soothe your burning flesh as you spread your thighs to trail your hand down beneath your navel, simon feels like a virgin, breath hitching loudly when you spread your glistening folds with obscene squelch, chanting that it's all his fault.

for neglecting your affection, making you fuck your pussy on your own fingers every night, dreaming of being stretched around his cock, of granting simon your virginity, your flesh and bones, everything he'll please, you'll give him, just as you show him your dripping hole that clenches in need.

simon is a fool for making you wait so long, for depraving himself from you, because you feel heavenly, thin skin stretching around his fat, veiny girth, dribbling precum that mixes with your cloying slick, easing the glide, letting him stuff you, inch by inch, plugged with fat cock that throbs inside.

you clench with each drag, with each shallow thrust simon gives you because he can't make it faster, not because you'll be hurt, but because he shudders at the feel of your gummy walls latching around his meaty shaft, because he wants to enjoy every second of this encounter.

to hear your punched mewls, to watch the way you knead at the sheets below you like a docile kitten, meeting his languid movements with careful rolls of your hips, chest to chest with him, his breath burning against your ear as he showers you with sloppy kisses.

you're sopping wet between your legs, supple flesh coated with saccharine slick, splayed on his bed with simon's scent so heady around you, with his tongue toying with yours, his palms pawing at your hips and tugging, making you bounce towards his pounding hips, rumbling when it makes you arch.

simon loses himself in you, he listens to your pitched, garbled chants of want to be filled up with his seed, and he grits his teeth until veins pop on his jaw, increasing his movements to jab his tip against your sweet spot, make your walls clutch and pulse rapidly with bubbling magma in your belly.

you purr in delight when he fills you, coating your velvety walls with spurts of warm, thick cum, leaking past your clenching muscles, with simon's cock drived impossibly deep, enough to feel full despite how it dribbles down in creamy mess to stain the sheets.

pleased enough to let your body drift into drowsy state, sated to the point of your eyes slipping shut from minute to minute, enough time for simon to ease himself from you and go fetch a warm cloth to clean you both, just a bit to be comfortable while curled in each other during night.

simon ain't sure to which point this sex had drove you both, but he doesn't want to push you away, he enjoys the feeling of your naked body pressed against his, cradled against his brawny chest, soft breath tickling his skin and your eyelashes quivering in peaceful slumber, and he wants to remain there.

main masterlist. quidelines.

[lovemisakoaoki]

Recipe for Midg's Flaming Rib Rub This dry rub for prime rib or any kind of meat combines sugar, seasoned salt, paprika, and black pepper. It keeps for months.

[alnilaem]

bury me beneath the basswood tree

pairing: ghost/soap/reader [12k]

rating: 18+ only. minors don’t interact.

tags: non-con sex, kidnapping, stockholm syndrome, size kink, forced fellatio, forced cunnilingus, impact play, brief watersports, double penetration in two holes, forced breeding, implied hybrid/shifter au

Needing time away from her humdrum life at home, she ventures into the woodland for respite. Little does she know, straying into that cabin in the woods will be the worst—or best—decision she’ll ever make. Depending on who you ask.

all my thanks to @/ohbo-ohno! thank you for being the best beta reader and sitting through my abhorrent typos <3

AO3 MIRROR

The mountain’s breadth of trees and foliage are written with prose. 

It’s repetitive. Mind-numbing. She’s already passed this necrosed tree stump five times before. On the sixth circle, she treks through the undergrowth like it’s curdled milk, the tiny scythes of branches whispering against her arms and slicing her open the same way thumbs tear into oranges. 

Dehydration crystallises like sediment in her mouth. It makes her bones heavy, bending against her flesh as if they’re groceries about to tear through a plastic bag. The balls of her feet are calcified, her thighs chafed. They rub against her threadbare jeans the same way a match reacts with red phosphorus to produce a flame. It burns, and so do her muscles. They feel moth-eaten and spent. Hung out to dry. 

The stench of damp soil and sugar maple impairs her like an opiate. The peal of idle birdsongs grate against her ears. She’s sick of it—she’s been here for three days—and already, she’s sick of it. 

She tries her phone again. It’s unresponsive, no signal. She unfurls her map but it’s mottled with rainwater and mud. Her lungs feel dry, pruney, as the dew drops slipping off fern plants seem to replicate the tears thawing in her eyes. 

Evening mist hangs over the ground, and the sky turns red-bottomed as it progresses into nightfall. It’s as if the mountain is sentient. Nocturnal. Stirring from a torpor once the sun sets and awakening all that lives within it. 

A sob wracks her ribs. It has the same effect of a bullet, ricocheting. She keeps moving even though she doesn’t know where she’s going. She believes that should she continue walking, nothing will be able to catch her. Not the spindly tree branches that take the shape of arms or serpentine shrubbery. She won’t give the mountain any time to fossilise her, if only she keeps moving.  

Her movements are clumsy though. Her eyesight is hindered by panicked tears, turning everything shapeless and blurry. She keeps tripping and skinning her knees like the hide of a pomegranate, her flesh peeling back to show the red pulp of her innards. 

It was a rashly undertaken lapse of judgement that brought her here. To a conscious mountain that lives and breathes and feels her fear. It was her heart, empty, carved out and replaced by brutal loneliness. Her friends back home are heedless and her parents are never satisfied with what she does. She figured that if none of them would listen, the woodlands would. 

And listen, they did.

When she cries out, the wind howls. When she changes her direction, pivoting on her heel, the soil rumbles. She sees things—a shadow spotting her vision, not composed of matter—peeking from behind a tree trunk before quickly slipping away. She witlessly calls out, asking if anyone’s there, and is met with the forest's silent presentiment. She feels the stark pressure of piercing eyes sprawling down her dewy neck, sweeping over her body. 

The longer she spends lost, the more she sinks into Appalachia.

It pulls her down like molasses. Like she’s an innocent fly trapped in glue. Soon, she knows there’s no hope. She knows her scent is written into the bark of trees—supple, sugary. A treat for whichever predator finds her first. 

A brown bear, swinging its claws at her until her entrails are threadbare and striated. A snake, injecting venom in her blood. A bobcat if she’s lucky. It would be a quick death—sinking its loose jowls into either side of her neck until it snaps and she goes slack. 

She’s apt to let go. She’s keen to yield to the alluring call of the woodland to let go, to fall to the forest floor and sit there until she rots. Until the roots worm into her breathing wounds and branches start growing out of her mouth. The urge to stop moving and become one with the mountain is suddenly cogent, leaves no margin of doubt. It comes with the promise of eternal respite and divine mercy. She’s about to find a cliff to jump off of, but before she can, something catches her attention. 

A plume of smoke curling in the air. 

Whorls of slate-grey soot thinning and disappearing into the sky. She looks for the source and follows it blindly, shouldering past pine needles and hawthorn and all but sobbing as a cabin comes into view. It’s made of wood and the tufts of wildflower that sprout from its thin fissures. It looks neglected and eaten by the elements. Its vaulted roof is stained by the off-white assault of bird droppings, discoloured by acid rain. Some of the windows look covered with dewy newspaper, but still, she knows it can’t be vacant. The smoke undulating from the chimney tells her that.

She staggers onto the porch. Her fist rasps against the door, clippings of wood burying itself into her skinned knuckles as she wildly knocks. Silence. Not even the leaves flutter against each other. Fleetingly, a stint of panic seizes her. What if nobody’s home? But she’s twisting the knob and pushing herself inside anyway, dropping her bag to the floor with a thump, stepping inside.

The cabin makes for a liminal space, smelling of sawdust and pine. There’s a layer of dust on every surface, making the air thick. All the furniture is carved from wood and a couple taxidermied deers are mantled above the stone fireplace, looking more like warnings than decoration. The pelt of a black bear is unfurled across the floor, and a few trinkets are strewn around—a bookshelf of spine-cracked novels, dead plants hanging from the ceiling beams. A mountain of used cigarettes, but strangely, no ashtray. 

There’s everything but picture frames. Nothing she can use to humanise the cabin nor the people supposedly living in it.

She guides herself to the kitchen by feeling the walls. There’s a piped stove in the corner and cast iron tools hanging above the counter. Her stomach bubbles, and immediately, she starts scouring for food. 

There’s three barrels by the door, and upon popping them open, the stench of brine sprays her in the face. It’s fish with a crust of salt, preserved. In the other barrel is meat buried in shelled corn, and fermented poultry in the last barrel. 

It’s all raw and bloody. She steps back, gagging, turning her attention to the shelves that line the faraway wall. Jars of pickled cucumber and carrots. Garlic braids hanging from the edge. Rusty milk churns nestled in the corner. 

There’s a galvanised tub full of ice on the floor. She digs through it and almost moans at the jars of jam. She untwists one, sticks her fingers in it, and wipes it clean with her tongue and teeth. It’s tart and tangy but it’s food, sticking to the walls of her stomach, satiating her. And once she starts she can’t stop. She goes back to the wall and finds a stained jar, fishing out a handful of fermented cabbage, stuffing it in her mouth, her face tightly puckering at the sharp sourness.

The juice of the food goes spilling past her lips, sluicing down her chest. It sticks to the chasm between her tits and mixes with sweat, making her shirt cling to her skin, revealing the barest outline of her nipples. She’s so engrossed in keeling over the counter and stuffing her face that she doesn’t even notice the pointed shift in atmosphere. The deer outside stopping their rutting, the trill of birds ceasing. The leaves stilling, as if holding their breaths to hide. Thick, silvery clouds nestling together and eclipsing the sun, casting a thin overcast over the woodland, darkening the already-dim surroundings. 

She’s too preoccupied to recognise the tell-tale croak of the door swinging open. It’s tinny, but bullied by the sound of her smacking on marinated cabbage. She doesn’t notice the dull, throbbing footfalls. Pays no heed to the stench of blood invading her senses because she believes it’s coming from her dry, leathery lips that split open as she widens her mouth to fit the cabbage inside.

It’s only when the room darkens, a box-shaped shadow sweeping over her vision, does her blood run cold. She freezes with a handful of vegetable raised halfway to her lips, the brine rolling off a cabbage leaf like it’s an awning, dropping to the floor—drip, drip, drip—the rapid succession of shedding liquid hitting the floor sounds similar to the beating of her heart against her fickle, feeble ribs. 

The saline spray in her mouth gets soaked up by her tongue, making it puffy, too big for her mouth. She turns around clemently—treating the shadow like a wild animal—no sudden movements. She goes rigid. 

It can’t be human. 

It’s huge. Bigger than anything she’s ever seen before. Sweeping shoulders, broad thighs. Its neck is bent uncannily because it’s too big to fit in the doorway. Its chest rises heavily like a bull.

She tries to find a face, and when she does, the blood is drained from her.

It just makes her feel… uncomfortable. Its face is the poor imitation of a human, as if someone tried drawing one from memory but scarcely failed. Failed to capture the humanity, the animation, leaving it looking like a half-convincing resemblance. Its tapetum lucidum glows yellow, burning in the thin mist of moonlight that penetrates the newspaper sticking to the windows. 

It stares blankly at her. The hair on her arms stick up, a bead of sweat slices down her neck. 

“I’m sorry…”

The creature raises an arm and pulls on a hanging bead-chain, tugging on the light, which is simply a naked bulb in the middle of the kitchen. The kindle is weak but does more than the delicate moonlight. Just barely illuminates its face. His face.

She tries not to let her fear show. Tries not to preen under his depthless eyes, the mean twine of his lips. His hair that seems to have been shaved too closely to his scalp, if the nicks and small cuts on the shells of his ears are anything to go by. 

He grumbles an idle prusten. He rolls his elbows back—his shoulder blades unfurling like folded wings—and twists his thick neck.

“What’re you doin’ in my home?”

“I’m so sorry,” she repeats, her words stifled around a wad of cabbage. “I– I’ve been lost for three days. I came up for a hike but lost my way and I saw your cabin and I’m sorry, but I’m just so hungry and–”

A deep, guttural voice peals from the living room. 

“Simon!” It says. “Where should I chuck the deer? It’s too big for the livin’ room.”

The aforementioned Simon, she presumes, doesn’t answer the unobserved voice. He keeps his eyes on her, face twisted into a puckered, mean mug.

A string of footsteps precede the face that appears behind Simon’s shoulder. A rounder, ruddier face. A salt-and-pepper stubble and eyes so blue they glow like bioluminescence. 

Johnny acts surprised as if Simon hadn’t smelled her from miles away. Her honeyed scent roiling off of her, curling into the air and thinning between the trees. Her sweat pooling in the gusset of her panties, raw and pungent. 

He’s purposely coy. It’s written into the furrow of his brows and the caper of his cupid lips but the girl is too disoriented to catch on. She looks at him and beseeches, but almost faints at the deer hanging limply over his shoulder. He holds it like it weighs nothing—a sack of sprouting potatoes.

He coos. “Who’s this?”

“Lost bird,” Simon grunts. “Found her diggin’ through our food.”

“Oh, poor lassie,” Johnny hums. More so to Simon than the girl, which makes her squirm. “She didnae mean any harm, Simon. She’s just hungry… tha’ right, lass? Are ye hurt?”

She stutters out a nod, gesturing to how her jeans cling to her knees, sun-bleached and darkened with blood. She rolls her shirt over her ribcage, showing them her wounded torso. How her skin sticks to her bones.

Johnny bristles. 

“The lass needs a place to stay, Simon,” he whispers. “And she’s hurt. Bleeding.”

They talk of her as if she’s advertised merchandise in a magazine catalogue. She squirms.

Simon turns to look at her. The depression in her cheeks due to her hunger and the split skin of her mouth. The pert curve of her breasts. The desperate look in her eyes. 

He grumbles, looks over his shoulder at Johnny. “I’ll start the fire. You take the deer out back and drain it ‘fore it hardens.”

“Aye,” Johnny says. He thumps away in clunky boots and a thin t-shirt and jeans. The deer sways with his gait and disappears behind the screen door when he steps outside. 

She redirects her attention to Simon, who’s already looking at her. More specifically, at her pulsing neck. His jowls are slightly unfastened, his pupils blown out and eclipsing his irises. 

Presentiment settles in her stomach. She blanches. 

Suddenly, Simon is grunting and gripping her arm, heedless towards her whimper of fear and fleeting stint of resistance. His nails are sharp, digging sickle-shaped impressions into her arm. He drags her down the hallway and into another room—a bathroom—and tugs the flickering light on. It lacks sheen, barely illuminates the room from its moss-covered nooks to the tiled floor caked with crusted dirt. 

(The lightbulb is so dull. It doesn’t reach the farthest corner of the bathroom where the radiator is placed. The radiator bathed in black, hidden beneath the lip of shadows, so she isn’t able to see the forgotten handcuff hanging limply from one of the pipes.)

Simon works his heavy body around the bathroom. He leans over the clawfoot tub—which he dwarfs—and twists open the spigot, watching as brown-coloured water slowly ripens into something clear, gushing out of the faucet. He stuffs a plastic plug into the rust-ringed drain. 

He straightens back into his full height. All-encompassing, panoramic. Simon is so impossibly large that it’s a wonder he has so much muscle packed under his skin. Rustic, hard thighs. A shirt that bends against his arms, about to snap. 

“Take a bath,” he commands. “Get y’rself cleaned up.”

Simon shoulders past her and ducks to exit the bathroom. There’s no door separating it from the rest of the house, but a multitude of beads hanging above the threshold to imitate one. She keeps her eyes trailed on it while she strips—peeling off her jeans, pulling her shirt over her head. Rolling down her panties and consciously hiding them beneath her other clothes. 

She clutches the lip of the bathtub for leverage and dips her toes into the water. Immediately, she melts. The hot water swallows her foot and travels like a spool of thread to the rest of her, weaving itself into her wounds, licking her open like the first thaw of spring. 

She submerges herself fully, bringing her knees to her chest. Her neck hoists backward and into the water, soaking all the grit and dirt knotted into her hair. It’s like plying through syrup as she lifts an arm, retrieving a homespun bar of soap, clutching it to test her grip. There’s coily hair knotted into it and sticking to the dried bubbles. She brings it up to her nose, sniffing. Hesitates before rubbing it into her skin and around her throbbing wounds. 

The water idly sloshes as she cleans herself. It’s a hollow sound, amplified by the echoey room. She trails her hand below her waist, slipping her sudsy fingers between her lips and stroking, rubbing herself clean. 

Beneath the tinny sounds of water surrounding her like a petticoat, something else peals out. Something like a whine. Her fingers cramp above her warm cunt and she goes taut. She turns her head to the threshold of the bathroom and nearly screams but her throat puckers before she can, blocking it, her mouth hanging open in a soundless screech instead.

It’s Johnny. He stands in the middle of the hallway, peering into the bathroom and staring at her, half-obscured by the bead curtains. He looks like a sit-and-wait predator like this—silent and unassuming, if not for his blindingly-white smile shining through the curtain like strobes of sunlight breaking past trees. He steps inside now that he’s been spotted, and that causes ice to lick her organs—she sinks her breasts below the water’s surface, squeezing her thighs together. She bristles as Johnny strides impossibly close, the lip of the tub cutting into his thighs.

He stinks of sweat and iron and wood. His t-shirt clings to his skin, darkened with deer blood, outlining the barest hint of his bulky chest.

He grins. “Brought ye some clean clothes.” 

“Oh. I… thank you,” she mumbles. “You can leave it on the toilet if you don’t mind?”

Johnny sets it down. A folded flannel and a pair of sweatpants. He idles a little longer, still smiling, before leaving the bathroom. She counts the minutes in her head and tries to find the right time to leave the tub, outstretching her hand for the towel once it comes to her. But the towel is just scarcely out of reach. The terrycloth grazes her fingertips, teasing her. It’s like it was methodically placed there. Bait at the end of a fish hook to ply her out of the water and stick her ass in the air, reaching over to grip the cloth and tug it over her breasts, stepping out of the tub.

Her eyes stay locked on the crude door while she changes. She buttons the flannel up to her neck and takes heed of the pointed absence of any undergarments, slipping her legs into the gauzy sweatpants, tying them at her waist.

Johnny bursts in as if on cue. He’s still slick with blood, his mohawk odd-angled, spun-thread and matted to his head with sweat. His cheeks bulge around another grin.

“Too big for ye, is it?” He pants. “Might as well take it off. Might trip and hurt yerself again. Wouldn’t want that happenin’, right honey?”

Johnny shortens the space between them in one stride. His fingers, thick and jaded, are already fumbling around the knot she tied, pulling it out of its bow and letting the sweatpants fall, pooling into a crimp around her ankles. 

The flannel is big enough to reach her thighs. Still, she clenches her fingers around the hem and tugs it lower, preening under Johnny’s smouldering gaze. It’s almost paradoxical how it works—his eyes are icy blue, yet they have the same effect as basaltic molten. Burning hot. He’s fixated on her skinned knees, gnawing on his bottom lip.

“Simon’s got the fire goin’,” he says. “Let’s go get yer wounds cleaned too, aye?”

Johnny’s walking out before she can blink. She follows after him, flustered, stumbling into the living room lit by a dulcet fire. Simon’s kneeled beside it, sticking his hand in to adjust a lopsided stock of wood, unaffected by the flames that eat away his arm hair. Johnny takes the girl by the scruff of her neck, guiding her to a hand-crafted chair placed conscientiously in front of the fireplace. He presses on her—the sensitive divot between her shoulder and her neck—and pushes her into the seat, unzipping a first-aid kit. 

Johnny takes her feet and pulls them into his lap. The angle makes her flannel hitch up, exposing her bare cunt to the hot embers of the fireplace, and the equally hot embers of Simon’s prying eyes. She squeaks and covers herself, averting her gaze as Simon’s stare darkens into the colour of midnight splash hanging over the sky.

“You’ll feel a wee sting,” Johnny warns. He rips the corner off a rag and drenches it in vodka, poising it over her flayed knees. “Should probably give my hand a squeeze or somethin’, ye ken? To lessen the burn, o’ course.”

She hesitates but slips her hand around Johnny’s all-encompassing one, her fingers barely meeting whilst wrapped around his palm. She winces when the ethanol meets her wound, shooting through her veins, and tries recoiling into herself. 

But the amplitude of her pain swells, and her muscles girdle. 

It’s Simon’s massive hand splitting itself across her thigh that keeps her pinned to the chair. His fingers bite rivets into her skin, the pinch overriding the sting of her tissue soaking up the alcohol.

“Stay still when he tells you to,” he grumbles. “Otherwise it’ll hurt.”

She wriggles uncomfortably. Tries not to flinch when the rag meets her knees again and burns her wound. Simon’s hand doesn’t leave her thigh until he’s throwing another block of wood into the fireplace.

Johnny hums. “So, what’re you doin’ up here? Religious retreat? Mental health?”

She smacks her lips, unsure if she should answer that. She chances a glance towards Simon and bristles because for some reason, she just knows that if she lies, somehow, he’d tell.

“Um. Just stepping away from home, I suppose,” she mumbles. “Friends. Family.”

“Oh. They dinnae care about you?”

She flinches. Not because of the vodka against her skin, but Johnny’s implications. 

“No,” she says. Her words are so fickle, so distorted by misery that not even she believes it. “They do care about me. I just needed space.”

He nods. Slowly, his eyebrows press together. “I don’t remember much of my family. It’s a wee bit odd. Can’t say if they liked me or not…”

Simon squeezes the back of his neck. “Enough of tha’. Pay attention.”

Johnny makes a sound like he’s humiliated. It’s only when he unrolls a spool of gauze, wrapping it around her kneecaps, is he afforded mercy when Simon changes the topic.

“Where’s the bird gonna sleep?”

“We’ve still got a cot in the root cellar, aye?” Johnny replies. “For hurricanes and tha’. Figured she wouldn’t mind it there. Wouldn’t ye, lass?”

Clemently, she shakes her head.

Simon grunts. He stands up, towering over them both. “The deer’s there, Johnny. What kind of hosts would tha’ make us? Puttin’ her up with a corpse?”

Johnny blushes as if he’s been scolded. His bottom lip curls out, petulant, a waspish colour flooding his cheeks. 

“Aye…” he grumbles. “Tha’s right. The livin’ room, then?”

The girl is sitting, her head oscillating between the two men like a pendulum as they talk. 

“No,” Simon says. “We’ll move the cot to our room.”

Johnny nods. He scratches his stubble, pretending to think. “It’s important we keep an eye on her wounds, too.”

“Exactly,” Simon says, petting Johnny’s head. “Smart boy.”

He clicks his tongue and Johnny shoots up, scurrying out of the living room to retrieve the aforementioned cot. Muffled sounds peal out from the root cellar below them. Johnny comes stumbling back up in mere minutes with a rickety cot fitted under his armpit and disappears into a dark room.

“Best get to sleep before it’s too late,” Simon splays his hand over the small of her back. “Y’must be tired.”

She submits to Simon’s touch, letting him guide her through the cabin and into the darkest room lit only by a lone oil lamp. 

Johnny is finishing up the cot when Simon releases her. He drapes a cable-knit blanket over the surface, fluffing up a pillow. She doesn’t point out how close it is to their bed, the lip of her cot almost touching their rickety mattress.

“Fair warnin’ lass,” Johnny begins, peeling off his shirt, kittening into bed. “Simon snores quite a bit. Dinnae be feart to smack his gob if he gets too loud, aye?”

She stiffly nods. She climbs into the cot and bunches the blanket around her, making a conscious effort to hide her bare legs. Simon crawls between them, the mattress sinking with his weight, and throws their whisper-thin blanket over his legs. 

Darkness penetrates the room when he blows the lamp out. The only smoulder is the silvery glow of moonlight invading the curtains and the reflective light in Simon’s eyes. 

He sits up impossibly straight, staring at her like a cryptid caught on a trail cam. It causes discomfort to congeal under her flesh, but slowly, the longer she looks, a bristle of sleepiness lays hold of her. She closes her eyes and falls into limbo. Her breaths thinning into a short, even pattern.

———

She’s between the threshold of awake and sleep when she hears it.

She can’t tell if it’s a dream or the amplified sounds of Appalachia. She feels as if she’s underwater or stuck in syrup, able to hear the rushing brook of her blood against her ears but unable to distinguish the sounds around her.

There’s a grunt. And a moan. The wail of the bed next to her snapping then creasing. Heavy breathing. Sprinting hearts. 

Her head is so muddled she can’t register anything. Her mind tells her that the violent slapping of skin against skin is the crack of thunder. That the strangled whimpers are the call of a cottontail. 

“Right there, Johnny?” A voice asks. “Takin’ my big cock so fuckin’ well. Greedy lil’ bitch, you are.”

A long, drawn-out whine chases after it. A choked-out scream as if something hurts, succeeded by a wet squelch. 

“Look at ‘er,” that voice jeers. “Think she’d take it? Better than you? Think she’d bleed all over it like– fuck… how I smelt it on her?”

The other voice—broken in, wispy—chokes on a response. It sounds a little stifled, as if speaking through something shoved in its mouth.

“No… nae better than me,” it mumbles. “Nae better than me…”

It’s like she’s drowning in purgatory. She can’t move, can’t speak. She’s caught in a phantasmagorical limbo between reality and fantasy. She can feel the serpentine hands of something with no material existence wrap around her and stain her slick with sweat, sweeping over the space between her legs, licking a wetness up her pussy. 

A dewy sound peals out. It’s a predator loosening its jowls, stringy and frothy, flaying its lips to bare its teeth. A rumbling roar rips out of its throat, animalistic. She can hear the popping of teeth sinking into flesh. The dull sound of skin breaking.

“Ah!” A squeal. “Simon, tha’– it hurts.”

She feels a vortex in her belly, an ache in her clit.

It’s like she resurfaces the water. All at once, she hears clearly. It’s a lone word whispered in a guttural cadence so close that she swears it’s mumbled against the hot hull of her ear.

“Good.”

———

She wakes the next morning with her tongue sticking to the roof of her mouth and a damp heat between her legs.

Sunlight filters through the gauzy curtains, hitting the bed next to her. The bed is starkly empty she notes, as she crawls out of her cot and pops the stiff muscles in her back, stretching. 

She pokes her head out of the bedroom and tiptoes around the cabin as if avoiding a barrage of landmines. There’s a downward force in her bladder that tells her she’s been in torpor for the better half of the morning, and a heavy crust in her eyes that shifts when she blinks. She finds her way to the bathroom and shucks the flannel over her hips, lowering herself on the toilet seat, emptying herself.

It’s the only stint of respite. The closest thing she can get to calm since losing her way in the mountain three days ago. She relishes in the idle birdsongs outside and the sound of overnight frost melting into the dew that slips off tree leaves, pitter-pattering to the ground. Listens to the stream of her pee peter out, and the ruffle of folding fabric as she tosses the flannel back over her thighs. She listens to the–

“How’d ye sleep, pretty girl?”

She flinches at the gruff voice. It’s written with sleep, barely lucid under a Scottish lilt. Her hands freeze under the running water of the tap as she watches Johnny waltz inside the bathroom, shucking his pants to his thighs and pulling out his cock, pissing in the toilet. 

She’s stiff. Fixed to the cold clay tiles of the floor, unable to be bent. She tries not to let her eyes wander, tries to block out the chubby mass of muscle swinging between his legs. 

“Oh…” her words are stifled by shock. “F-fine. I slept fine. Thank you again for opening your house to me.” She thinks back to last night—the whimpering, the croaking—and rashly decides to tack on, “But I did hear some weird noises. I could have been dreaming though.”

Johnny chuckles. “...Aye, it’s almost matin’ season ‘round these parts. I think you’ll be hearin’ more of that. It’s best to ignore it.”

Her body girdles when he sways his cock, shaking away the liquid on the tip. He stuffs himself back into his pants and pulls the flush, grinning. 

“Bet you’re still hungry. Simon’s wrappin’ up breakfast. Let’s go.”

He pats her bum and makes her squeak. He grips the hem of her flannel and reels it around his knuckles like a leash, tugging her into the dining area—which is more of a nook nestled into the living room—and pulls out a seat.

“Hope ye fancy porridge,” Johnny chuckles. He splits his palm across the top of her head, pushing her into the chair. 

She huffs and hoists her neck up, grimacing at the acrid scent of animal hide burning against the base of a cast iron pan. It takes a conscious effort to not crinkle her nose in disgust.

Simon ducks as he emerges from the kitchen threshold. He wields two bowls of food. One for her and the other for Johnny. She takes heed of how—despite his stature—Simon doesn’t have anything to eat.

However it’s a cursory thought, because she’s quickly pulling her lips into a weak smile and examining the bowl in front of her. Food is a generous word, since it looks more like coagulated milk than porridge and smells sour. Simon places a chipped plate of bacon alongside it. It’s curled because it’s overcooked, crusted with charcoal.

She swallows as Simon takes a seat next to her. Johnny, on the other side of her. 

“Looks delicious,” she hums. She turns to Simon, “Are you… not eating?”

He picks an off-white tendon from his canine tooth, flicking it away. 

He answers in a rigid tenor. “Don’t hurt your head over me. You eat your food.” 

She marginally shrinks into herself, embarrassment licking up her spine. She feels like a chided puppy, but perhaps that’s the sentiment. 

When she opens her lips and raises the spoon to her mouth, her flannel curls like a wisp of hair off her shoulder, baring her bruised albeit supple skin. She hastily pulls the sleeve back up. 

She speaks around the stale porridge and her rising apprehension. “Uh, do you have my clothes from yesterday?” She asks, squirming as her sweat glues the back of her thighs to the chair, sticky. “It’s just, uh, they fit me better.”

“Oh,” Johnny blinks, “o’ course.” 

She watches him stand up and slip through the backdoor. He walks towards a clothesline hitched between two trees and retrieves her clothes, returning with them tucked under his arm.

“Here ye go sweetheart,” he grins, setting them on her lap. Petting her head.

She slowly peels through her clothes. Her fingertips drag against her threadbare jeans, her overripe shirt, but never touch the sweat-imbued gauze of something more… intimate. Her maw tenses around the hot porridge. 

“Where are my… um…” she lowers her voice even though it’s redundant—Johnny is leaned in close, practically huffing against her ear, sniffing her neck. “... Undergarments?”

Johnny tilts his head, puckering his lips in confusion. He’s written with the innocence of a puppy—whether it’s real or fabricated, she can’t tell. The words have begun bleeding together, blotchy and unintelligible. 

“Panties, ye mean?” He laughs. “Ye never had any of those.”

She swallows thickly. 

“No, I… I did. I wouldn’t go hiking without–”

“Ye must be goin’ crazy, lass,” Johnny says. “This was all you gave me. Nae panties.”

He stares at her with large, intercosmic, unassuming eyes. His gaze flickers towards Simon. It’s so fleeting that she almost misses it. The sweep of his blue irises widening, eclipsed by his pupils. She tenses. Omniscience hits her like a brick.

Her tongue goes heavy in her mouth, melting her words. The porridge turns frothy in her gut, nausea sticking to her organs and presentiment curdling in the air. She tightens her throat around a gag.

“... When can you drive me into town?”

Johnny reaches over and grips her thigh. He digs divots into her flesh like a fish hook caught in a flayed gill.

“You’re welcome to stay as long as ye want, pretty. There’s nae rush.”

She feels bile crawl up her throat.

“Oh, well, I just don’t want to overstay my welc–”

“He’s excited to play host,” Simon growls. His words are marked by firm determination, leaving no room for objection. He leans over the table, his wifebeater clinging to his muscle, his wiry chest hair pressing against the soft cotton. “We rarely get visitors ‘round here and he’ll be upset if you leave. Y’wanna make him upset?” 

Finally, warnings blare like strobe lights in her mind. She fidgets in her seat, sweating, shooting a cursory glance to the backdoor. Calculating her chances of survival should she break through the mesh and make a run for it. 

“O-of course not. Not after everything you’ve done for me,” she stutters, feeling a bead of sweat travel down her neck. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for asking.”

Simon settles back in his seat. Johnny, too, frowning around his porridge. 

“Good,” Simon grunts meanly. “Now shut your gob an’ eat.”

She clemently chews away at her breakfast, preening under their smouldering gazes. Throughout her polishing off her bowl, she’s reminded Simon doesn’t have one. It’s unseemly for a man so sturdy to not be eating, but as Simon’s lips peel back, sated while he watches her take her final bite, she spots a spray of red liquid washing the spire of his fang tooth, glistening in the sunlight. 

“How’d you like tha’, pretty?” Johnny asks. He collapses whatever thoughts—whatever inklings—begin to seize her about Simon as he smiles and their bowls, disappearing into the kitchen.

Right away, Simon is hooking his foot behind a leg of her chair, using it to pull her closer. 

He’s centimetres away from her face when he says, “How ‘bout you start pullin’ your weight?”

Her eyes flicker up to see Simon hovering over her. He’s dewy with sweat, big and burly and drifting above her like the closet-dwelling monster from everyone’s childhood.

“You’ve caused enough trouble in my home,” he continues. “Ate a lot of our produce. It’s time you make up for tha’.”

She resists the urge to snarl. She doesn’t even want to be here yet Simon is insisting she fill her role—whatever that role may be. 

But as she hoists her neck up at him, she gets skittish and looks away, her tongue knotting. She knows it isn’t smart to upset Simon again. He’s a beefy man with sharp canines and vertical pupils, with more hair sprouting from his forearms than what’s considered normal. A man who expels deep tonal flutters instead of regular breaths. Who—despite his size—can’t ever be heard approaching.

So she smiles instead, asking, “What is it you need help with?”

“Floors need scrubbin’.”

He shoves a rag in her hand and holds out a bucket of sudsy water she hadn’t noticed before.

“Kitchen, livin’ room… just get to work.”

The water sloshes over the lip of the bucket when he sets it down. Simon stands to his full height and stalks out of the room, leaving her alone with her multitude of thoughts. 

Slowly, she stands up. She hauls the water bucket to the middle of the living room and is starkly reminded of her strength—or lack thereof. Simon had picked the bucket up so naturally, but with the weak tendons lacing her arms, she struggles. It doesn’t help that her vision is still spotty. 

She lowers to her knees, wincing at the chord of pain beneath her bandages. She awkwardly drenches the rag in the water and wrings it dry, poising herself above the floor, working the rag into the floorboards. 

She tenses when Johnny walks back in. He’s behind her. Unlike with Simon, she can feel him creeping up. She can feel his eyes on the lips of her pussy where her flannel hitches up while she’s bent over, scrubbing the floors. 

Her cheeks burn. She blindly reaches behind her to tug the hem down, covering her warm cunt. 

Johnny chuckles. “This is wha’ Simon has you doin’ out here?” 

She looks over her shoulder, her skin prickling when she sees an axe in his hand. 

“We’re goin’ to the yard to chop some wood,” he says, “but I see you’re already busy bein’ our bonnie housewife.” 

She stutters. That operative word, housewife, burns a hole in the snail-shaped cochlea of her ear. “No, Simon j-just asked me to. He asked me to.”

“I know, sweetie,” Johnny replies. He squats next to her and rubs her back in slow circles, trying to hike up her flannel again. “Simon’s just takin’ the piss. He’s a meanie like tha’.”

She tries shouldering him away but Johnny only holds her tighter. Simon reappears in the doorway, watching with his arms crossed. 

Johnny clears his throat. “Thought we’d spend time in the yard today. Doesn’t tha’ sound sweet?”

She looks at Simon who’s already looking at her through hooded, brutish eyes. She realizes that her autonomy is divested—that she has no choice but to follow what they say because something is very, very wrong here. 

Perhaps this is what the mountain had warned her of. In all of its howling and breathing, the branches gripping her and the delirium written into her psyche, maybe, it was all a warning. 

She hangs her head. “Mhm… sounds great.”

She has no time to process what’s happening before he’s folding his hand into the cavity of her armpit and dragging her up and out of the door, into the backyard. 

It’s more of a cleared grove than a yard. Dead tree stumps litter the small expanse, grass the colour of ripe lemons because it’s been seared down. There’s a block of wood sitting on a stump, split down the middle. Sun-bleached clothes hanging over the clothesline.

“Y’can watch here,” Johnny says, gesturing to one of the tree stumps. “We’ve got to chop wood for dinner tonight.”

He pulls her down on the makeshift seat, finally letting her go. And just as Johnny pivots, slamming the spire of the axe into the block of wood, she sees him scrunch his nose as he sniffs his hand, drinking in the sweat from her armpit. It goes up his nose and through his nasal cavity, making him quiver as if her sweat is an opiate. Disgust slams into her, sinking in her stomach and settling there like sediment. She doesn’t even notice Simon walking out of the cabin and reaching for the axe, raising it over his head, until the resounding sound of wood snapping peals out, and she’s jumping in her skin.

“No need to be feart,” Johnny laughs. “Just his usual routine.”

She watches Simon work. He looks like a beast on its hind legs like this—impossibly large and splayed out with his arms over his head, growling whenever he brings the axe down on the tree stump, splitting it in two. Sweat burns through his wifebeater and turns the fabric translucent, revealing the barest outline of his chest. His chest hairs are matted with sweat, his sinews straining with each chop of wood. His face is curled meanly into itself, his trimmed hair nicked in different places from at-home shaving and washed with sweat.

Every time he brings the axe down on the wood, expelling a guttural groan, something stirs in her. He does it with such force, such strength, it makes her wary. He fractures the wood along the grain without so much of a blink, without any stifling in his muscle.

All those horror films she watches alone—when her friends say they’re too busy to join, when they lead her on after planning a get-together that doesn’t come to fruition—finally catch up to her, sowing the thought in her head that if she stays, she’ll become the tree stump. Impotent beneath Simon’s hacking and eclipsed by his behemoth-like body. 

Her missing panties. Johnny’s sticky hands. Simon’s less-than-human behaviour. It all slams into her like whiplash. 

Her fear rears its head as a rashly undertaken announcement tumbling out of her mouth.

“I have to pee.”

She ignores the way Johnny perks up, as if that activated something in his brain. His ocular vein goes large, rapt, his pupils blowing out as he looks at her and then her navel where her bladder sits, suddenly grinning. 

“I can come with–”

“I’ll go in the woods,” she says. “Behind a bush or something, okay?”

Simon grunts. It’s a deep prusten sound as he splits another block of wood. Johnny pouts but lets her go, watching with those imploring eyes as she disappears behind some foliage. 

It’s now or never, she decides. 

She makes sure she’s concealed by the flowering of a tree before speeding up her walk. She moves like an unoiled machine, rusty, as her walk ripens into a run.

She doesn’t know where she’s running. She doesn’t know how far the nearest town is or how to find the trail she lost herself on, but she knows she needs to get far away from here. 

The woodland is labyrinthine. Everything looks the same. She hopes she isn’t sprinting deeper into the heart of Appalachia and straight into her new grave, but still, she doesn’t stop running. Not until her lungs wilt into themselves and turn pruney, not until her heartbeat plateaus. 

It’s as if she’s working against a rip current. She feels as if a part of herself is already woven into the woodland soil, feels herself written into the rotting, wet trees. It’s like she’s treading water instead of sprinting. And it’s like a supernova has erupted in her ankle as it gets caught under a root, sending her face first into the dirt. 

She reorients as quickly as she can. She raises to her feet but winces at the flaring nerves in her foot, and looks around for a stick she can use as a crutch. 

But something else catches her attention. 

A dog-eared paper taped to a Basswood tree. It’s been eaten by the elements, mottled, barely hanging on. She steps closer and reads the blocky letters across the front, her blood running cold in her engorged vessels.

MISSING PERSON

Fleetingly, hope seizes her, but she soon remembers nobody back home is heedful enough to report her missing, let alone realize she’s missing in the first place. Additionally, the year suggests that the flyer is three years old. Her eyes slink down, trailing over what’s still intact.

LAST SEEN: CLIFF TRAIL

$3,000 REWARD FOR INFORMATION

Foreboding clings to her flesh. She quivers, her knees weakening.

FIRST NAME: J-

The tail-end of it is smeared, the ink bleeding and thinning into the paper. It’s unintelligible, so she trails her gaze lower, heeding the victim’s last name instead.

MACTAVISH.

“Sweetie!” Peals out from behind her before she can read any more. “What’re you doin’ all the way here? Had me and Simon thinkin’ ye ran away or something. Hah.”

Johnny hurries close and swallows her flinch with a tight hug. He frowns at the flyer. 

“Why’re you readin’ this silly stuff?” He asks. He tears it off the tree and crumples it up, tossing it away. “That shite gives y’nightmares.”

“Johnny, I–”

“You went pee?” Johnny asks. Nearly makes her screech when he dips his hand low and cups her cunt, feeling around for any dregs of liquid. He buries his fingers unnecessarily deep between her puffy lips, blindly massaging.

“No…” he clicks his tongue. “No. You didn’t. Did ye lie to us? It dinnae matter, sweetie. Here. Do it here, pretty. I’ll wait.”

She musters whatever pluck she has left to shake her head.

However her spine is fickle. All it takes is Johnny glowering, his eyes darkening, his pout upending and curling into something meaner, to force her back into submission.

“Simon’s already angry ye pulled this stunt, sweetie,” he says. “I’m helpin’ you out.”

A tear escapes her. It rolls down her gaunt cheek like the dew that dribbles down trees. She’s quickly crying, expelling howls that burn her energy. She trembles as she squats to the forest floor and pushes pee out of her. She sniffles as she stands back up and lets the liquid sluice down her thighs. 

“Good girl,” Johnny hums. “You’re so much sweeter when ye listen, ye ken?” 

She sobs into her palms, her ribs so brittle they rattle together. Johnny coos vacantly at her, rubbing her all over the same way one rubs stone fruit to test their ripeness, and croons at her swelling ankle.

“See what happens when you’re naughty?” He asks, picking her up, carrying her close to his chest. “Let’s get you home, honey. These woods are no place for a bird like you.”

She hates how she curls into him. It’s her repressed underbelly fighting its way to the surface because the accumulation of neglectful family and friends has soured her, carving a chasm in her heart that forces her body to respond to Johnny’s affections. He’s a warm body for her, a pair of listening ears. It’s scraps, but it’s more than she’s ever gotten.

They make it back to the cabin in what feels like minutes. Simon’s waiting next to the door with his arms tightly crossed, his face meanly pinched. He growls like a provoked animal. He hovers like an executioner. He’s the living antonym of light at the end of the tunnel, huffing like a bull as Johnny carries her inside. 

“How about you rest?” Johnny asks. He sets her down on her cot and pulls the blanket to her quivering chin, tucking her in. “Want some tea? What kind do you fancy?”

She purses her lips, trembling. Johnny sentimentally hums as if he’s sorry. As if he isn’t a part of her plight. Her piercing fear and deep-seated fatigue.

“Garden mint…” he says to himself. “I’ll be right back, bonnie.”

He disappears and returns a few minutes later with a cup dwarfed in his hand. Steam curls over the rim, thinning into the barren bedroom. He tilts it into her mouth, nursing her. 

With every sip she feels herself slip more and more back into the familiar territory of limbo. Her eyelids become heavy, her cognizance slackening.

She peels her tongue off her gums to muster a whisper. It’s so weak. Barely audible. 

“I wanna go… home…”

Johnny croons. He cups her cheek. “Honey, those people dinnae care about you. Not how me and Simon do. This can be your home.”

He raises the cup to her mouth again, stifling any protests on her tongue.

She hiccups around the drink, her eyes warm and wet.

That’s how she falls asleep. 

With hypnotic tea invading her bloodstream, turning her eyelids heavy. Turning her helpless.

———

She wakes with a start. 

It’s a crack of thunder that had stirred her, she realizes, instead of the enigmatic sounds of bed springs snapping.

The bedroom is dark and bathed in midnight light. She can barely see anything, save for the barest outline of Johnny in the bed next to her. When lightning strikes, illuminating the sky with a blinding impact crack, she’s able to see the swell of his body beneath his sheets and the shadow of his spun-thread hair. His chest rising and falling steadily. 

She’s caked with sweat. Her perspiration soaks her flannel and makes it cling to her flesh, which is flared up as if she rolled in a pile of poison ivy. Her mind is so cluttered she almost folds over as she stands up, testing the grip of her toes on the wooden floor, testing her ability to balance herself. 

She’s in limbo. A border space between heaven and hell, awaiting her execution. That’s how it feels as she tiptoes her way out of the room, reaching for an oil lamp, holding it out in front of her. 

It’s almost worse like this. A weak flame that barely illuminates her peripheral. She fears that should she turn too fast, an aberration will materialize from the margins of her view and tear her to ribbons. 

At this point, she supposes that’s a kinder fate. 

She slips into a pair of large boots because she can’t find her hiking shoes anywhere. She opens the door and pokes her head out, immediately met with the spray of rainwater on her face, the wind running through her ropes of neglected hair.

Sheets of heavy rain fall from the awning, creating another divide that keeps her trapped inside the cabin. She steps onto the porch, listening for any incongruous noises. Even if there were any, they would be bullied under the assault of rainfall. She can’t hear her own thoughts like this, can’t formulate a plan to get away from here once and for all.

So of course she doesn’t hear the floorboards settle behind her. Of course, she doesn’t hear the heavy drumming of feet closing in on her.

She doesn’t heed the body behind her until Johnny is sniffing up her neck and snuffing out the oil lamp, laying hold of her in a grudging grip. 

“You just dinnae listen, do you?”

He takes her by the scruff of her neck and pulls her back into the cabin, knocking the lamp out of her grip. It falls to the floor and flares into a crash, louder than the rain. Almost louder than her sprinting heart and the blood rushing to her ears.

She wrestles against his grip. “Fuck you both—you sick fucks!”

She almost vomits when her insults make Johnny moan, his cock fattening against her back in a crude Pavlovian response. Each time she struggles against him, his grip tightens. It reminds her of the mountain itself. The more she tries escaping its soporific arms, the deeper it drags her down. It’s fruitless for her to fight it—the whistle of the branches, the tight sinews of Johnny’s grip. 

He swings his arm around her neck, pinning her against his chest in a headlock. Her lungs stutter and her eyes turn dewy, her deep-seated fear ripening into paralyzing terror.

A web of lightning shatters the sky, and she almost dies right there.

It’s Simon but worse. A mutation gone wrong. A changeling, perhaps. He’s squeezed inside the threshold, breathing wildly. His wifebeater is torn in different places across his body, split around tufts of fur. Fur that is matted with thick ichor, wiry and sprouting from the spot behind his ears.

Another flash of lightning ignites the cabin, revealing the shaggy coat of hair on his chest. The sheet of fat over his stomach that flutters when he puffs, growling under his breath. He clenches his jaw because he can’t clench his hands, because his thick fingers have turned into claws, sharp spires covered in gore.

Simon snarls. Blood and spit drip from his bloodied teeth as if he’s a rabid animal with a limp maw. He rolls his shoulders and cracks the cartilage in his neck, the sound pealing out so loudly, it’s more like the popping of bubble wrap in rapid succession. 

She can barely see him through her tear-filled eyes. It’s the epilogue to her life as he strides in close, biting his talons into her hips and drawing out blood. A snarl of satisfaction escapes him when he smells it—her blood, sweet, albeit stale due to her dehydration. 

“Anyone ever told you you’re an ungrateful mutt?” He growls. “I give you food to eat an’ clothes on your back but here you are, tryin’ to sod off.”

Her cheeks dimple when he grabs her jaw. She opens her mouth to protest, but her grievances get smothered beneath Simon’s claws. He stuffs his fingers down her mouth, stunting her complaints. She gags and coughs around the taste of metal and mire crusted under his claws, bile shooting up her throat.

“Dogs don’t talk,” he tuts. 

He hoists his arm back and she puckers, preparing for an attack. However, instead of her cheek, Simon’s hand slices against her shirt. He tears her flannel into ribbons, making the fabric slide off her like water from a milk bath.

She stands naked, her skin pocked with fear. She shivers despite being pressed between Simon’s furry chest and Johnny’s warm arms. 

“‘Bout time someone taught you some manners,” Simon mumbles. “I was in the middle of my dinner you know? Fuckin’ rude to interrupt.”

She blanches when she sees a limp coyote behind him, splayed out on the porch. She recognizes it as the orpiment-coloured fur to the hair flossed between Simon’s teeth.

She screams as he wrestles her from Johnny’s grip, pulling her towards the bedroom. Simon throws her onto the stiff mattress, her spine shuddering from the impact. She tries covering herself, tries wrapping her arms around her body, but Simon is having none of that. 

He pounces, taking her hips and pinning them to the bed. He hovers over her, rainwater dripping from his broken nose, impossibly large as he makes up her whole world. Simon swallows her entire view, leaving her with no chances of escape. 

Her gaze flutters down to the chub outlined by his sweatpants and decides she’s left with no chances of survival, either.

She flails her legs as Simon slithers low, flattening his nose against her cunt. She lets out a protracted cry as he hitches his lungs and inhales, breathing in the musk of her bare cunt. The sweat stuck between her fuzzy hair, the sticky arousal that spreads as he forces her legs open. 

Simon hisses. It rides the ruck of his throat, expelled from his nose. It’s not in any capacity a human sound. It seems more like a bear flaring its nostrils, poised for attack.

Johnny notices the confusion between her eyebrows because he’s leaning in and murmuring against the shell of her ear, licking it.

“Remember wha’ I said about matin’ season, kitty?”

Johnny leans away, leaving it at that. Equivocal and cryptic and calcified into the furrows of her brain. She isn’t allowed to wade in her confusion though because Simon’s tongue is lolling out, sweeping a fat stripe over her pussy.

It’s like the first thaw of spring. Simon licks her open, spreads her out on his tongue. She can’t help the immediate warmth that courses through her, swathing her in silk. 

She cries out. Her back bends off the mattress when Simon pulls her lips into his mouth to suck. 

She looks to Johnny for help. She twists herself and tries reaching out, tries crawling off the mattress, but Simon is gripping her ankle and popping the gauze of her bandage with his claws, pulling her back down, wrapping his lips around her engorged clit.

Johnny’s face doesn’t show contrition, but is pinched in jealousy. He watches with a fat mass growing in his sweatpants.

She splits her hand over Simon’s shaved head, using the cauliflowered shell of his ear to try pulling him off of her. That only makes him growl, the vibrations quavering up her spine, his claws digging into her flesh. 

She folds her arms over her face, sobbing. Simon’s tongue is wet and hot against her pussy, lapping between her soft folds, slurping her juices. She flushes at how wet she is. At how pleasure leaks through the cracks in her resolve and spreads all over her, reducing her to a panting mess. 

Simon releases her clit with a pop. He raises to his knees, towering over her, and now she’s unsure if his glistening chin is because of the rainwater outside or her arousal. 

“Hold her down, Johnny.”

Her heart drums against her chest. Johnny crawls onto the bed and kneels behind her head. He pins her wrists down with his kneecaps, keeping her from squirming.

“Will ye let me put my cock in ‘er mouth?” Johnny asks. “Simon, will you–”

“Shut it,” Simon snaps. He shoves down his sweatpants, his cock springing out. All of her nerves bristle like rope, her heart sputtering to a stop.

Simon’s cock is fat and heavy. It droops between his thighs, drooling with precum. It’s stiff but hangs because he’s so large, the engorged tip angling downward, his balls plump, ruddy.

He chokes his hand around it, tugging it. Her throat closes in on itself but her legs instinctively peel apart. Her puffy lips spread open and she flushes at the sticky sound, hoisting her neck back to look at Johnny.

He has his cock out too, pumping it. He grins when they lock eyes and smacks his dick against her cheek. Johnny presses his cockhead into the corner of her mouth, using it to tilt her lips into a repugnant curl. It’s reminiscent of a smile, but it isn’t one. 

She wails.

They both make up her beginning and end. They trap her between themselves, leaving her with no escape. Simon at her feet, Johnny at her head. Each of the men are more intimidating than the other, both inspiring fear in her feeble heart. Both inspiring unwanted arousal between her legs. 

Simon slaps his flaring tip against her clit. She mewls and hates herself for bucking her hips into him. She’s dew-skinned as Simon pushes her knees to her ears, thumbing her clit.

He deeply inhales.

His chest expands, tugging at the steel-wool hair felted against his big chest. He quivers as he expels his breath, his mating call, and finally feeds her his cock, pushing past her first ring of muscle.

Her body tries curling in on itself like a Venus flytrap, but Johnny is quicker. He bites his fingers into her wrists and pins her to the mattress, keeping her still while Simon stuffs himself deeper. Johnny kisses her tears away while he does it. It’s oxymoronic and it’s betrayal—a Judas kiss—while he wraps his lips around sweet encouragement against her cheeks.

“Got so much fight in ye, sweetie,” he whispers. “Just stop strugglin’ and it’ll feel good.”

Simon leans over her, his cock slipping deeper into her warm cunt. The blood and saliva from his maw drips onto her chest, the blood is so fresh there’s still steam, hitting her like scythes.

Johnny’s getting restless. He watches raptly as Simon starts slamming his hips into her. Johnny ruts against the chafe of her brittle hair and hopes it will give him satisfaction by proxy, but it does little to offset the ache in his balls. His lip warbles.

“Simon, please,” a voice crack, “can I put my cock in ‘er mouth?”

“Fine,” Simon growls. His hips are piston-paced against the girl’s skin, unrelenting and uncaring to how her nails scratch striated lines down his chest in her struggle. “Just stop interruptin’ us.”

Her jaw cramps when Johnny cups her chin. He puppets it open and forces his fingers down. They’re caked with dirt as he swirls them over her tongue, coaxing up the warm spit from the furrow of her throat to be used as a natural lube. 

The only mercy she gets is the stint of time between Johnny pulling his fingers out and gripping his dick, laying it on her tongue. He forces her lips apart with the tip of his cock, smearing himself all over her. 

“So pretty like this sweetheart,” he hums. “Simon smelt it on ye. Hundreds of klicks away. How sweet y’are.” 

She doesn’t have the energy to decipher that. Most of it is being wrung on trying to fight the two men off, but it’s fruitless. Johnny is already slipping into her mouth, and her cunt is already stretched around Simon’s plump cock. 

Johnny starts pumping in and out, his cock embroidering a burn in the hinges of her jaw.

She lies there limply, but as Johnny’s wiry hair meets her nose, she realizes there’s one thing she can do. In her thrashing, she undertakes the lapse of judgement to clamp her teeth together, sinking them into Johnny.

He yells and pulls himself out. Johnny wraps a hand around himself, squeezing, placating the sting. A warm wash of tears twine his eyelashes together, long and babydoll-like. He looks to Simon, preening, imploring. 

“She bit me.” 

Simon slows his hips, only scarcely so. Only enough for her to fill her lungs halfway before he’s dragging himself out agonizingly slow, burying himself back inside. 

His eyes, hungry, flutter down to her. His lips wind back, revealing his sharp fangs. He snickers. 

“Now you’ve pissed him off, hm? Dumb girl. This is why puppies need owners.”

He pinches her clit, softly tweaking it between the pads of his fingers. He looks at Johnny and condescendingly smirks. 

“C’mere, boy. If she won’t suck you off, why not take a go at her other hole?”

She tenses. Fear washes over her like a rip current, all the way down to her ass that squeezes in protest. Her heart feels too big for her chest suddenly. She can’t even see Johnny’s blinding grin through her cloudy eyes as brine tracks down her cheeks, mixing with her sweat. 

She whimpers. “No–“

A palm whistles through the air, exploding into a crack of thunder as it breaks against the skin of her cheek. 

She lapses into silence. Little hiccups escape her while she peers up at Simon, sniffling. 

“Yes,” he says. 

He grips her by her hips and flips her over. This way, Simon’s on his back and she’s on top of him, his cock digging deeper. The position is etched with a degree of intimacy that causes heat to pool in her belly—she can feel his hot breath fanning over her face, she can see his feline-like eyes better.  

She almost jumps out of her skin when Johnny presses his fingers into her ass, trying to break her in. He thumbs at the puckered muscle, chuckling when it tries squirming away from him. 

“Cute little thing,” he says. “She ever been fucked?”

The way she sobs when Johnny forces his forefinger inside gives him his answer. He almost comes right there. At the sound of her slick lubing her up, at the sound of her being torn open like a stone fruit and her pitiful cries for mercy. 

“Stop…” 

“Stop?” Johnny repeats, “Sweetie, if I stop it’ll hurt when I fuck you. Ye need prep, silly.”

That only wracks her ribs harder. The patrionizing lilt in his voice, the way he pats her bum like she’s nothing but a dumb puppy. Johnny sinks another finger in, knuckle-deep, and curls himself into the walls of her ass, massaging it.

Simon starts thrusting again. He takes one of her tits in his mouth and tongues at her nipple, snapping his hips into her. It only adds more pressure to her other hole, the one being fingered open by Johnny.

“Y’think she’s ready, sweetie?” Johnny asks. He slaps his cock against her hole, teasing her. “I think she’s fuckin’ hungry. Look at ‘er winkin’ back at me.”

Johnny collects the saliva moulded into his gums and sputters out a wad of spit, wetting her tight asshole. He presses his cockhead against her opening, pushing himself inside.

She buckles, doubling over. Her cheek falls on Simon’s chest, chafing against his coarse hair. She’s never felt so full. Folded between the men and being fed two big cocks, left with no space to breathe. She isn’t given respite. No mercy. No time for her to stretch around their cocks.

Johnny splits his hand across the divot where her spine begins and shoves her into Simon. Her jaw hangs loose, her lips parted dumbly, her drool trickling onto Simon’s chest. She’s limp. Letting them have her way with her. Letting them brand her with their fingers digging sickle-shaped scratches into her skin. Letting them break her open with each of their jackhammering thrusts, letting their pants of encouragement and degradation swirl around her like whistles from the woodland, causing goosebumps to arise and her head to pound.

“Do ye feel it, Simon?” Johnny pants. “Is it comin’ on?”

His words sprawl by like a lazy river in her mind. Desultory, like lukewarm water. They don’t click into the empty chasm of her cognizance until something else happens. Something inhuman. Something that has her choking on the raw bile that scratches her throat and the spit coaxed into the rivets of her tongue by Johnny’s assaulting fingers.

Simon’s ramming gets shaved into stunted thrusts. It isn’t due to a loss of energy, but is due to something else keeping him from slipping out. A balloon pushing against the walls of her pussy, swelling inside her. It isn’t fat but is chubby enough for her to feel it, flutter around it.

The knot snarled into Simon’s cock plugs her up. She can’t pull herself off him because it’s puffed up past her cunt, keeping her stuck on top of him. It doesn’t help that Johnny keeps slamming his hips into her, riling the thin skin that separates her cunt from her ass, bending it to the shape of Simon’s cock.

Johnny gasps. “I’m close– shite, I’m close.”

She doesn’t want to admit it, but she is too. She feels her nerves begin to fray at their edges, her stomach wearing thin. Johnny slips his hand low and blindly sweeps at her clit, nibbling on the husk of her ear.

He only gets three more pumps in until he’s emptying his balls in her ass. He grabs her hair when he comes, puppetting her head back so her mouth falls open and he can spit inside. His thrusts are slow and deep and peter into something calm, his cock softening inside her. Johnny grins.

“Say thank you, kitty.”

It crosses her tongue as an unintelligible mumble. She can’t speak properly with Simon’s cock still in her.

Johnny chuckles at that. He wraps his arms around her and pinches her nipples. Twisting them, pulling them.

Simon’s so big beneath her, lounging like a bear. He fucks into her, his thrusts curtailing into sloppy snaps of his hips.

“He’s close, bonnie,” Johnny says. “Kiss ‘im when he comes. It’s what he likes.”

Finally, Simon’s knot unravels, his thick ropes of come sticking to her walls. He makes sure that the warm come dressing her is so deep, it’ll have no choice but to take. 

Her body betrays her when it crests and crashes into her orgasm. She’s flashbanged with blinding light, gushing out an off-white liquid that coats Simon’s thighs. It seizes her so deeply it hurts, the panoramic pleasure. An orgasm that makes her brain melt, makes her feel otherworldly.

Belatedly, she remembers Johnny’s order. She leans down to kiss Simon, her lips leathery against his. She only wants a modest peck—something to sate Johnny—but she can’t pull away because her bottom lip is caught between Simon’s teeth, pinched, and being sapped of its blood.

He laps it up before letting her go. 

He slips his softening cock out but keeps his come inside her with two fingers, his claws having retracted.

He huffs like a bull. He presses his heavy paw into her abused cunt, palming it. He reeks with a carnal musk, the aftertaste of his rut heavy in the air.

Suddenly, it all makes sense to her.

Simon is the crux of all cautionary tales. The mountains aren’t sworn off because of rabid raccoons or feral fishers but because of something eldritch, whose reputation and folklore precedes any proof of its existence. Whatever Simon is, it can’t be put into words or into anything material, so he’s condensed into the urban legends that have haunted the woods for centuries. The stories that keep hikers off needle-covered paths and unmarked trees and make them carry crucifixes in lieu of bear spray.

She doesn’t even realize she’s softly sobbing. It feels like that’s all she does these days.

Johnny hugs her as if he hadn’t taken a part of her dignity. 

He kisses her, kittening into her so that Simon is able to wrap his arms around them both, hugging them. 

The calm that lolls after the storm only bruises her further. They act so normal after they’ve stripped her of everything. Johnny massaging her thighs, Simon igniting a cigarette between his lips. 

“Will you ever let me go?” She mumbles against Simon’s chest. 

He exhales the smoke. “Go where, love? You came into my house, remember?”

Johnny won’t stop kissing her. He’s a pest that’s attached itself to her dewy flesh, trying to lick her clean. Simon curls his fingers in her and makes sure that’s where his come stays.

Simon takes another drag of his cigarette. “Not like anyone back home would miss you, anyhow.”

———

She watches with a smile on her face as Johnny roasts the flank of a moose on a homemade grill and as Simon chops some more firewood.

She lounges in a chair, swathed in her caribou-hide coat. Winter is at its height, laying a skin of pillowy snow across the mountain.

The cubs wriggle in her lap, pawing at the loose tendrils of her hair and trying to pinch her nose.

“Lookin’ so pretty today, mama,” Johnny hums. She giggles when he kisses her, scratching at the cubs’ bellies. 

“Ain’t she bonnie?” Johnny turns around and prompts Simon, “Our wee looker.”

Simon pauses his wood chopping and nods. He grips the hem of his lumberman’s jacket and raises it to his forehead to wipe his sweat away, revealing his chest and his hair that disappears into the waistband of his jeans. The cubs yip when he resumes his chopping, splitting a tree stump in two. 

She grins. 

She loves her family. Her providers and the offspring of their seed. She loves the cubs’ fine hair rubbing against her cheek when they jump on the bed to wake them up in the mornings, their blunt fangs biting her when they’re hungry, and the tiny chines on their back where their sharp spine will eventually grow in, just like Simon’s.

Briefly, she tries to remember her other family. The one that came before this one. But all that encompasses her mind is a supermassive black hole in place of memories. For some reason she can’t delineate them. The face of her father is blurry and the features of her mother fit together like a crudely sewn patchwork quilt.

She doesn’t remember much of her family. It’s kind of weird. She can’t remember if they liked her or not.

But she knows that doesn’t matter. Not when she has doting men around her and their litter hanging off her hips, another one currently swelling under her belly.

She pays no heed to the missing person posters taped to the fringes of the mountain that look eerily similar to her. Not to the K-9’s that try tracking scents but fail because she’s written with Simon and Johnny’s musk. She ignores the odd helicopter passing through each month, scarcely flying past their ramshackle cabin.

None of it matters because she knows she’s where she needs to be.

[peachdues]

Levi Ackerman can and will blow your back out, but he’s also the type to lean in and press his lips hard against your forehead when you’re in the middle cumming so prettily for him.

He has your legs bent and nearly pinned to your ribs beneath the solid mass of his body. His arms are braced on either side of your head, one hand loosely fisted into your hair to make sure you keep your eyes on him and him alone. Every bit of his weight bears down into you, and it strikes you that between the fullness you feel from his cock and the pressure of his body against yours means there is no part of you that isn’t being thoroughly and completely consumed by him.

He curls one arm over your head, caging you in against the pillow while the other shoves between your sweat-slickened bodies. You think he means to play with your clit, but instead his hand presses firmly against your lower stomach as he continues hammering into you, allowing the blunt head of his cock to push repeatedly against that spot deep within that makes your vision turn white and your toes curl.

“There you are — oh,” he smirks at how you begin trembling beneath him, and the vibrations of your body only magnify as he rubs his hand in time with each hard grind of his hips as his cock continues bullying deeper and deeper into your soaking heat. “That’s the spot, huh, pretty girl?”

His smug, mocking smirk is a front; you know it by the way the muscles in his shoulders tense, signaling he’s summoning every bit of his own will power to fight off his own release, far too invested in savoring yours.

You’re also trying to hold on, and he knows that; he can sense it in the way your nails bite into his back, can see it in how your teeth sink into your plump bottom lip.

You want to cum — badly. And he’s more than eager to see you fall apart.

A growl, low and possessive builds in his throat. “Go on then — be a good girl and give me what I want.”

He gives another sharp, pointed thrust of his hips, burying himself all the way to his hilt before grinding against you, hard. “Let go,” he orders, his voice firmer and you know the leash he has on his own restraint is rapidly fraying.

Levi exhales a quiet swear of relief when he feels your cunt finally seize around him like a vice, and he is transfixed by broken staccato of his name that falls from your pretty lips as your climax washes over you like a wave. A surge of pride wells in his chest at how you manage to keep your eyes locked with his, even though he knows your instinct is to let them roll back into your head as you float among the clouds of pleasured bliss only until he can reach in and haul you back down to earth.

“Atta girl,” he coos, and the pace of his hips slow from those relentless, bruising thrusts to a gentle canting, each roll into your heat deep and purposeful. Then, he feels a surge of your wetness gush over him, dampening the coarse hairs of his base as the walls of your cunt continue to flutter and pulse around him, and Levi somehow finds himself becoming even more smitten with you than he already is. “Oh — it’s a big one, isn’t it?”

And when you look up at him with those big eyes of yours — wide and sparkling with tears of pleasure and exhaustion- and you nod, lower lip quivering, Levi can’t help but lean forward to press his lips to your forehead, as he continues fucking you through your high.

“Good girl,” he murmurs against your damp forehead, his groin churning torturously against yours. “Good fucking girl, cumming for me like this.”

Each grind of his coarse base right against your clit sends sparks additional waves of electrifying pleasure rocking through you until your legs are twitching and spasming beneath him. But Levi only chuckles, the sound dark and rich and so distinctly him.

He continues to guide you through the dizzying ripples of your orgasm, and when the last, gentle wave flickers out like a candle flame, Levi imparts one, final kiss against your forehead.

And then he pulls back, but he is not finished — no where near it, in fact. One by one, your legs are pushed over his shoulders until your knees are pressed to your chest, and his lips curl into something between a grin and a sneer.

He leans down and presses his mouth to the shell of your ear, and you’re not sure whether it’s the heat or his breath or the severity of his promise that sends an excited chill down your spine as he hisses, “My turn.”

Banners from @/benkei-bear!

[stevieschrodinger]

Part One Two Three

Robin sucks on her drink through her straw, “why, exactly, are we here?”

Steve sighs into his own drink.

Robin looks around the yard from her perch on a lawn chair, “I can’t help but notice, Steven, that we are very clearly the oldest people here.”

Steve watches Eddie balefully. He’s trying and failing to light the grill. It’s almost embarrassing to watch; Steve can’t seem to look away.

“Steven, I am drinking something that was mixed together in bowl. I’m drinking it out of a red solo cup. I haven’t touched one of these in a decade. I require an explanation.”

“I don’t have one.”

“That is a lie. Your pants will catch fire and then you can use them to help that moron to light the grill.”

They watch for a little longer.

“Fucks sake Steve just go and do it for him. This tastes like paint thinner; I’ll need to eat some bread at some point or I’ll go into kidney failure.”

Steve gets up and lights the grill for Eddie. He’s wearing another butchered tee shirt and some black board shorts. He’s so pale, and all of his bony bits are on show. Elbows. Wrists. Ankles.

His hair is gathered up into a messy bun on top of his head.

He still has a smear of make up on one eyelid where it hasn’t washed off properly.

Steve knows exactly what he sounds like when he comes.

“Thanks man,” Eddie’s blushing. He’s rubbing the back of his neck. It reveals Eddie’s pale ribs. His dark hairy armpit-

Steve runs away before he does something stupid.

“Okay, so, step by step, no gory details please, what exactly happened last night, because I know damn well you didn’t spend the entire forty five minutes I was waiting hanging around in a gross bathroom.”

Steve sighs, rubs his forehead, then goes and gets them both refills.

“Coward,” Robin calls after his retreating back.

He’s refilling their cups with an honest to fucking god soup ladle out of the kitchen – avoiding the fly that has met it’s sticky end in what is, no doubt, highly toxic punch – when it happens.

“Hey man,” Steve is being addressed by an actual pimply teenager.

“Hey.”

“Nice car,” he sounds weirdly angry about it.

“Uhhh...thanks,” because Steve doesn’t know what the fuck else to say to a dude wearing a dungeons and dragons tee shirt over flaming basketball shorts. He has nothing on his feet. Outside. Steve represses a shudder.

“Look, you clearly have money, or whatever, and probably a fancy job and you’re like, forty-”

“Hey-”

“- or whatever, but this thing with Eddie, can you make it fast please? Dragging it out isn’t fair on him.”

Steve blinks. He’s getting a shovel talk from someone who probably doesn’t know what a VHS is.

Steve can remember playing video games with no save; if you were going to do it, you had to play the whole damn thing in one go. Steve didn’t have a mobile phone until he was fifteen. Steve is not going to take this.

“This ‘thing’ I have with Eddie is none of your business. Eddie can speak for himself-”

“No Eddie cannot speak for himself, because Eddie is the nicest guy I know and Eddie already thinks he’s in love. Don’t think I don’t see what this is for you, Eddie’s just another thing to play with until you get bored. Look at this place, look at us. Now look at you and you’re fancy friend over there,” the kid gestures and, yeah, alright, the difference is pretty obvious, “you wouldn’t be caught dead here, slumming it, if you weren't getting something out of it. Now hurry it along, Eddie only writes good stuff when he’s heartbroken. Which is a lot, by the way. We all know how this goes.”

“What’s wrong with your face?”

“I just got a shovel talk from a kid who probably shouldn’t even be drinking yet.”

“Ouch,” Robin takes her drink back, “how does that feel?”

Steve shrugs, “not sure, actually.”

Across the yard, Steve watches as Eddie gesticulates wildly and hisses angrily at the pimply face DnDer. He catches Steve watching. Eddie grabs the kid by the arm and drags him away.

“The burgers are burning,” Robin idly points out.

Steve sighs, he loves this polo, grease stains are a bastard, and the chances of finding an apron in this place are none existent.

At least Robin comes with him. She half unwraps some cheese and generally pretends to busy herself, slicing buns and stacking paper plates.

“So, last night?”

“Right,” Steve sighs through his nose, shuffling some onions around on the flat plate. “So I was just going to you know, get him.”

“Get your man tiger,” Robin purrs.

It shouldn’t be funny, but it kind of is. Steve laughs.

“But he just...grabbed my hand. And he said ‘Steve! Come and meet the guys!’ So I...did.”

“He introduced you to his friends,” Robin raises that lethal eyebrow.

“Yeah.”

“And you went along with it?”

“Well I kind of...he didn’t let go of my hand so I kind of…”

Both of Robins eyebrows are now in the stratosphere. She appears to spend a few minutes digesting that, “and then you got invited to...this.”

Steve’s already dug half a hole, and he still apparently has the shovel in his hand, so he keeps going, “he was just so happy to see me,” Steve admits, quietly.

“Who is that?”

“Who?”

Robin grabs Steve by the hair and forcibly turns his whole head, “that.”

There’s a blonde girl talking to Eddie. She’s wearing a white tank top and daisy dukes, “no idea.”

“Come on, high time you introduced me.”

Steve really tries, but he cant hide the fact that he is delighted by this turn of events, “why, Robin Buckley! Oh how the tables have turned-”

“Shut the fuck up. I’m going to make her cry.”

Part Five

[stylesispunk]

"You're always on my mind"

Joel Miller x f!reader.

summary: You are Joel's reason to live and he is yours.

word count: 3k

warnings: some fluff and heavy angst.

a/n: I'm still on my writing break, but I couldn't take this one out of my head, so you have it here. I don't want to go into details because it would spoil the whole fic, but this is pretty much based on a movie, and by the name and the song, you may get the idea which one is it. Reblogs and comments are appreciated, so please come here and tell me your thoughts. Happy reading 💌

dividers by @/saradika-graphics

Finding such beautiful things in a world like this was not an easy thing to do. In a world like this, there was no spare room for distractions but survival.

In a tarnished world, you were a rose blooming from frozen ground, when neither the coldness of the cryptic winter could end your sweetness.

You were there even when your heart broke at the sight of him, defeated and lost without his Sarah; without the tiny baby he raised, he died in his arms that night of September.

You were there when he became cold, and Machiavellian, a distant ghost of the sweet man with the gleamy brown eyes that smiled at you without a warning, was just off and gone.

And you were broken for him, anxious and afraid of him letting his life go away because the pain of tightening his chest might have been stronger than his love for you.

He was hurting you by hurting himself, and he knew it. He knew he was hurting you; he was aware of the pain he was causing just by looking at your somber gaze, lost in state. Yet he couldn't care or see beyond his own pain. He had lost his daughter and his baby, and he was losing you as you slipped through his fingers.

He had tried to end his life, but he failed. He was going to leave you behind, and he didn’t think about it. He had decided he was going to die and find solace in the thought that he would be reunited with his daughter in a peaceful world while leaving you in a tarnished reality full of monsters and nightmares. Alone with your fears and pain suffocating your lungs. Alone, just by yourself, as if he wasn't the only reason you had to survive.

After the bullet rubbed the skin of his temple, you became silent. You weren’t able to look at the scar marked on his skin, let alone look at his eyes.

And Joel’s heart was constricted against his ribs. Once he failed, he woke up from his trance, and he became aware that he hadn’t been looking after you as he should, but you were silent and you were on his mind.

You weren’t talking, but he knew you were broken because of him.

One day, you were coughing, and Joel's heart contracted against his ribs, and his breath stopped as he listened to your complaints.

"You're sick," he said, looking at you, pacing angrily at him mostly.

Silence.

"You should drink water or

"Or one of those things is going to come after us, I know," you replied without giving a look.

“Do you want to get yourself?"

"Killed? Yes, maybe I do want that." Your voice was motionless, as your eyes kept staring at the flames from the fire flying away to the sky.

"Don't you ever say that; you hear me?"

Silence, defeating silence.

"Answer when I talk to you, please.” He looked for a glimpse of the spark that used to adorn your gaze. Joel's voice trembled with emotion as he stepped closer to you.

"You can't give up," he pleaded, his voice barely above a whisper.

You turned away from him, unable to bear the intensity of his gaze. The fire crackled softly in the background, casting flickering shadows across the walls of your makeshift shelter.

“You were going to give up,” you whispered once you weren’t facing him.

Joel's heart sank at your words, the weight of them heavy in the air between you. He reached out a hand, hesitating, before gently resting it on your shoulder.

"I... I know," he admitted, his voice barely audible over the crackling of the fire. "I was lost. I was so consumed by my own pain that I couldn't see beyond it. But seeing you... seeing how much I've hurt you... it's woken me up."

You felt his touch, gentle over your skin, but you couldn't bring yourself to face him. The wounds were still raw, and the pain was too fresh.

"I'm sorry," Joel whispered, his voice filled with remorse. "I'm sorry for everything I've put you through. I don't deserve your forgiveness, but I promise to do better. To be better."

Silence hung heavy between you, but it wasn't the suffocating silence of before. It was a silence tinged with possibility and the hope of redemption.

Slowly, tentatively, you turned to face him, searching his eyes for any sign of sincerity.

"You tried to kill yourself, Joel!" You called out "You are in pain, but I am too! Sarah was mine too; maybe not by blood, but she was my daughter too." You sobbed, not being able to contain the tears from spilling. "You were going to leave me alone. Here and-"

He cut you off by pressing his lips against you, expressing all the love he held on his chest and on his whole body for you.

"I love you; I love you; I love you," he murmured against your lips, recomforting, "I'm sorry."

As Joel's lips met yours, a flood of emotions washed over you: love, sorrow, forgiveness, and hope. His kiss was a silent confession, a promise to be there for you, to fight alongside you, no matter what challenges lay ahead.

Tears mingled with the warmth of his embrace as you melted into his arms, feeling the weight of the world begin to lift from your shoulders. In that moment, you realized that, despite the pain and the struggles, there was still beauty to be found in the love you shared.

"I love you too," you whispered against his lips, your voice trembling with emotion. "I forgive you."

Joel pressed his forehead against yours, holding your face in his palms with such a delicate touch. "We keep each other alive," he murmured.

"We keep each other alive," you echoed softly, the weight of his words sinking in.

He kept the promise. He would live for you, and you would live for him; you were each other's reason to stay alive in a mad world.

With time, he let his guard down. Settling in a place like Jackson, in a world like this, it seemed like a dream and a nightmare at the same time. There were people laughing, wearing nice clothes, and sleeping under a safe roof, and yes, it was nice, but Joel didn't want the conformity to ruin his careful routine.

But he couldn't help it. It was impossible to resist his sights in the mornings when the first rays of sunshine peeked through the window, directly at you on your side of the bed. He was astonished by you, by the effortless beauty of your creases and your ends, by your peaceful demeanor, next to the warmth he would provide. 

While his achy bones and silver hair reminded him that he was getting old, you looked the same, as if time and pain never took their toll on you.

"You always do that," you murmured, your voice drained from sleep.

"Do what?" was his question, smiling.

"Staring," you blinked your eyes open, trying to wash your sleep away. "It's creepy"

"I love watching you sleep, so I can remember what you thought the day was."

You chuckled; the sound resonated in Joel's ears.

"Sorry if it creeps you out," Joel said, his smile softening. "I just... I can't help it. You're beautiful, even when you're asleep."

You rolled your eyes playfully, reaching out to tousle his hair affectionately. "You're such a sap, Joel."

He laughed, leaning into your touch. "Maybe I am. But I mean it. You're the reason I’m alive.”

Your smile dropped. “Don’t say that.”

Joel's expression softened, realizing he may have touched a sensitive nerve. He gently took your hand in his, his eyes searching yours with sincerity.

"I'm sorry; I didn't mean to upset you," he said softly. "But it's true. You've been my anchor through the storm, the light in the darkness. Without you, I don't know where I'd be."

A tiny smile graced your lips as you looked at him, studying his face, the creases on his forehead, and the silver hair growing. Time had hurt Joel, but it made him look beautiful to your eyes, and you felt a sadness within your body.

“What do you want to do today?” Joel asked, smiling at you.

You took a moment to compose yourself, letting Joel's words sink in before responding. Despite the weight of his declaration, you knew his love for you was genuine, and it filled you with warmth.

"I don't know," you replied, returning his smile. "Maybe we could take a walk around the town? It's been a while since we've explored together."

Joel nodded in agreement, his eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. "That sounds like a great idea. It'll be nice to spend some time outside, away from these walls.”

Joel didn't like how people ignored him. His protective instincts kicked in as he noticed the way some people in the town seemed to ignore your presence. He tightened his grip on your hand in a gesture of solidarity and support. Even though he knew that you were the only one who could see him, he couldn't bear to see you being overlooked and dismissed by others.

“You seemed tense,” you joked, nudging his neck with your nose as you walked.

Joel couldn't help but chuckle softly at your attempt to lighten the mood, grateful for your ability to find humor even in difficult situations.

“Yeah, well, I hate how people look at me as if I were," he replied, his voice tinged with warmth as he squeezed your hand gently.

“You know why,” you whispered, mostly to yourself.

His gaze lingered on you for a moment before turning his attention back to the path ahead.

Just then, Tommy noticed Joel walking and approached him with a friendly smile.

"Hey, Brother! Where are you off to?" Tommy called out, his voice breaking through the silent atmosphere in Joel’s little world.

Joel glanced at Tommy, offering a small smile in return. "Just taking a walk," he replied, gesturing the way.

Tommy's smile widened as he nodded, noticing Joel’s cheerful humor. "Nice to see you out and about.” He downed his head for a moment. “Are you okay, right?”

Joel looked at Tommy for a moment, waiting for the words to come out of his lips: “Better than ever.”

"Yeah, Tommy, I'm doing alright," Joel replied, his voice laced with false cheerfulness. "Just enjoying the day."

Tommy nodded, though a hint of skepticism flickered in his eyes. "Good to hear, Joel. If you ever need to talk, you know where to find me."

With that, Tommy bid them farewell, leaving Joel to grapple with the weight of his secret once more. As they resumed their walk, Joel couldn't shake the feeling of isolation that gnawed at him, knowing that no matter how much he longed for connection,.

“Don’t be mad. He’s just worried,” you said, picking up on Joel’s behavior.

Joel sighed softly, grateful for your understanding and support. He knew you were right; Tommy meant well, and his concern was genuine. Yet the weight of his secret still pressed heavily on Joel's shoulders, a constant reminder of the barrier that separated him from the rest of the world.

"I know," Joel murmured, his voice tinged with sadness. "I just wish I could... I’m the big brother.”

You squeezed his hand reassuringly, offering a silent gesture of comfort. Joel found solace in your presence, in the way you understood him without needing words.

"I'm lucky to have you," Joel whispered, his gaze softening as he looked at you.

You smiled at him, not speaking more words, and you continued your walk together, hand in hand. 

Once you were outside the walls of Jackson, you led the way. As Joel noticed the surroundings, his apprehension grew with each step. Memories of that fateful day flooded his mind—the pain, the fear, and the aftermath.

"I don't like this place," he said, his voice tinged with apprehension as he halted abruptly in his tracks.

You turned to face him, noting the five-foot gap that separated you. "Please, “you implored, your fingertips gently caressing his cheeks. His eyes closed, savoring the warmth against his skin, oblivious to the tears welling up.

"Love," he murmured, his voice trailing off.

“Please, tell me you still have that sweet love inside you," you pleaded, still tracing delicate patterns on his face.

"You know I don’t," he finally answered, his voice breaking mid-sentence.

As the warmth of your touch withdrew, he opened his eyes, meeting yours with a mixture of fear and longing. Tears shimmered in your eyes, and Joel felt his heart clench.

"It's been a year, Joel," you whispered, but he shook his head, unwilling to accept your words.

"You need to let me go," you urged gently.

"I can't. I don't want to," he replied, his voice thick with emotion.

Your heart ached as you listened to Joel's words, knowing the depth of his pain and longing. You wished you could ease his suffering; you wished you could erase the sorrow that weighed so heavily on his shoulders. But you also knew that holding on to the past would only prolong his agony.

"Joel," you said softly, reaching out to cup his face in your hands once more.

“I can’t,” he repeated. “This is the only way I can have you,” his tears falling down his checks.

"I can't just let you go," Joel protested, his voice trembling with the weight of his emotions. "I was so happy that you were mine.”

Your eyes softened with understanding, yet they were also filled with a profound sadness. "I know it's hard, Joel. But holding onto me like this is only hurting you more. You deserve to find peace."

Joel's gaze faltered, torn between the desire to cling to the memory of you and the need to find a way to heal. His heart ached with the unbearable emptiness that consumed him, a void that seemed impossible to fill.

"I don't know how to live without you," he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper.

You reached out, gently taking his hand in yours, offering him a silent anchor amidst the storm of his emotions. "You don't have to do it alone, Joel. Let me be a part of your memories, but also let yourself live for the present."

Tears welled up in Joel's eyes, his resolve crumbling beneath the weight of your words. Slowly, hesitantly, he nodded, a flicker of hope stirring within his heart.

“Close your eyes,” you told him, grabbing the same hand you had put on the wedding band the day you got married, when the world hadn’t ended.

As Joel closed his eyes, a sense of calm washed over him, knowing that whatever was to come, he was not alone. He felt the warmth of your touch and the gentle pressure of your hand in his, and he let himself be enveloped by the love and comfort you offered.

With a trembling breath, you began to speak, your voice soft yet filled with emotion. "Joel," you whispered, your words carrying the weight of a lifetime of love and memories. "I want you to know how much you meant to me and how deeply I loved you."

Tears streamed down Joel's cheeks as he listened, hanging onto every word and every syllable that passed your lips. He felt his heart ache with bittersweet longing, the pain of losing you mingling with the warmth of your love.

"You were my everything, Joel," you continued, your voice breaking with the intensity of your emotions. "And even though I'm not physically with you anymore, I will always be a part of you, guiding you and watching over you."

Joel's grip tightened around your hand, his chest constricting with a mixture of grief and gratitude. "I love you," he whispered, his voice choked with emotion.

And then, as you finished speaking, Joel felt a shift in the air—a gentle breeze that seemed to carry your presence away. He opened his eyes, expecting to see you standing there before him, but to his dismay, you were gone.

"No," Joel whispered, his voice echoing through the empty space around him. "Don't leave me."

But there was no response, no comforting touch to reassure him. You were gone, leaving behind only the memories and an ache in Joel's heart that would never truly heal. And as he stood there, alone in the silence,.

Ever since that tragic day, when you had died while patrolling with Joel, he had been unable to escape the relentless grip of grief. It was a stupid accident, one he could have prevented if he had been faster, but he wasn't, and he was paying the price.

Right now, every moment and every breath seem to echo with your absence. He had held himself to the memories of your laughter, your touch, and your presence by his side. Everywhere he turned, he saw traces of you. You were there, and he could touch you, but now your goodness fades away with the air. He longed for the comfort of your embrace, the warmth of your smile, and the sound of your voice calling out his name.

But there was silence. He turned around, and with the heaviness in his heart and tears spilling down his checks, he walked back alone to Jackson. This time, there was no reminder of you by his side. Tears blurred Joel's vision as he trudged along the familiar path, the memories of that day replaying in his mind like a relentless nightmare.

But no amount of regret or self-blame could bring you back, and Joel knew that he would have to find a way to carry on without you by his side.

And so, with a heavy heart and tears still streaming down his cheeks, Joel resolved to carry on, to face each day with courage and determination, knowing that even though you were gone, your love would always be with him.

You were always on his mind.

[inkykeiji]

⋆₊˚⊹♡ alastor + asking to ride him

character: alastor warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, fem!reader, heavy pet/master dynamic, use of Master and Sir, toxic relationship (alastor is mean!), overstimulation, dacryphilia, use of pet as a term of endearment and degradation, minimal prep words: 3.4k

notes: whew!!! this ended up being waaay longer than intended ehehe but!! once again exploring riding alastor and all of the fun that comes along with it. pls enjoy and as always heed the warnings!

It’s late when you appear in the threshold of his bedroom door, lip caught unsurely between your teeth and gaze veiled by thick lashes. Sock-clad toes overlap, toes wiggling unsurely as your fingers twist into a knot in front of your body. 

He sits across the room in one of his plush armchairs, legs crossed and attention focused on the book in his hands, casting you a single, second long disinterested glance as he asks, what is it, sweetheart?

“Can I—Can I ride your cock?” 

Crimson eyes flick up from the pages, interest piqued, steadily holding your stare over the edge of the novel. Your features twist in a cute little wince, eyes squinting against the intensity of his gaze, but you don’t dare to look away, baring yourself to him.

His scrutiny burns, tears your skin from your bones and gouges your eyes from your skull, pries apart your ribs one by one and rips into muscle, ravenous to reach your core. 

And all the while you let him, quivering form standing vulnerable and raw in front of him, offering to him, as his unblinking stare combs over your entire body—from the top of your head to the tip of your toes, unhurried and invasive, climbing back up to reach your face, eyes lidded with indifference.

Finally, he shrugs a shoulder, muttering out a nonchalant, “Hm. I suppose so,” through a contradicting slimy smile.

But when you scamper over to him, so cute, so eager, so fucking pathetic, ready to straddle his lap, he informs you that you’ll have to do all of the work on your own. 

You’re the one who wants it, after all. Why should he have to put in any of the effort?

You suppose he has a point. Either way, it makes no difference to you, dropping to your knees the very instant he informs you, body wedged between his spread legs as dainty fingers creep up his thighs, muscles tensing with the ghost of a shiver as your touch skims over them.

They don’t undo his pants—they don’t even make it to the fucking zipper, opting to cup his soft cock in one palm and his balls in the other, rolling and rubbing in a gentle circular motion.

And his legs spread infinitesimally wider. 

An invitation, a silent urge to keep going.

So you do, like the obedient little pet girlfriend you are, watching with glazed eyes and gaping pupils as his cock fills with blood beneath your teasing touch, twitching to life, hot and hard in your little hands. 

Grinding the heel of your hand into it, it jerks in response, a playful little giggle dripping from your lips, two fingers stroking the shaft, then pressing slow, hard circles into the head. 

And, oh, aren’t you just fucking precious, nuzzling your cheek into it adoringly, breathing out a devoted oh, Master, so airy and melting on your tongue, dense and hot and soaking through his trousers.

“Fuck,” he pants out, the curse nothing more than a wispy murmur. 

Looking up at him, you run your tongue over the head in hard, slow laves, dragging the slick muscle along his straining cock, the flames from the fireplace flickering in your bleary eyes, licking at desirous pupils. 

The cotton is rough against your tongue, abrading your sensitive tastebuds and leaving tingles in their place, but you don’t care, administering heavy rhythmic licks along his shaft, long and languid.

His cock throbs under your lapping, another one of those silent persuasions, and you nestle into it again, your own nonverbal response, rubbing the tip of your nose into the slit and smearing a dewy drop of pre-cum across your skin. Another dollop oozes through his trousers, pearly and glittering, eager to replace what’s been lost. 

The garnish incentivizes you, entices you, and you press an open-mouthed kiss to the yearning head, lips curling around it in a warm, damp embrace, and then sucking slightly, siphoning another drop of that sticky salt to seep onto the slick muscle.

It’s delicious, his essence, so acrid it stings your sensitive skin, copper and decay painting over your tastebuds in thick streaks, each rub depositing another ropy line.

A moan vibrates around the head, and your tongue glides over it firm and fast, desperate to encourage more of the bitter substance, eager for another taste of his seed. Your lips pucker as the force of your suction increases, slicked and glittering with your own sick drool, viscous and pooling at the corners of your mouth to trickle down your chin, tinted slightly milky. 

“Hungry, are we?” 

Another sound of obscenity gurgles past your lips, head nodding in messy strokes, as if you’re drunk off merely a few drops of pre-cum. 

“Maybe you don’t need to ride Master after all.”

Your motions freeze, the haze his taste had cast over your brain instantly eradicated, tongue mid-lick as your lidded gaze drifts back to his, wide and terrified. 

An eyebrow quirks, the smug arrogance smeared across his face stretching, daring you to retaliate. 

“N-No,” you mumble against him, body starting to tremble between his knees, fingers scrabbling against his thighs. “No, Sir, please, I—I want it—”

A heavy palm smooths over your hair, thumb caressing the crown of your head in a manner that feels almost condescending before thin fingers tangle in your strands, hard, yanking and pulling your face up, dense strings of saliva slapping against your chin.

“You have it,” he says, a gleeful malice glinting in his irises, smile spreading wider to reveal razored teeth. “You just want more.” 

Shifting his hips up in a small jerking thrust, he nudges your chin with his clothed cock, cotton soaked all the way through with your spit, a smudge of pre-cum shimmering at the tip. 

“Do you think you could get off on just this? Sucking me off through my pants like some desperate little bitch?”

You could, you’re nodding, nose twitching as you swallow the sob clawing at your throat. You could, but you really don’t want to. 

“Yes, but—I want to ride it so bad, Master—Need to feel it inside of me, Master, need your thick cock fill—filling me up!” you hiccup on a sob, pleading. “Please, let me ride it, Master. I need—need—” 

“Need, huh? Is that so?” he hums. “I’m not entirely convinced. You seem quite content with simply suckling on it through my pants, swallowing mere drops of pre-cum,” he tilts his head in mock thought, eyes glittering, “but I guess it doesn’t take too much to satisfy a whore like you.” 

And it’s true, you do seem content with such scant amounts, keenly siphoning another dewy drop of precursory pleasure onto your tongue, rolling the drenched muscle over his cockhead slow and purposeful, a soft moan vibrating in your throat as it pulses beneath your mouth again, dribbling more syrup. 

“No, no, Sir—Master—please, let me ride it!” 

Oh, how pathetically precious you are, gazing up at him with glazed eyes, tears perilously balancing along your lash line, fat droplets of crystal clinging stubbornly to pretty black wisps—one single blink would send them cascading down.

Alastor’s brows raise. “Are you telling me you wouldn’t be content with just this?” 

Sharp glints of sadism flare in his eyes, impossibly wide smile twitching as it tugs up at the edges. 

“My, my, what a greedy little pet I’ve got myself.” 

“No!” you cough, spitting out the denial so fast it tangles on your tongue. “No, no, not at all, sir.” 

“No?” 

“No,” you repeat, head shaking with vehemence. “I will be satisfied with whatever Master will give me.” 

You recite the statement dutifully, but the painful sincerity ringing in your voice clear and high indicates that it’s authentic nonetheless. 

“And?”

“And I will be thankful for it,” you breathe out, blinking up at him obediently, the words an oath on your tongue, twin streams of salt shimmering on your cheeks attesting to their veracity. 

Crimson beams down on you, smile smeared across his face wide but close-lipped, indifference lidding his unrelenting gaze, contradicted by the sheer power glowing brightly in his irises. 

He holds your eyes for a bit—stretches the moment, lets it linger, lets the desperation grow, lets you marinate in it—before he finally murmurs out good girl, the praise packaged with a patronizing but much-appreciated pat to the head. 

You don’t dare move, though, your stare staying entrapped in his own, body rigid and motionless as it awaits a direct order, pliable putty in his palms.

“Now,” he says in a calm breath. “Get on my cock.” 

Finally, permission. 

It has your body bolting like a flash of lightning, set alight by a handful of such simple words, snapped into action by his demand.

Then you’re clambering into his lap, avid fingers popping the button and tugging the zipper and pulling his cock free from its confines, massive and heavy in your soft palms. 

A tender noise sounds in your throat, something caught between awe and desire, and you can’t help but grind on it a little, head gliding over your swollen clit easily. Your juices glaze his shaft, leaving a pretty glimmering film coating his veiny skin. 

Your cunt isn’t properly prepped, but that doesn’t really matter (it’s your own fault, anyway, for spending too much time worshipping his cock), slit already slicked and dripping with arousal—so fucking easy, you are for him; so fucking wet you are, all from barely touching his cock—that he slides in fluidly enough, one of your hands wrapped around the base steadying him as you sink down on his cock. 

A grunt stutters in his throat, half-stifled by his wide, closed-lipped smile, harmonizing with your low whine of pain as your cute little hole stretches, splits, struggles to swallow him whole in one slow gulp.

But it strains around his girth ardently, delicate skin tearing into tiny stinging fissures as your sweet cunt gorges on him, salivating and voracious.

You always manage, every single time, no matter how much it burns, because then he’s bottoming out, head of his cock pressed snugly against your cervix. Your hips shift in little experimental ruts, grinding the tip into the sensitive mound of tissue and whimpering. 

A hiss slithers through clenched teeth, your whole face screwing up in pain as your cute cunt flutters around him. A dull ache begins to simmer deep in the pit of your belly, a small palm instinctively pressing to your gut, whining a bit when you feel him, burrowing into the tissues from the inside out. 

“Does that hurt?” 

“Uh—Uh-huh,” you gasp out, eyes still scrunched shut tightly, head nodding in tight, tense little motions. 

“Tell me.” 

“It hurts, Alastor,” you mewl, lids lifting to stare at him, to show him the agony simmering in your irises, fresh tears beading your lashes, teetering precariously on the points.

Arrogance softens his features—that smug satisfaction dimming the glint in his eye and the edges of his smile—and his gazes falls from yours, refocusing on the worn novel he had been reading before you so rudely interrupted with your neediness.

That’s your cue to begin. 

You’ve become fairly proficient at using him as a toy, fingers curling around the plush top of the armchair, palms planted on either side of his head for leverage and stability as your hips begin to rock—slow, almost shyly at first; hesitant, cautious, testing. 

But you can never keep that up for long, far too eager to allow the build-up of that delicious tension, far too greedy to not chase after the immediate high, vying and ravenous and entirely addicted, unable to grant yourself more than a handful of moments to savour it, desperate to fuck him like some sort of wild, primal animal.

It’s what he loves most about you—your fervour. 

Your fervour to obey, your fervour to cum all over him, your fervour for whatever part of him he will so graciously gift you—his cock, his cum, his attention, his discipline; it doesn’t matter which it is, it’s all the same to you. Him. Any part of him, every part of him.

And even though he always makes you do all of the work, riding him is your favourite.

Because the best part about riding Alastor isn’t even getting to cum—it’s getting to watch him cum; clear and sharp and so, so beautiful. 

No blurry tears to obstruct your vision, no hair curtaining his face as he folds you in on yourself and pounds you into oblivion, no involuntary scrunches of your lids snapping shut in excruciating pain, just his face, open and accessible, expression entirely unadulterated. 

Pure. 

The pleasure smashes through his facades, through all of his pretences and carefully crafted masks, leaving him wholly unfiltered, raw, real. 

It’s the closest to authentic that you ever get. That you’ll ever get. 

But the fact that he allows you to orchestrate it, the fact that he allows you to witness him in such a vulnerable and personal state? Well, that’s something special to you. That’s what makes this position the best. 

It’s a difficult feat to get him there, to have his cock throbbing and filling you, hot and sticky and so, so much, without the use of violence or sadism, but you manage.

Because there’s just one other thing that works: Power.

Angling your hips just right, you fuck yourself with his cock, rolling the head over that plush spot, fleshy and engorged deep within you, assaulting it harsh and fast, just like he usually does. 

“Sir, Sir, Sir,” you’re chanting out in time with the gyrations of your hips, eyes glassy and shining with devotion. 

“Hm?” An eyebrow raises, disinterested, gaze refusing to leave the pages in front of his face. 

“Thank you, Sir,” you gush, words flowing in an appreciative stream. “Th-Thank you for allowing me to ride you.” 

His eyes flick up for a moment, clear and sharp, holding your own, a question imbued in the subtle motion. 

“It—It’s so good, Master,” you answer in a whine, staring at him with such stark sincerity it almost hurts, irises twinkling. “Your cock feels so g-good!” 

Pomposity polishes his features, lidding his eyes and curling his smile. 

“Yes,” he hums out, stare returning to his book. “You are quite a privileged little girl.” 

“I am, I am,” you agree with vehemence, voice tapering into a whine. “I’m so lucky, Master.” 

“And yet, you are still a greedy little brat.” 

“Can’t help it,” you moan. “I jus—I jus’ can’t get enough of it, Master; of you, Master.” 

His hips jerk slightly—a barely-there motion, something you’d never notice if you didn’t know to look for it—and you whimper loudly, bouncing accelerating, his little movement a non-verbal demand to ride him harder, to fuck him faster, to give him more.

And you happily oblige. Even when his orders are silent, written inconspicuously in the shift of his pelvis, you still instantly obey. 

God, he’s got you trained so well. 

You can see it engulfing him, this potent power he holds over you, ultimate and absolute. Authority cloaks his shoulders, the glow in his eyes glaring bright, his chest puffing out just a touch as his spine straightens. 

“I know you can’t, pet,” he says, arrogance wispy in his tone, brimming with a type of hedonistic pride. “It will never be enough for my selfish little girl, will it?”

No, no, no, your head is shaking, compliments pouring from your mouth, encased in thick strings of drool.

“I—I love it s’much, Master,” you’re babbling, half-delirious, hips gaining speed with each rock forward. “Love your cock so much!”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, yeah,” your head nods, loose and slack, words slurring a little. “Feels so good, Sir; feels the best, Sir.” 

“The best, huh?” 

“The best, the best, the absolute best—Better than any cock I’ve ever ridden in this life and every other.” 

“F-Fuck,” he breathes out, static eradicated from his voice, leaving it raw, naked. “Even without Master doing anything, it’s still the best.”

“Still the best,” you confirm. “Still my favourite.” 

A half-stifled groan sounds in his throat, something he tries to swallow down, something that refuses to be silenced, pleasure clawing at the back of his tongue.

The burn in your thighs intensifies as your pace increases, muscles flexing and gliding beneath your skin, your lungs stinging with each ragged inhale, chest heaving with your uneven gulps.

“Fills me up so perfectly,” you continue, words fading into an airy mewl, high and needy. “Better than anyone else ever could, ever can, ever will.” 

“You’re goddamn fuckin’ right,” he growls out, and even though his eyes are framed by heavy lids, his irises are incandescent, power staining them a radiant blood red, deeper and darker than normal, gaping and starved. “No one but your Owner could ever make you feel like this.”

Your head moves in frantic motions—yes, yes, yes!—fingers curling over the top of his armchair, nails scraping against the upholstery and leaving shredded little gouges in their wake.

“No one compares, Alastor—No one could ever, ever compare!”

“Christ,” he nearly whines, the curse shattering at the end as his hips stutter up—involuntary, instinctive. 

Three more grinds over that plush spot, hard and fast and rough, and then you’re convulsing in his lap, cute little cunt clenching almost violently around his cock—a desperate plead of sorts, begging him for his cum; please, Master, give it to me, please, Master, I want it so bad! 

The words fall from your mouth in a tangled stream, fucked sloppily from your throat as your hips continue to buck, each swipe of your clit over his slick pubic bone forcing another vicious ripple of chills to shudder through your form. 

It hurts, body shocked with erratic jolts of overstimulation, but you don’t dare stop, drops of sweat sprouting across your skin, tiny jewels strung along your hairline and adorning your temples, jagged little yelps slipping past your gritted teeth.

And it’s your dedication that finally sends him tumbling over the edge, your borderline religious commitment to ensuring his pleasure even at the expense of your own, book falling from his palms and fingers digging into your flesh as his hips jackhammer up. 

Two merciless pumps of his cock before he’s spilling into you, giving you exactly what you’re sobbing for, stuffing your little cunt full of his seed until it can’t take anymore, until it’s too much, until it’s seeping past the tight seal of his shaft to dribble down his balls in thick dollops of cream—and more, Alastor, more, more, gimme more!, your thighs tensing on either side of him as your little hole constricts purposefully, desperate to milk him for every last drop, the rolling of your hips turned ravenous, ruthless. 

“Fuck, fuck,” he’s hissing, claws piercing your hips as he forces you to stop, little trickles of crimson oozing from the tiny punctures. “S’enough.” 

“S’never enough,” you whine dreamily as your body slumps forward, head buried in his shoulder, little tongue lapping up droplets of dewy sweat in kittenish licks.

“You really are such a spoiled little pet,” he says, but his voice is gentle, a palm petting the back of your head.

A hum vibrates on the back of your tongue and you nuzzle your face further into his damp neck, tongue flattening against his skin and following the curve down to his sharp collarbone, lips latching over one of the protruding knobs and sucking.

“Can’t help it,” you sigh out, muffled, the words humid and slick on his skin. “It really is my favourite thing in the whole world, Sir. I adore you.” 

The tender confession beads along his neck, your hot breath turned to tiny droplets of condensation, and he sighs, the tension coiled in his muscles beginning to ebb. His limbs unwittingly melt into your own as he rests his chin on the crown of your head, quivering hands retrieving his book and finding his previous page. 

When he speaks again, his voice is soft, so quiet you nearly miss it—would’ve missed it, had you not felt the words rumble in his throat. 

“I adore you, too.” 

More than he wants to. More than he should. More than he could ever adequately express. 

[snek-eyes]

I keep thinking about what slotting the Job sequence in between the Flood and the Crucifixion does for Crowley’s arc, and his relationship to both Aziraphale and heaven.

@amuseoffyre did a great analysis of the importance to Aziraphale's arc here that sparked this thought, but it sent me down a rabbithole because A+C are both having very different experiences here.

Compare how Crowley bounces up to Aziraphale at the flood vs how standoffish he is when the angel shows up to the Job situation. Aziraphale is the one who's all friendly, "Oh it's you!" while Crowley... is pretty businesslike, at least until he gets the chance to start rubbing the reality of the situation in the angel's face. 

The flood pissed Crowley off. Job is the first time we start to see the more bitter Crowley we'll get to know. In the Garden he was bemused about overreactions and almost having fun poking this angel with questions about God's plans. Beginning of the flood sequence he was pretty playful. This whole earth thing hasn't been so bad so far, and oh here's that weird angel again, that's fun. 

But then he gets hit with God turning on their creation without warning, again. And the flood was at least in God's name ("That's more the type of thing you'd expect my lot to do," he said. Wasn't heaven supposed to be the good guys?). But now with Job? God turns their back and just... doesn't stop hell. Heaven's hands stay clean while hell dirties their evil little claws. Oh, so this is how things are, Crowley realizes. This is the part he's meant to play. Fine. 

And seeing how he acts here... I can't help but feel like he'd mostly given up on Aziraphale after the flood. After Crowley went, "Wtf, this is clearly an atrocity," and Aziraphale stuck to "You can't judge the Almighty!" ...well. Giving away the flaming sword was probably a fluke. Just another tool of heaven, that one. Disappointing, but what should he have expected? 

So all through their Job interaction he plays up his demonicness, trying to force Aziraphale to toe the party line and prove Crowley's new view on things right, once and for all. But there is a crack there, because not-so deep down Crowley would love for Aziraphale to surprise him again.

(After all... he is lonely. Try some wine with me, or have an ox rib, angel.)

(Fascinated by the difference in Crowley's gleeful "That's just how it started for me, see you in hell" vs. "I'm not taking you to hell, Angel. I don't think you'd like it." And only admitting to the loneliness once he isn't totally alone anymore; I think the original lie was more to himself than anything. He's angry, he's bitter, these righteous angels shouldn't think they're any better than him, not when they can doubt too. But when it comes down to it? No, I don't actually want to drag you all the way there. Something about guns and miraculous escapes, and his comment about Wee Morag, it's different when it's someone you know, isn't it. Hm. Anyways.) 

By the end of the Job situation they have a moment where they confirm they are more similar than they thought. But it's not a happy thing. It won't be until Rome when they start enjoying each other's company just for the sake of it. So at the crucifixion Crowley comes up to Aziraphale still prodding at him. You happy about this, Angel? You smirking over how righteous it is? But now instead of, "You can't judge the Almighty," we get "I'm not consulted on policy decisions." Implying he disagrees without really saying it. And that's enough for now, Crowley will take it. 

From the flood -> Job -> crucifixion -> Rome, we see Crowley get angry, then more and more resigned and bitter. Until Aziraphale reaches out and pulls him out of it.

[a-leg-without-fear]

Sweet

sin sin sin sIN SIN THIS IS SIN. please enjoy pleasuring our dear college!matt

Ship: Matt Murdock x Female!Reader

Rating: 18+ (pure filth, truly)

Wordcount: 2.7k

Warnings: smut, sexual situations, foreplay, some depressive thoughts (because i apparently can't write anything without them)

Warm.

Soft, warm, gentle, sweet. Sweeter than anything he’d tasted. Like dew that’s been licked off a cold strawberry, or the fragrant scent that wafts through the air outside of flower shops. A delicate and tender sweetness. Subtle, comforting, like the smell of home after being away for years. Such sweetness could make Matt lose himself, letting himself drift away on a current of fond smiles and warm embraces. He would allow himself to drown in the sweet taste, even if it was the last drop to pass his lips before he drifted to the ocean floor.

At the sudden loss of the warmth, the tenderness, the sweetness, Matt’s throat let out a whine of annoyance. His body moved of its own accord as he scrambled to reconnect himself to the source. Fingers tangling in silken hair. Hand bunching in a tank top. Teeth nipping at a plump, pink lower lip.

“Matt,” you sighed. The words cascaded past Matt’s tongue and down his throat, carrying a breeze filled with cherry blossoms in their wake. He could distantly feel delicate fingertips brush at his jaw. A tingling warmth trailed behind the gentle touch, only fueling his need to swallow as much sweetness as he could.

“Matt, honey. Breathe.”

Matt’s eyes fell open as he pulled away from his brief reprieve. His senses came crashing down like a cave in. All he could see was a haze of swirling oranges and reds that filled every inch in sight. Streaks of flame and blood painting the college dorm room like a canvas on fire. His cotton shirt was too tight, too scratchy. The humid air settled in his pores like an unwelcome visitor. A sudden cacophony of noise spilled into his ears through the crack under the door and the thin material of the walls. He blinked a few times to reorient. 

The first inhale he allowed himself felt like a punch in the lungs. Gone was the taste of strawberries or cherry blossoms, the feeling of warmth and comfort. A sharp tang of stale alcohol plunged its way into his sinuses and left him reeling. Notes of old, worn carpet and water-damaged ceilings shoved their way through to stand side by side to overwhelm thought and feeling. Matt screwed his eyes shut, trying to recall the smell of flowers that flowed like water down his throat.

“Hey, I’m right here,” you whispered, your melodic voice brushing aside the sounds assaulting Matt’s senses. Your soft hand rested along his jaw and brought his forehead to yours. Matt could feel your breath fan across his face. Warm and gentle and sweet.

“I… I’m sorry,” Matt said. He felt naïve. The world was harsh and cold and unforgiving. He shouldn’t have let himself get carried away by the allure you unintentionally provided. The sweet ambrosia that flowed from your lips could never compete with the torrential downpour of too much all around him.

“Sorry for what?” you asked. Your fingers brushed strands of Matt’s dark hair away from his face, then trailed their way down his cheek to rest on his collarbone. 

Matt opened his eyes again in a desperate attempt to see you. See anything. But all he was met with was the clouded reds and oranges that submerged the world beneath a pool of blood. 

He tried to focus on where your face would be, using the brush of air currents along your seated body to understand where you were on the bed. Your head was cocked, hair falling in front of your kind eyes. Matt could tell you were looking at him. From the way your heart calmly beat behind your ribs and the pheromones that surrounded you like an aura, Matt assumed you were happy. Content.

“I got caught up in the moment,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. You chuckled at his bashfulness, the sound ringing like a small bell around Matt’s head. Hopefully he could deflect from his lapse in awareness. Of course he had to be blind and easily distracted.

“That’s not a bad thing, you know. Just gotta remember to breathe,” you said. Matt scoffed playfully at the jab. He let his hands drift down to your waist, tucking his fingers beneath the bunched-up hem of your shirt.

“I don’t know, you seem to like it when I prevent you from breathing.”

Your breath caught in your throat as your heart leapt and your face heated. A flash of the intoxicating scent that was distinctly you floated from between your legs. Matt could feel his own arousal swirling like a whirlpool in his stomach. An uncontrollable tempest begging to be released over calm waters. Despite how desperately he wanted your clothes off and you beneath him, he pulled his mouth into a cocky grin while his fingers worked their way up to your bra.

“What’s wrong? Feeling embarrassed? Or are you just remembering how good it felt when I choked you?” he purred.

That got you riled up. Your chest started heaving as your skin grew hot and clammy over your entire body. A fresh wave of wetness and delicious scent warmed the inside of your thighs. You swallowed heavily and Matt could practically feel the way the muscles in your throat moved.

But you hesitated. Your fingers stopped their soft stroking along his sensitive skin. Your breath halted just behind your soft lips. Matt’s brow furrowed as a frown tugged at the edges of his lips.

“You okay?” he asked warily. Matt forced his hands to cease in their uphill climb and placed them on your hips. Anxiety gripped at his chest. Did he misread the situation? Misread you? Did he make you uncomfortable? God, what if you finally realized you’d made a mistake in dating him? It was bound to happen, sooner or later.

“Can I be on top tonight?” you asked, as though that sentence didn’t hit him like a ton of bricks to the stomach.

“W-What?” Matt spluttered.

“These past few times you’ve been making me feel good. Really good. I want to try to return the favor,” you explained. Your nails began to pick at a stray thread on Matt’s shirt collar. Matt’s ears picked up on the uptick in your pulse. Were you… nervous?

“If you don’t want to, that's fine, you can be on top. We can also just kiss if that’s more what you’re feeling today. I don’t want to make you feel weird and-”

“Sweetheart, slow down,” Matt said, interrupting your fast-paced tangent. Your mouth clamped shut as a deep breath filled your lungs. Matt grabbed loosely at your shoulders, thumbs rubbing back and forth on your bare skin, as an easy smile fell over his face.

He gave you a few seconds to catch your breath then said, “You can be on top. I just wasn’t expecting you to ask.”

In all honesty, he wasn’t expecting you to ask. Matt’s life was a never ending learning curve of discovering that love was not guaranteed. His mother left before he was a year old, his father died when he was nine, his mentor, Stick, abandoned him at the first sign of affection. He learned long ago to not expect anything from anyone. That was the first lesson Stick had taught him. 

And yet, against all odds, here you sat. An enigma if ever there was one. Offering your affection on a silver platter at Matt’s feet. A clear sign of trust, of devotion, of love.

“Okay,” you said. A relieved smile broke out across your face. You tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear as you cleared your throat. Matt’s heart raced in time with yours. His fingers began kneading in the soft flesh at your hips.

“Lie down for me,” you said. Four words, spoken softly with the gentleness of a feather, yet they struck Matt in the chest like a wide haymaker. A sentence that carried the weight of authority and a gentle caress all in one. Suddenly all he wanted to do was follow instructions.

In a flash he had his head on the pillow, arms at his sides, breathing at an alarmingly fast rate. Anticipation burned its way through his veins and clouded his senses. The world outside the dorm room faded away. Like a memory retreating into a dense fog. Loud voices down the hall quieted into nothing, the humidity in the air evaporated, his shirt felt like the softest silk, and the scent around him. God, all he could smell was you. Your breath was like the first day of spring, your skin like rolling hills of green grass, your hair like soft strands of pure sunlight. Matt’s world was, yet again, sweet.

“Let me know if I’m making you uncomfortable,” you breathed, your lips suddenly brushing against his earlobe. Matt would have jumped had he not been so relaxed beneath your comforting presence. Your sense of calm had washed over him like a warm wave at low tide. 

“I will,” Matt replied, having to use what remained of his mind to form two coherent words. A soft hum of acknowledgement rustled the baby hairs by his ear. He had just enough awareness to track you as you pressed a soft kiss under his jaw. 

A sigh escaped his lips as he tilted his head back against the pillow. You smiled against his skin, rewarding the accommodation by pressing a firmer kiss into the soft skin beneath his ear. Tendrils of goodgoodgood shocked their way through his veins from where your lips connected to the sensitive skin. His breath hitched as he let his eyes fall closed.

“Good spot, I take it,” you said through a smile Matt could hear. Matt barely got out the word “yes” before you licked a broad swipe up his neck and ended at that sensitive spot. Matt’s back arched as a groan kicked its way out of his throat. His hands fisted into your tank top out of pure instinct, practically begging the source of his pleasure to stay put. Another pass of your tongue stoked the embers in his abdomen into a bonfire, flames licking their way over his damp skin.

“Sweetheart, please,” Matt begged, the words a whisper on his parted lips. He wasn’t entirely sure what he was begging for. All he knew was he never wanted you to stop. 

Blunt fingernails traced the exposed skin beneath his shirt. Matt’s hips bucked up, chasing the light touch. The muscles beneath his skin jumped as you slowly, so slowly, started pushing his shirt up. It was agonizing, the feeling of your nails lightly scraping along his stomach. Each finger lit up thousands of nerve endings, each nerve ending pushing him further and further toward the edge of a steep cliff.

You pressed a soft kiss to the shell of Matt’s ear as you whispered, “Arms up, Matt.”

You could tell him to kneel at your feet for the rest of his life and he would.

Matt did the best his melted body could to help you take his shirt off. The two of you were a mess of limbs and cotton for a moment before you were able to pull the infernal garment away. Matt’s arms fell beside him like two sacks of grain. Palms as soft as calfskin ever so gently glided down his bare chest. You made sure every divot and round muscle got the attention it deserved, caressing Matt like he was the finest lace. When your pinky brushed against his nipple, a sharp hiss escaped through his teeth.

You hummed, hands retreating in their path, fingers dancing along the edges of Matt’s nipples. Matt choked out a moan, baring his neck as his back arched into your touch. Your tongue made another pass of his throat as feather-light glances of your fingers across both of his nipples chased the last coherent thoughts from Matt’s mind.

“Fuck,” Matt groaned. Every millimeter of his skin felt like it was aflame. Fire left in the wake of your gentle touch. Burning away all sense and reason until all that was left was Matt’s writhing body.

He was close. Embarrassingly so. Matt clung to the cliff’s edge by his fingertips, each kiss and caress prying his fingers off one by one. His hips moved of their own volition. He was bucking into your thigh like a dog in heat. Whines and moans flew from his glistening lips while his hands scrabbled against the sheets.

With your hands still toying at Matt’s chest, you shifted in his lap until the warm heat between your thighs settled over where his shorts had tented. A slurred string of curses and your name spilled from between his teeth. His wild grinding now dispersed your scent in the air around him. And God, there was so much. It settled into every inch of Matt’s skin until he could taste it on his tongue, feel it coat his lungs as he breathed it in.

“Sw-eetheart,” Matt choked out. He could feel his fingers falling away from the cliff in rapid succession. The precipice below him seemed to climb up the cliffside until it was just beneath his feet, tempting him to let go and plunge into its depths.

The final nail in his coffin was when you nipped at his neck, teeth closing around where his pulse flowed strongest. The air in his lungs leapt through his throat in one big gust. His unseeing eyes rolled back in his head, hands grabbing at anything in their vicinity. 

Matt’s final grip on the cliff fell away, plunging him into warmth and gentleness and sweetness that surrounded him like a strong embrace. Held him tight and wove its way through every muscle in his body. A shock of white hot pleasure rolled through him like a steam train. Starting in his groin and washing over him in wave after wave of fuckyesgoodfuckkeepgoingdon’tstop. He could barely register how loud he was over the roaring in his ears. His heart pounded against his chest like an animal behind bars.

Your lips found his again and everything clicked into place. Matt lapped at your mouth like he was drinking his first glass after a month in the desert. The sweet nectar that you produced flowed down his throat and prolonged his orgasm. His hips rocked up into yours, chasing a heat that he could feel in his bones. Hands, trembling, bunched themselves in your shirt and pulled your chest flush to his.

It took several minutes for the aftershocks to calm down. Every breath, every twitching muscle made his overwhelmed senses go haywire. In his mind, the world around him was a swirling cloud of bliss. All he could hear was your breathing, all he could feel was your heartbeat against his chest, all he could taste was strawberries and cherry blossoms. He let his fingertips trail along your exposed shoulders, zeroing in on the feeling, bringing himself back to reality.

When you felt the movement, you lifted your head to look at him, “Back with us?”

A tired smile spread itself over his lips. Matt opened his eyes, the effort to lift his eyelids like lifting a dumbbell, and let his empty gaze land somewhere on your face.

“Yeah, I’m here,” he sighed. You responded by giving him a quick peck on the lips. Matt grumbled, brow furrowing, then guided your chin back up to kiss him again. You chuckled against his lips, a whisper of “ridiculous man” absorbed between your mouths. Matt relished in the familiar sweetness before letting you pull away.

“I take it you enjoyed that?” you asked. Matt gave you a solemn nod, at which you laughed. He shifted beneath you so he could attempt to meet your eyes.

“Did you like it?” he asked tentatively. He fiddled with the hem of your shirt as he waited for your answer. He hadn’t done anything for you, he just laid there and made you do all the work. What kind of boyfriend was he? Not to mention you didn’t even touch him. A few grazes of your fingers over his chest and he was done for.

“I loved it. It was fun to figure out what buttons to push,” you laughed. The tinkling tune of your laugh erased any negative thoughts Matt retained about the experience. He let his smile return, holding you tighter to his chest.

“Give me a few minutes and I’ll return the favor,” Matt said, letting that seductive edge find its way back into his voice. You shuddered on top of him. Your thighs clenched instinctively around his. You blew a stray strand of hair out of your face, attempting to mask the want clearly written on your skin.

“3 minutes, then we’re back in business.”

“Deal.”

HUGE thanks to the Murdock Tuna Team for being the inspiration for this fic. i have them to blame for the filth that fills my head on an hourly basis.

Murdock Tuna Team 🐟: @vigilxnte-shit @pastafossa @yarrystyleeza @ecxlipse @sunflowersandsapphires @amphitrite-5 @fuckyeahpommelstrike @mar-thewriter @zomtart @what-i-call-men

[bruisedboys]

sejanus plinth x fem!reader | sejanus is a helpless romantic, you’re totally shy under his affections, but he just can’t help himself!

implied shy!reader, coryo being a menace but in a playful way, sejanus being a tease, kissing, so much fluff!!!!

Coriolanus watches you and Sejanus with a look of mild disgust on his face.

“Ugh,” he says. “They’re gross.”

Lucy Gray laughs, up to her knees in the long, soft grass.

“Don’t be mean, Coriolanus,” she chides, digging her elbow into his ribs. “I think they’re cute.”

“Cute?” Coriolanus huffs, incredulous. “He looks like he’s about to eat her.”

Truth be told, Sejanus does look a bit like he wants to eat you. In the most romantic way possible, of course. You’re both sitting on the pier over the lake, and he’s got you in his lap, your knees caged on either side of his hips, his face so close to yours you’re almost kissing. He thumbs at your collarbone, fingers curled over your bare shoulder, hands warm on your sunkissed skin, gazing at you like you’ve been threaded with pure gold. The lake sloshes softly beneath you.

You peek over Sejanus’ shoulder, buzzing with fondness. “They’re looking at us.”

“Who?” Sejanus asks, distracted by the way you shudder under his touch. He thinks it’s sickeningly cute, how shy you are. “Coryo, huh? Don’t worry, honey. He’s just jealous.”

Honey? Heat creeps up your neck at an alarming rate. Any more of this and you’ll melt in a lovesick puddle. The pet name plays in your head over and over like a broken record. Honey, honey, honey.

“Jealous?” You ask breathlessly. You can’t seem to think straight when he’s got you this close. His hands on your skin, his thighs firm under yours. You glance over his shoulder again, self conscious.

“Mhm.” Sejanus brings a hand to your jaw and tilts your head in his direction with two fingers, forcing your gaze away from your friends. “‘Cause you’re so pretty,” he explains, voice like melted sugar. “And I’ve got you all to myself.”

You fear you’ll go up in flames. You hide your burning face by dropping it to his shoulder, shy and so so in love with him. Sejanus laughs softly, soaked through in fondness, and rubs your back with a big warm hand. Your spaghetti strap top means his palm graces a slice of exposed skin at the top of your back, and pleasured goosebumps erupt in his wake.

“I’m sorry, that was a bit much, wasn’t it?” He murmurs, his mouth ghosting your ear, so close he’s almost kissing it. He sweeps his hand up your back and then down again. “C’mon, come back out. I want to look at you.”

He pulls back slightly and gets a hand under your chin to encourage you up. You’re putty in his hands, surprising yourself at how quickly you oblige, how quick you are to do what he wants. He waits patiently for you to meet his gaze and once you do, you find your own feelings of overbearing fondness reflected back at you. His pretty eyes are pools of love, the honey sun painting them the colour of browned butter. You like him so much you could suffocate in it.

Sejanus grins at you, cheeks dimpling. He tucks some of your hair behind your ear.

“Can I kiss you?” He asks softly. His hand lingers at your throat.

“Yeah,” you nod, breathless and much too eager but you can’t bring yourself to care. “You don’t have to ask, Sej.”

Sejanus hums before capturing your mouth in a swift kiss. You breathe him in and curl your hand around his neck, breathing in his scent of pine and firewood, something sweeter, like caramel. Your fingers brush over the short hair at the nape of his neck. He’s told you he used to have curly hair, and as much as you like imagining him with his curls, you like his buzzed hair just as much. He’s so handsome he doesn’t need curls, anyway.

Sejanus brings his hand to your waist and tugs you closer, desperate and greedy but never rough. You go happily, kissing him back with as much earnest as you can manage, pushing up onto your knees in your desperation to be closer still. You get lost, forget where you are, like you tend to do when you’re with Sejanus.

Meanwhile, Coriolanus is fake gagging into the grass.

“You agree that’s a bit excessive, right?” He asks Lucy Gray.

Lucy Gray just rolls her eyes. “You’re dramatic. They’re in love.”

Coryo scoffs. “Couldn’t they be in love somewhere else?”

Lucy Gray watches as you pull away from Sejanus and start giggling like a lovesick fool, while he tries to coax you back into another kiss.

No, she thinks. Not gonna happen.

[catsteeth]

The Caged Bird & The Leashed Dog

Sandor Clegane x reader

+:✿ Chapter - 18 ✿:+ Life, Death, and War. 

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Summary: You are the daughter of Jon Arryn, you and your father travel to King's Landing with the intention of arranging a marriage for you. You catch a glimpse of The Hound during your first night in Kings Landing and it creates a mutual fascination even if he won't admit it. 

CW: MDNI, SMUT, p in v unprotected sex, pregnancy, doggy style, mention of oral, spanking, hair pulling, WAR, character death, labor, mention of forced abortion, NSFW themes, Sandor “my wife” Clegane, misogyny, angst, VIOLENCE, emotional unavailability, emotional vulnerability, The Hound being abrasive, mention of death, blood, threats of violence, 

Word Count: 7.3K 

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

The days were long preceding the war. Perhaps it was the pregnancy, or perhaps it was the anxiety of the coming war. Most likely the pregnancy. You were mostly confined to your chambers if not seated at the council table to set forth plans of war. A task not many pregnant women have done. Your belly was so swollen you could not see your toes as you looked down. Sleep was a rare thing for you to find, and nothing could satisfy your hunger. Hunger for plum cake, sisters stew, roast goose, and even dirt once or twice. As well as an unsatisfiable hunger for sex, it made you irritable and short tempered. You loathed that you’d have to suffer the discomfort another thirty days. But you would have the Eyrie in less than ten. You would birth in the Eyrie, just as your mother did. Such a bittersweetness. 

You began to feel more and more bonded with the little falcon that grew in your belly. Feeling them kick, and turn, even hiccup in your belly. Sandor tried to be by your side as much as he could. However he was the only man you trusted to ready your men for battle, so he took his position with the greatest seriousness. Though not as serious as he took his position as your husband, and father to your child. Any moment he was given he was bringing you meals of any kind you desired. 

However this afternoon was one where his duties drove him to the training yards. Lord Royce often did your bidding, sending as many ravens as the North had to as many Eastern houses as he could. 

Today, you got a response unlike the others you had gotten. It was from Lady Anya Waynwood. With your growing support against Baelish. Baelish blockaded the Vales resources, sending wheat, grains, fish, meat, and bread only to his supporting households. The smallfolk, and common born people starved with the Highborn houses that supported you. Lady Waynwood was urgently seeking your aid. 

“Mhphm.” You groaned and placed a hand on your belly as you felt a kick in your ribs. “I cannot believe it either.” You mumbled to the babe, before shrugging, “Well actually I can. Still it upsets me so.” You said narrowing your brows as you continuously rubbed your belly, pacing your room. 

You looked over your shoulder as the door to your chambers opened. Your husband hunched down as he entered through the door, too short for his stature. 

You placed the piece of parchment over an open flame, letting it burn away, “He has allowed the small folk of the Vale to starve whilst he feasts.” You said with an annoyance turning towards him. “And I have been asked to assist somehow.” 

“You slept?” He huffed stepping towards you, this scene was all too familiar now.

You looked up at him, “I did.” hardly, but you did sleep. Between the constant tending to the babe and the constant tending to the war that nipped at your heels  you found little time for such luxuries. 

“How long?” He placed a large hand on the back of your neck, halting your steps and guiding you back to your bed. 

“Long enough.” You sighed as you laid back down. You groaned in discomfort as you attempted to make yourself comfortable “Maester said-”

“Maester? You let that old greasy cunt-” He interrupted you, and you interrupted him.

“He knows best. Unless you can tell me how well my child grows in me– I am forced to allow that old greasy cunt to poke around my insides.” The thought did not please Sandor, but he chuckled lowly to himself. You rarely swore without his cock in you. But he always liked it when you did. He removed his boots, muddied from the training yards. You continued your previous remark, “Maester says that the babe strong, says it’s strong and progressing well.” You smiled softly running your fingertips along your stomach. Sandor turned away to remove his clothing. You could not see it, but the corner of his mouth slightly twitched upwards in what some would call a smile. Happy to hear the steady and healthy progression of your babe. Perhaps this one would be different from the one his mother suffered, or yours. 

As his last bit of clothing hit the cold stone floor, he was left in his small clothes. The sight made your hunger for sex rise. “Says it‘s all thanks to their father, strongest man in the seven Kingdoms.” You reached for the hand of your husband. 

As you squeezed it, he gripped firmly onto yours. Turning towards you, and laying in bed beside you. Though only late afternoon, he knew you’d only truly sleep in his presence. The weight of him entering your bed, made your body roll into him. 

He groaned softly, placing his free hand a top your stomach. “Let’s hope that’s all they get from me.” His eyes trailed down to your thighs, made more plump and lovely from your pregnancy. He grabbed hold of your inner thigh, running his hand up and down them.

It was strange. You wanted him, wanted him to touch you this way, wanted him to fuck you good and well enough that you’d not have to think of the war and the discomfort that sat on your bladder. But a bit of you, a large bit, could not allow yourself to feel desirable. Your thighs now had scars, not of battle but from your skin stretching to prepare for your baby. Your body had changed. You grabbed ahold of his hand, “Stop it.” You said with annoyance. 

He knew by your tone, it was not a tone of disgust, or unwilling, but of insecurity. “Never had an issue with it before.” He grumbled, losing his grasp on you and gently rubbing your thigh. 

You shifted uncomfortably, “I didn’t look like this before.” You looked into his deep brown eyes, as they gazed down at you.

He bit his lip, his eyes ravaging your plump form, “I like it.” 

You turned onto your side away from him, “Liar.” you rasped. 

He sighed at your unwillingness to see how beautiful you were. But seeing you in that chemise, he found himself hardening. The thin white fabric covered hardly anything at all. He admired the curves of your body, the new  “That feel like a lie?” He asked, pressing his hardened cock into your ass making him groan, and making you tighten around nothing. He grasped your chin in his large hand, forcing you to turn your head to look at him, “Don’t give a fuck what you look like. I’ll never tire of you.” he rasped into your lips. His tongue darted against your bottom lip. He pulled away from you, and his teeth grazed your ear as he whispered, “Get on top of me.” 

You felt heat rise in your body with his breath against your ear. You reached behind you, your hand roaming his hard stomach, getting closer and closer to his cock but never touching it. You knew just how to innocently tease him, “You always say a man is meant to fuck his woman.” You whispered as his mouth began to roam your neck. 

He sucked onto your sensitive skin, and it made an audible noise when he pulled away from you. “Aye. I’ll be fucking you. I just want to see you. All of you.” He kissed the skin of your shoulder as he pulled your chemise down. 

You turned towards him, “Sandor-“ you whined as you grasped hold of his wrist. 

His motions stopped, he looked at you “You don’t want it?” He was not angry, annoyed, or disappointed, simply wanted to know how to please you best in that moment. 

“I do.” You whispered, still insecure despite the encouragement your husband was eagerly bestowing onto you. 

He took your hand that held his wrist, and intertwined his fingers with yours. “Then let me serve you.”

You looked into his eyes deeply as he pressed his forehead against yours. “My body…” 

“Yes, your body.” He groaned, kissing your lips once more, he kissed you like he were drinking the finest and rarest of wine. As he pulled away he rasped, “That’s the fucking point, it’s yours. That’s all that matters. That it’s yours.” His hands grasped ahold of the pathetically thin fabric of your chemise, 

Your eyes never left his face as he tore it off your body with ease. As your breasts became exposed, his rough calloused hands grasped them without mercy. His mouth sucked onto the tender skin of your neck as his fingers pinched at your sensitive nipples.

He began to grind his clothed throbbing cock into your ass. He grabbed hold of your thigh, lifting it to give his cock better access to your cunt. You could feel the tip of his cock, warm and already leaking for you, pressing against the hot and swollen lips of your cunt. As if his cock were kissing the lips of your cunt. 

“I want it.” You moaned as you arched back into him, his lips still attached to your neck.  “I want it so badly.” You squirmed against his touch, lost in the ecstasy of your heightened sensitivity. 

“I want your cunt in my mouth,” He groaned into the hot flesh of your neck, 

You shook your head, tearing away from his grasp, and turning to face him, “Fuck I want you, Sandor.” You said as you held his face in your hands and tried so hard for your lips to catch his, desperate for any touch he’d give you. “I need you inside of me.” 

He liked to tease you, “Not sure I can give you that yet.” He said with a smirk, “I want to taste my wife first.” He rasped. 

You panted pathetically. You finally pressed your lips into his own, as you inserted two fingers into your own cunt, moaning into his mouth. He watched you in awe as you pulled your fingers out of your cunt, and presented them to him. He took your fingers into his mouth, taking in your taste. “Please,” You whimpered. 

He moaned as you pulled your fingers away from his mouth. “Fuck me,” You whispered sweetly. 

His mouth ravished yours as you practically clawed his underclothes off of his body. He pulled you off of him by your hair, “Get on top of me. I like to see your face when I sink into you.” And so you obeyed. Though you were unsure of how you’d support your weight under your weak knees long enough to ride him. But he’d thought of that, “I’ve got you,” you whispered as his large hands grasped your hips. He took you in for a moment as you straddled him, in awe of your beauty. His cock twitched beneath you as he took you in, you felt it tap at your core for just a second. You smiled at him as you lined his cock up with your wet cunt, “I’ve got you.” He whispered once more. 

You began to lower yourself, pressing his length into you. Your face contorted with pleasure and you threw your head back as you felt him pulsing inside of you. Sandor groaned in pleasure, and he ran his large hand from your throat, to your breasts, then your sides, then finally gripping your ass. “Fucking hells, woman.” He moaned through gritted teeth, his eyes unable to close for even a moment as he watched you bounce on his cock. He gripped onto your ass even harder as you clenched around him. He landed a firm slap against your ass, making you squeeze around him even harder and your eyes widened as you looked at him with surprise. “You liked that before.” 

“Again.” You moaned with a smirk, 

He smirked back at you, “There she is.” he groaned as he spanked you again, making you clench around him again, he hissed through gritted teeth. The pleasure your cunt gave was better than anything. This was sweeter than killing, this was sweeter than any wine or ale, sweeter than any whore he’d paid for. The best thing he’d ever had. 

Also uncontrollably he began to buck up into you, the head of his cock hitting your soft spot deep inside your cunt at an unforgiving speed. He looked up at your sweet face, eyes shut and face contorted from the pleasure, “Say those words again.” SPANK, “You know the ones.” he commanded through gritted teeth.

You opened your eyes, “I love you.” You moaned, “I -Ah!- Love you!” You could hardly speak a full sentence with his speed ever increasing, thrusting in and out of you. 

SPANK, “Again!” he commanded, SPANK, 

Your eyes rolled back, and you smiled as you moaned from the euphoria. “I love you,” you steadied your eyes and looked at him deeply, “Sandor Clegane-“ 

That was his breaking point, he pushed you off of him. You looked confused as he made you stand. 

Sandor walked you over to a chair in the room, but not to sit. No, Sandor began to position you, “Kneel.” Sandor commanded, and you obeyed. Kneeling in front of the cushioned seat. “Hold onto it.” He rasped into your ear as he took a hold of your hair. 

You leaned forward, laying your head against the cushioned seat, and your hands holding onto the arm rests. 

Sandor spread your legs, and you arched your back in response. Taking it a sign of your eager desire, he plunged himself back into you. This time thrusting himself in and out of you even harder, and faster. You now understood why he told you to hold on. 

One hand of his gripped at the plushness of your hip whilst the other kept a firm hold on your hair. His grip would tighten pulling your hair just the right amount. “My woman likes it hard,” he groaned as your cunt tightened around him, “I’ll give it to her hard.” He said with another firm spank. “Because she can fucking take it-“ he moaned, cunt drunk. His hand snaked around your thigh, and found your needy and neglected clit. His fingers toyed with it, pinching and circling it, finding just the right rhythm you needed. 

You moaned out louder and louder, not caring who heard you. 

You felt yourself release only this time it was different, somehow you released so much so quickly it was as if your water had broken. Only you knew it was that. 

The wetness splashed around Sandor cock making a vulgar noise as his cock continued to sink in and out of you. He’d never made a woman release like this before. He’d heard men in the kingsguard, or in brothels and taverns gloat about making a woman do what you’d just done. But he’d always believed they’d lied. 

But fuck, you did it, and for him. 

He hunched over as he felt himself cumming into you, kissing your shoulder in an attempt to mask his pathetic moans. 

“Was that wrong?” You whimpered into the cushion of the chair, too tired to get up. 

Sandor kissed your cheek, and plucked you up from the ground, carrying you to bed. “You’re perfect.” He grumped softly as he laid you into your warm sheets. 

As the both of you laid there. He held you close to his chest. You were nearly asleep when all of the sudden it came to you, 

“I’ve an idea.” You shot up in bed, no longer tired or worn out. “Write to my uncle Edmure Tully. Request his aid in feeding the small folk of the Vale. And Write to each of the largest houses in the Vale, I wish to speak to them in person.” 

Sandor covered his eyes and groaned. Even a good fucking couldn’t put you to sleep. 

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

But he did as you asked. And so your uncle agreed to aid your cause as it was what honor demanded of him, and with such a great ally in such a seat of power as yourself he would do all he could to ensure your alliance was strong. Edmure sent Tully knights to deliver packages of food to the small folk of the Vale, and the many houses who supported you. All in your name. 

The people of the Vale now only furthered their support of you, and so did the great houses. Most were eager for the feast Lord Royce had created in your name. It was held in Runestone. You tried your best to wear something other than a robe and with Sansa’s sewing you managed to wear a gorgeous blue gown. 

At the table of the feast, you sat at the head of the table. Beside you, your husband, and to your other side, your brother. Lord Royce sat at the other end of the table and seated on either side of the table were heads of some of the largest houses of the Vale. Houses Belmore, Corbray, Egen, Grafton, Heresy, Hunter, Melcolm, Redfort, and Templeton. And of course houses Torrent, Longthorpe, and Borrell of the three sisters. 

You stood, raising a cup towards the heads of the great houses in front of you, “I thank Lord Royce for hosting such a feast in his home, and offering us all guestright. And I thank you all for coming here. I understand it is an uncertain time. And uncertainty can breed mistrust, paranoia, and unsteady judgment. So allow me to set your uncertainties right.” You said graciously, placing your cup down, “I am the Lady of the Vale. The King's command died with him, but my fathers did not. I am heir to the Vale, as declared by the North, Lord Royce, most of the Vales people, and my own brother Robin.” You said looking over to Robin, he smiled and nodded to you. Your voice turned slightly sterner, “I do not need any of your blessings to take these titles; however I understand and respect how long your houses have sat on this land. I want you all to know a war will be fought on these lands.” You said wanting them to know war was coming, and it was time for them to decide where they fell, “You’ve been starved. Smallfolk have been starved. I have brought you food, brought the smallfolk food, not Littlefinger, but I.” You reminded them as they ate the very food that you graced them with, “I ask for you to not forget your oaths.” You finished as you sat in your seat.

You looked around the table, waiting for someone to say something. 

Lady Waynwood stood, “Your rations have fed our people, saved some from death itself. You have come to our side, offering aid in a time of need and without us begging for it.” She raised her cup towards you, “We shall come to yours.” She said with a nod. 

Lord Belmore stood as well raising his cup to you, “Woman or no, you are the blood of Jon Arryn.” 

You looked over to Sandor, exchanging glances at the Lord's thinly veiled prejudice. Then turning your gaze back to the Lord, and smiling with a nod of gratitude, taking any support given. 

“Fuck Littlefinger.” Ser Symond Templeton grumbled as he stood holding a cup towards you, “We’ve not forgotten.” 

Lord Horton Redford stood holding up his cup, “To Lady Arryn, the mother of the Vale!” 

“Nay, the defender of the Vale!” Lord Eon Hunter interjected, as he raised his cup as well. 

And with that each of the Lords at the table stood, cups rose in honor of you. Even Lords Longthorpe, and Borrell of the three sisters stood. You felt for a moment, a wave of relief, Tyrion was wrong. You would not need to send the Hill tribes to do your bidding and perhaps you’d created peace, a new generation of unity by House Arryn and the Three Sisters. Something your father was never interested in doing. 

However, as your own brother stood for you, you looked over to Sandor who was glaring at a man down the table. Lord Torrent, Lord of Little Sister. The man sat not cheering and celebrating like the other Lords and Lady did. He frowned and ate from the food your family gave to him.

“Lords and Ladies.” You said, making them all halt their celebration, “Lord Torrent, clearly has something to say. By all means, my Lord Express it.” You said with a calm and gentle tone. However the grimace on your husband's face set a much more tense feeling in the room. 

The lords all looked towards Lord Torrent, who scoffed as he spoke, refusing to look at you, “I have something on my mind. I speak of this perversion done to this land.” He said angrily, his eyes settled onto you angry and piercing, “Never hand a wench a-” 

“Sword when she has her blood.” You finished his sentence, unafraid of him “I have heard the joke.” You said with dark eyes, your husband beside you clenched his fist. 

“Shut your mouth, you drunken oaf!” Lord Royce demanded, 

“Why should I?” Lord Torrent snapped back at him, 

“The Arryns saved you from the Starks long ago. The rape of the Three Sisters, you swore felty to her house!” Lord Borrell shouted.

Torrent looked towards you, “Your house’ done nothin’ for us.” 

“She’s fed you!” Lady Waynwood attempted to defend you.

Torrent's eyes didn’t leave you, “One meal after a generation.” 

You leaned forward, “Your house sits upon my land, if I find you are unworthy of its soil… I will shake the ground it sits on until the vermin shatter out of it.” Your eyes narrowed.

“You wouldn’t dare-“ Lord Torrent stood, 

“But I have. Did you not hear me? I have dared.” You smirked and nearly hissed at him, 

Lord Torrent, sat reluctantly, huffing to himself like a spoiled child. 

You did not release him from your violent gaze until he let out a final sigh and nodded. Silently agreeing to aid your cause. 

Now you would be able to tell Tyrion you were right, you would not need the aid of anyone to gain the sisters allegiance.  

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

You did not relish in such a victory for very long however. You were soon back and seated at the council table in Winterfell.

You stared intensely out the window, unsure of the future and uneasy by the many possibilities of it. “War shall be fought on the marrow. At day break.” You declared. 

Tyrion nodded, “We’ve the support of nearly each house within the Land. The others, though few, remain neutral.” 

You contemplated as you asked, “What is our standing?” 

“We greatly outnumber the pretenders.” Lord Royce said proudly, 

“How great?” You pushed the question further.

“Greatly.” Tyrion said before continuing  “Though we set forth to accomplish a supposed impossible challenge. And one that if accomplished allows for speculation of how invulnerable the Eyrie might be.” He said cautioning you.

You raised an eyebrow at Tyrion, “Though that might be. It is a necessity.”

“But perhaps,” Tyrion attempted to continue, 

“I was right about the hill tribes, Tyrion. Allow me to handle the well being of the Vale.” You said calmly but sternly. Setting him in his place. You then pulled out a scroll of parchment, “I’ve written this. This is the plan of battle you and your men will follow.” You held out the scroll towards your husband but pulled it away before Sandor could grab it, “None of you can open it until you’ve left for battle.” They looked at you with confusion, “The element of surprise is key. If it were to be exposed all would be lost.” Sandor nodded and took the scroll from you. “I shall see you off on the Marrow then.” You said to the rest of the men in the room. 

As you and your husband walked out of the council chambers your brother caught up to you,

“I want to fight. Fight for you, and your child. For my mother. For our father.” Robin said as he walked alongside you.

You nearly rolled your eyes, and smirked at him “You believe you’re cut for it?” you asked, not halting your steps. 

“I know that I am.” Robin said confidently, 

“Or you’re young and arrogant.” You said, not meaning to be mean but meaning to convince him to stay away from the fight.

“Or I’m not.” Robin retorted, 

“Or you are.” The two of you were arguing like brother and sister. It was a new role you played being a sister, but you enjoyed it. You smiled as you placed a hand on his cheek, “You’re the last living male Arryn. It is a heavy burden you hold.” 

Robin felt himself wanting to cling to the nurturing embrace you gave him but he was no longer a child. He sighed, “Your child could be a boy-“

“A Clegane.” You corrected, “As honored as I am to bear it, they will not be an Arryn.” You said knowing your husband was there to hear it.

Robin stepped closer to you, “There is precedence for noble ladies keeping their own name and giving it to their children in order to keep their families line. Whatever child inherits your titles would remain an Arryn.”  

Sick of circling the subject, you said plainly, “I have mourned all the family I can, Robin. Do not challenge me.” You said placing a hand on his cheek once more.

“Do not coddle me like my mother did.” He said removing your hand, and looking at your husband. Sandor, the Hound, a man who was quite clearly the complete opposite of Robin,  “Your husband fights for you, so I shall fight beside him.” He said with a confident and determined nod.

Your steps halted once you reached your chambers. You looked at Robin defeated, “I cannot keep the sword from your hand either?” Robin shook his head, and you sighed  “Fine then.” 

“I will not disappoint you, sister.” Robin vowed with confidence, 

You shook your head, “You couldn’t.” You said with a smile that thinly veiled your worry.

WIth that, Robin smiled somberly and left you as you and your husband entered your shared chambers.

As Sandor closed and locked the door behind you he contemplated speaking his mind on this topic, but did anyway. “He’s not ready.” Sandor said with a sigh, knowing it would be a bad idea. 

You huffed in frustration as you threw your hands up, “He’s nearly a grown man. I cannot stop him Just as I cannot stop you.” 

Sandor stepped closer to you, placing his large hands on your sides. “Someone should be here, with you.” 

You smiled softly as his concern, “I have my cousin. I have the maester, and all the midwives a woman would care to have. Besides, it is too early for laboring.” You ran your hands down his arms, “I don’t want you to fight.” 

He shook his head, placing a hand on your stomach, “I told you I would get you that castle.”

“I release you from that promise.” You said, knowing your words would change nothing.

“I don’t. What husband doesn’t fight for his woman, for his family?” He rasped

You held onto sandors wrist, “You must come back to us.” 

Sandor nodded, knowing he could not promise that he would. 

He looked at your face, wanting to memorize every bit of you. Tomorrow war may take him from you, and he was determined to keep your image with him. He wanted to memorize every bit of you, “Take this off.” He said as his eyes trailed over your body with a lascivious gaze.

You held back a giggle as you smirked, “You want my favor before you go to battle?”

He leaned in closer to you, making you tilt your head, “I want to taste your cunt before I go to battle.” He groaned against you.

“That shall serve nicely as my favor.” You said looking up at Sandor with half lidded eyes. 

You let out a small yelp and squeal as Sandor picked you up and carried you to the bed. He would make sure that night you slept.

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

Sandor had left you in your bed, naked, and sound asleep. 

He was not going to wake you no matter how many times you told him to wake you before you finally fell asleep. He watched you as long as he could before it was time for him to set off.

He believed you to be in a deep sleep, but without the warmth of your husband you woke.

So you could imagine Sandor’s surprise to see you walking towards him in the courtyard of Winterfell.

“What are you doing?” Sandor asked frustratedly, 

You responded with a matching frustration, “You know what I am doing.” 

He stepped closer to you, “You need to be in bed-” 

“I am staying here, as you have insisted once again. I cannot send men into battle without offering them my words.” You interrupted him, and leaned in closer to him, “I won’t be seen as weak again.” You told him in a whisper. He understood no matter how reluctant he might have been. 

He turned away from you and looked towards the crowds of soldiers that readied to depart for war. “Your Lady has words for you all. So fucking listen!” He shouted. 

You hid your nerves by holding your head high, “Northernmen, you march forth to fight for house Arryn. A house that has meant nothing to any of you for generations. But I have fought for your lands, your lords, and your lives. You now fight for loyalty and honor.” You knew Northerns had much less reason to aid your cause than the Valemen did, so you clung to honor. “Valemen, you march forth to fight for House Arryn. Ancient blood, of an ancient house. You fight for a rightful succession. Though none of it matters really. What matters is that your land is held hostage by a usurper. A man who drove the crown into debt, a man whose success was built upon the foundations of brothels and secrets, a man who has seen no battles, a man who has allowed your families to starve.” The Valemen began to murmur, and shout words of support, “A man who killed your Lord and Lady.” You said somberly, “You fight for liberation of your people.” You said confidently, “You set forth to succeed an impossibility. No one has ever done what we set forth to do. But the Eyrie is weakened without you all. After today, the realm will know our wrath, and will come to fear the color blue.” As you finished the men pointed their swords in the air and they railed in support. 

“Sister.” Robin said sweetly as he approached you,

You placed a hand on his cheek as you said, “Be vigilant, brother.” 

Robin hugged you quickly, too scared to let the other knights see. Once he released you he nodded and took his place on his horse. 

Your attention turned as Sandor took your hand. 

“Wife.” Sandor said, his way of saying goodbye in front of other men. 

You however would not allow him to leave without a bit of you. “My favor.” You said as you handed him a handkerchief that was embroiled with your initials. 

He took the cloth from you, looked at the initials embroidered onto it, “You already gave it-” He said, teasing you.

“Another.” You interrupted him as you took him by his cheek. You and he kissed one last time before he rode off. 

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

Though your armies greatly outnumbered Baelish’s, he held the advantage. The Eyrie held high ground and archers. 

You knew this, and if they did not open their gates willingly, even with climbing spokes it may take a mountain of dead men to climb the walls.

Tens miles out from the battle, Jon, Royce, Sandor, and Robin opened your highly secretive plan. 

Royce looked it over, “She wants us to fake a surrender.” Lord Royce scoffed, “Is she mad?”

“Easy.” Sandor said with hard eyes, warning Royce.

Robin nodded, “We will need to take the Eyrie from the inside.” He said confidently that you knew what you were talking about, “This is the only way inside. She knows we will need an offering of flesh.” He thought for a moment and then said, “I’ll do it.”

“No.” Sandor snapped, knowing if something were to happen to Robin, you would only blame yourself. 

“Yes.” Robin said, making Sandor huffed at him, making Robin’s confidence dwindle, “I-I mean it is only that he would only believe a surrender from an Arryn.” 

“The young Lord is right.” Jon said with reluctance.

Sandor knew he could not stop it, so with a sigh, he continued “I’ll lead the men inside.” 

“We’ll be behind you.” Jon said with a nod.

Royce, though not thrilled with your plan, committed himself, “Our men will use the climbing spokes once you’ve overwhelmed them inside. Then we will open the gates.”

And with that, the plan was in motion. The battle of the Mockingbirds and Falcons began. As your men arrived at the Vale, they hid themselves behind the natural advantages of the landscape. Hiding behind large rocks on the edges of cliffs.

Only allowing Robin to move in. However your men were not far behind.

The arches at the top of the gate aimed as Robin walked towards the Bloody Gate, holding a crude white flag. Robin waved it desperately. 

“The Lady Arryn asks for mercy for her and her child!” Waving a white flag of surrender, Robin fooled Baelish’s commanding knight and several soldiers. 

They opened the gates, the commanding knight stepped out with several soldiers beside him. . The commanding knight looked at the horizon seeing no sign of an ambush, he sent his men out to investigate if they had truly surrendered. Robin bent the knee as he drew his sword and offered it. His distraction allowed for your forces to approach unnoticed. One soldier takes up the sword and inspects it, only for your own arches to ambush the soldiers. Drawing and releasing their arrows killing the commanding knight and the soldiers that accompanied him. This offered some time for Sandor and Jon to rush the gates with their men. 

Sandor and Jon along with their men proceeded to kill all of the approaching soldiers as Sandor made his way closer and closer to the gates of the moon, causing them to send out more men. As the battle continued, the archers were overwhelmed. Lord Royce’s men took it as an opportunity to climb the walls of the gates. Killing all the remaining archers. Royce’s men then opened the gates allowing the Eastern forces to charge in and cut down the remaining soldiers. 

The battle raged on, though Baelish’s forces dwindled quickly once your forces passed the gates. As the Eastern houses fight off the last of the Baelish’s soldiers, Sandor pursues the Eyrie. Cutting down each man in his path. 

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

You looked out your window, waiting impatiently for a raven to arrive with news, any news at all. But all you saw was snow. How terrible you felt watching snow fall, knowing miles away your family fought for you.

As Sansa enters the chamber you began, “I feel like a coddled child by both my Husband, Lord Royce, and somehow SweetRobin of all… Even you.” You looked at her with slight contempt.

“All people who hold fondness for you.” Sansa said coldly as she stepped towards you. “None of us desire to see you or your child harmed.” 

You shook your head softly, “I’d not fight. Gods knows I can hardly see my feet anymore.” You said, making Sansa chuckle softly. “But I am left here, to worry, and pray that those men I entrusted with such plans do not disregard my orders and take their own.” 

“Your husband would not allow it.” She said, and you knew it was true. 

“Left here to worry for who will fall.” You said solemnly. You worried once again that you would leave without your husband, and now you worried for your brother, and your cousin. 

Sansa took your hand, “Then we shall worry together.” 

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

As your forces laid a successful siege to the Eyrie, Baelish knew his reign was over. He opened the doors to the Eyrie, stepping out of it he looked at Sandor. “I surrender.” Baelish said with a smug sigh, as if he expected to be untouched if he surrendered willingly. 

He was however wrong. Sandor marched over to Baelish. Sandor pummeled his fist into Baelish’s face. Amazed he didn’t break his jaw on impact, Sandor grabbed hold of him by his throat, 

“I take it you want to crush my skull, break my bones? Is this how Clegane’s define justice?” Baelish attempted to ask as his windpipe was being crushed. 

“Aye.” He said roughly, he relished seeing the fear in his eyes. The eyes of the man who kissed you without your say, the eyes of the man who held you against your will, the eyes of a man who forced you to drink moon tea, the eyes of a man who attempted to marry you off to the Boltons. He knew that he wasn’t his to kill. Sandor let him go, “But that’s not how your Lady defines it.” Sandor turned to the knights around him, “Put him in a cell. Do nothing until my wife takes her place here.” 

“My Lord,” Ser Leon said with some urgency, “It is your brother by law.” 

꒰ ୨୧ ─ 

Sandor and Ser Leon made their way to the gates of the moon. As he arrived he saw many soldiers mortally wounded from the battle. But the one that caught his eye was your brother. Robin lay with an arrow through his chest. 

Sandor looked to the healer that was standing over the boy's body, “The boy is dead.” The young healer said plainly. 

Sandor looked upon the boy, he did not know him well. But when he looked at the boy's face all he could think of was you, and how your heart would break. “Seven fucking hells.” 

“Send a Raven to our Lady.” Ser Leon said to a young squire somberly with a sigh. 

“No.” Sandor commanded, grabbing the squire by the collar, “Speak nothing of it.” He said with intensity in his eyes. If you were to know, it would be told to your own ears with him by your side.

The squire swallowed nervously, then squeeked, “My Lord-“

Sandor’s grip on the boys collar tightened as he pulled him closer, “If my wife- Your Lady hears of this from a piece of fucking parchment it’ll kill her.” His tone was raspy, dark and deep. 

The squire, though terrified, blurted out, “My Lord, a raven has already been sent.”

Sandor let go of the squire's collar, stepping away for a moment. He knew his time was running thin, he knew this news would break you. If he left now on horseback, and did not stop until he reached Winterfell perhaps he could get there before the raven did. “Give me my fucking horse!” Sandor barked as he turned back to squire.

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

You and Sansa sat in the council room. Waiting for news, a sign, anything. Just as you did days before. 

The wait was horrid. The uncertainty was worse. You could only hope and pray that you were not a widow. 

What you did not know was that your husband was only a few miles away on a horse charging towards you, and you also did not know that a raven had just arrived. 

As you stared out the window of the chamber, Sansa looked to you. 

“What is it like?” Sansa asked. Looking at your swollen belly. 

“Like carrying a child in your body. A child that kicks at your ribs and makes you sick in the mornings.” You said in a blunt and snarky tone, it made Sansa smile slightly. “It is wonderful.” You said more genuinely as you ran a hand along the side of your belly.

“You carry it well.” Tyrion said as he and a guard entered the room,

Sansa helped you as you stood from your seat, walking towards the council table, “Has there been any word?” You asked with furrowed brows, desperate for any knowledge. 

Tyrion and the Guard looked pensive as the Guard began to speak. “My Lady, the Eyrie has been taken in your name. Littlefinger was taken alive, he is being held as a prisoner awaiting your judgment in the Eyrie.” Sansa breathed a sigh of relief for you as she grabbed hold of your hand. You looked to her, in disbelief as a wave of relief washed over you, “My Lady, there is more.” You looked back at the guard with terror in your eyes, not wishing to hear the words you knew you were about to hear.  “Your half brother Robin Arryn was struck down by an arrow-“ Your knees felt weak as the guard continued to talk, “whilst your armies laid siege.” 

You grasped your throat, and felt yourself become breathless. “Are you alright?” Sansa asked you, placing a hand onto your back,

You ignored her question, “What of his condition?” Your voice was strained as a pain in your back began.

The man paused briefly, unsure of how to phrase his words best, “He is dead, my Lady.” the man said softly.

Your tears came, you grasped onto the table and hunched over in pain as the pain grew and grew, “Fuck,” You hissed exasperated through your tears. You grasped onto your stomach as you felt a warm liquid trickling down your leg, “The babe, the babe is coming.”

Tyrion stepped closer to you, concerned, “Are you certain? It is too soon.” 

“Fuck!” You struggled to say the words as your water broke, falling onto the floor. 

Sansa tried to take hold of you, to prevent your knees from buckling and falling to the floor. 

Tyrion turned to the guard and shouted, “Get the Maester, and as many midwives as Winterfell has!” 

꒰ ୨୧ ─

Once Sandor reached the Gates of Winterfell his horse was near death from exhaustion. He looked to the Guards at the top of the gates.

“Open the fucking gates!” Sandor barked, 

The guards knew who he was immediately. A man like the hound is not one that you would ever forget. 

As the gates opened Sandor grabbed a hold of the nearest guard, 

“My Lord-” The guard nearly squeeked, 

“Where is my wife?” Sandor growled, 

The guard, frightened, began “S-she has begun her labors, my Lord.” 

Sandor felt his heart drop to his stomach, and his stomach drop to his feet. He didn’t know this feeling very well, was it excitement? Fear? He did not know. 

“How long?” Sandor questioned. 

The man shook his head, “Not even an hour, my Lord… She began when she heard of her brother's death.” 

Sandor groaned, angry that he was not faster, “Fucking hells, bring me to her, NOW!” 

NOTE:

HI- i’m literally so sorry this took so long. if you girls knew what was going on in my life….. omg. anyways please enjoy !!! again i’m so sorry lol. but that isn’t stopping me from blue balling yall with the baby AND Baelish getting canned.

K love you, xoxo

Bambi

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[artethyst]

Some snippets of Eris + his Mate

“Eris do you think I am fat?” Came a shaky voice, stood in front of the grand mirror in the large bedroom they both shared, lip wobbling as she warilybrotated her body.

For a moment he did not reply, trying to understand why the question had even left her lips, though quickly found it to be a mistake as her eyes began to well with tears at his entirety innocent hesitance.

“Why would you ask such a thing, my Love?”

“That is not an answer!”

He sighed, wondering where all of this was coming from.

“You are not fat, you are with child.”

Wrong answer.

“That is not a no!”

Another sigh.

~

“Erisssss do you know what day it is?”

“Thursday?”

“NO! Think harder,”

“Worship the High Lord of Autumn day?”

“No!”

“Defame the High Lord of Night day?

“Erissssss!”

“Alright, Alright, apologies My Star- I have no idea what today is.”

“It is our 604 month anniversary!”

“…”

“☺️”

~

Eris grunted as he was awoken by an elbow to his ribs.

Cracking his eye open to see his Mate tossing and turning, face scrunched in frustration, cheeks flushed and hair curling against her forehead.

“My Love-“

“My Love,” she mocked his voice, huffing as she kicked the sheets off of the both of them. “Why did the Mother have to be so cruel and bond me to a firehead!” She bemoaned as Eris raised an eyebrow.

“What-“

“Your child,” she whined as he remained confused- and slightly offended. “They are so…hot,”

And that’s when he understood.

“I apologise My Starlight,” he couldn’t help but grin, moving his hand to her bump where most nights it automatically gravitated to anyway, absorbing his Little Flame’s heat from his poor Night Court Mate’s womb. “Be kind to your mother,” he joked, rubbing a calloused thumb over the now cooled expanse as she shuffled back into his embrace.

~

“Eri-”

“No.”

“You don’t even know what I was going to ask-”

“No you cannot dress up the hounds for Starfall.”

“🥺”

“They are not lapdogs-”

“🥺”

“My Love-”

“😢”

“…One. That is it.”

“😋”

~

“Eri what…what if he thinks we’ve abandoned him-”

“My Love is he hardly a year old, he has no concept of time-”

“😢”

“He is a babe-”

“Feyre brought Nyx!”

“🫤”

*waltzes in to the high lord + lady meeting with baby silas in her arms*

[kooktrash]

fighting heart | jeon jungkook au

summary: never living a life of luxury, Jungkook does what he has to do to make ends-meet. right now that means fighting in underground clubs, getting beat black and blue until he wins. he knows there’s a better life out there for him but he never let himself think about it. until you came along and suddenly a weight is being lifted off his shoulders letting you through his guarded walls. you’re everything he needed and you make him want to fight for more.

warnings: 15k words. smut. angst. boxer!jk x curvy,f!reader. violence [fight scenes]. mentions of blöod. rich y/n. degradation of y/n [a few times] but not by jk. mentions of wounds. y/n got some mommy milkers lowkey. big hips that jk likes t—. unprotected. fingering. handjob. missionary. sweet. y/n is whipped but Jk is whippeder. jin is kinda sketchy kinda not. tw: harmful language, physical violence, anatomical injuries. illegal fight club. gambling.

No where he went could he find silence. Rattling cages, loud chants and even bottles breaking. The room he was currently in was poorly lit. And he could barely see the damage that has been done. The room was in hues of green with dirty white tile showers and sinks with rust on them. The ground was covered in stains of old blood that didn’t wash away from the polished cement. Hanging above his head were fluorescent making hissing noises like the glass would soon burst into flames and shatter across the floor. They were flickering too, he could see them clearly through the dirty mirror he was staring at himself through.

He was a mess himself and he had no clue where to start. His hair was drenched in sweaty locks sticking to his face in strange whimsical lines. There was blood dripping down over his brow piercing somewhere on his hair line but he couldn’t see it clearly yet. There was a large red mark on his rib cages but other than those couple injuries he considered himself pretty clean.

The water pressure from the faucet was poor and when he first turned it on the water had a brown tint to it. He let it run over his wet rag squeezing out the excess before cleaning the blood and sweat off his face. He leaned forward and splashed water onto his face and rubbed some into his hair to at least rinse his sweaty hair a little bit. From behind him he could hear the swinging doors part ways as someone walked in with a huge grin on their face. He waved a stack of papers in his hand smacking it against the palm of his other hand, business suit and shoes sticking out from this room like a sore thumb. His hair was slipped back in a nice style and he looked better than Jungkook did at the moment.

“You killed it out there,” Kim Seokjin said as he leaned against the counter on the wall, staring at Jungkook’s back and the red mark on his side, “He got a few hits in it seems.” As he said that he moved to stand again walking over to the ice machine next to the broken paper towel dispenser. He took the big ziploc bags off the machine and began putting ice into one of the bags. He took plastic wrap with him as he walked over to Jungkook and motioned for the guy to lift his arm.

“Don’t worry kid, your cut is good today,” Jin said, pressing the ice bag to Jungkook’s injured side before bringing the wrap over it and pulling it around his torso to hold the bag down. Jungkook just looked at the drop of blood still leaking from the cut on his forehead making him reach out for his rag again. The sink had a new stain of blood on it from where his rag had been running under the water. He looked at Jin through the mirror, “How much?”

Jin smiled, “Little more than a grand but I got a few more investors out there looking to see another fight. You’ll get there once you focus fully on training.”

“I’m not a fighter,” Jungkook grumbled as he turned quickly once Jin finished up. There was a small limp to his step as he walked to his gym bag looking for clothes to change into. Jin shook his head in disbelief, “Not a fighter? Then tell me what I just watched tonight.”

“I told you this already. I’m not interested in doing anything more than a couple fights here and there,” Jungkook said putting on a worn out, oversized gray t-shirt. Jin groaned in frustration, “I don’t get why you’re so against it. You can make much more money if we go big. You’ll be rich you know? I can already see your fights on pay-per-view. Just think about the money, that’s why you’re doing this aren’t you? Think about your family.”

“I am thinking about my family, that’s why I’m saying no,” Jungkook told him, changing into some black sweats and throwing a hoodie on. The bag of ice was slowly melting but at this point he didn’t care about how ridiculous he looked, “They’d kill me if they knew I was fighting again, I’m sorry man, but no.”

He took his cut of the money from Jin, slipping his hood over his head and hoisting his gym bag on his shoulder, “Call me.”

His leg ached making his entire walk out of the underground club to his car all the more slow. His car lights blinked as it unlocked and he chucked his bag in the backseat finally getting in and starting the engine. Jungkook’s neighborhood was far from being nice but it’s location close to busy streets made night life more active. He got to his apartment shortly after, sirens going off just outside his window where he could see flashing lights and the tops of old buildings.

Despite how late it was, and his need to be alone he couldn’t have that. Not when his phone began ringing. He winced, reaching into his pocket and taking it out. Once he saw the caller ID he debated ignoring it. Now isn’t the time for it when he’s got a pretty girl in his bed telling him you don’t want to go home. But he answered anyway, “Hello?”

“Hi honey, I know it’s late but um,” his mother stuttered, he could practically picture her fidgeting, “We’re behind on rent again. I wouldn’t be coming to you if I didn’t need to.”

Jungkook didn’t say anything, it was the same thing over and over every single time. He was in his bathroom now, pressing his phone to his ear, “When is it due?”

“Well it was due a couple days ago—“ “And what happened to what I sent you the other day?” Jungkook asked.

“Your father needed it for a, well, uh, I can’t remember but you’re my son, you’re more reliable than anyone else,” his mother said, making him roll his eyes. “So why’d you wait till now to tell me? Should I call your landlord and see how long it’s been overdue?”

“Yah, don’t be like that,” his mother begged, “You’re supposed to help your parents. That’s why you moved wasn’t it? Why are you even up so late? What have you been doing? Who were you with? Were you fighti—“

“I’m hanging up. I’ll send the money in the morning,” with a tired sigh he ended the call wincing once more when he reached up for the handle to his medicine cabinet.

His small rectangular window was his only source of light in the bathroom as he rummaged through his medicine cabinet but his first aid kit was empty. With a tired grunt he closed it back up and left looking around for his things pulling the melted ice bag away that was now just a puddle of water. He grabbed his wallet and keys before leaving his apartment once more, this time by foot.

After a five minute walk he found himself in front of a familiar convenience store and he went in, immediately going to the medical section. He probably shouldn’t be walking around with so much money on him but it was too late to worry about that.

“Oh my god hurry up, I’m literally scared for my life,” A girl squealed a couple aisles down and Jungkook tried to ignore her, “We should’ve just gotten it delivered.”

“And if they didn’t have what I wanted?” Another voice piped in, slightly more bearable than the previous one but with the same tone, “Besides everyone can hear you, y’know?” As if he’d been the one spoken to he looked up from under his hood, eyes softening for a fraction of a second as they met your stare. He was the first to look away once he caught his reflection on the fridge doors behind you filled with alcohol. There was a line of red down his forehead again and it made him duck down under the aisle top and look for what he needed.

“I don’t care who hears me, just get a bottle and let’s go. Jimin’s waiting,” The high pitched voice spoke again and Jungkook found a box of wound closure band-aids, pain killers, and icy/hot patches. You rolled your eyes at her looking over to the guy in the hoodie again, there was a red stain on his forehead that you noticed right away. A little after Jungkook found himself standing behind you in line. He didn’t expect to find such a sight in front of him. You were in a hot pink mini skirt and a white blouse that matched your heels. Your legs weren’t super long but your thighs were wider and so were your hips. It made the fabric of your skirt hug your curves in the best way possible.

You and your friend finished up with the cashier and he found himself twisting a lock of hair over the bleeding cut on his forehead to hide it. He could feel your eyes follow him for a moment as you left at that and he moved forward to the counter.

That night he healed his wounds in his studio apartment under the moonlight while you got in the back of a Porsche for a night drinking.

There was a stiffness in the air, like all the poise and class was just an act that was hard to maintain. At least that’s what Jungkook thought because as he looked around not a single person seemed to be what they tried so hard to appear. Now, he’ll admit he’s probably the most out of place here but that didn’t mean he couldn’t notice things. For instance, his partner wore an expensive suit with a shiny Rolex that demanded the attention of everyone in the room. Yet he still seemed gentle, far from intimidating which is what he’s so poorly tried to portray. A hand landed on his shoulder blade giving him a little shake as the man spoke, “Lighten up Jungkook, this is for you. You made me good money last week. Think of this as a sign of my appreciation.”

“Is that what this is?” Jungkook asked looking around the lounge room with expensive alcohol in crystal glasses and 100,000$ leather seats. He started to fix the cuff of his black button-up as he looked around some more. The men in here were either his age or way older, all in designer suits and watches. All the women were young, beautiful, lavished.

Just like the one who crossed his line of sight in a black, shimmery dress that was barely around mid-thigh. A silver, diamond charm bracelet on the wrist that matched every piece of jewelry on your body—from what he can see. You were far across from him, somewhere off with a group he couldn’t see well and the dim light applying a glow to you in particular. And yet he recognized you right away as the person from the store last night.

“I’ve treated you to dinner, I figured I might as well treat you to drinks too,” Seokjin said looking up from his phone just as Jungkook’s eyes snapped back to him, no longer focusing on the stranger. He released a sigh, “Alright, I want to talk about business. There’s another match this weekend. Two fights and a couple grand in your pocket. It’s short notice and you need time to recover but I was hoping to convince you.”

“Against who?” Jungkook asked tipping his glass of scotch back before placing it down on the small glass table between them two. Jin gave a nonchalant shrug of his shoulders, “Some new kid and Park Seungmin. What do you say? Do I get it set?”

“Ask me again after a few drinks,” Jungkook said. Music played behind them but not nearly as loud as a regular night club’s and there was a faint smell of cigar. He hardly paid attention to whatever other small talk the two of them made, he was too tired to say anything on his own. He hadn’t even wanted to come out with Jin at first. It’s not that he didn’t like the guy. He did. The problem was that he could not understand why Jin would want to be a part of the kind of life Jungkook has involved himself in. Kim Seokjin came from money, the good kind of money.

It meant he’s never had to worry about food in his stomach or if the electricity would be cut off. He’s never lied about christmas presents he never recieved or about not having lunch money. He’s grown in gated communities and trips abroad for the holidays. There’s no reason for him to be making dirty money just because he could. Jungkook didn’t hate him, he just couldn’t never fully trust that Jin had his best interest in mind. All he knows is that he’s the only one Jungkook can go to at the moment and he’s going to see how far he can get. The downside was that Jin wanted him to go the professional route. He wants to mentor him and get him in more official rings that could be broadcasted. His boxing was good, Jin saw potential so he badgered Jungkook about it nonstop. He didn’t listen though, he was fine fixing cars and had no intention in being a professional fighter.

If he had paid more attention to Seokjin instead of the marks on his hands he might have noticed the way Jin casually looked around the lounge room. He seemed stuck on someone behind him, brows furrowed together in concentration before his eyes relaxed momentarily. He looked back to Jungkook, “I’ll be right back. I think I see someone I know.”

Jungkook didn’t bother responding, merely waving him off as he looked down at his phone. The money he just earned from his last match was enough to send to his parents but he still needs more for rent and utilities. His job won’t pay him till the day after rent is due and he can’t ask for another extension. If he wants to cover the rest he’ll have to do the fights Jin asked of him. He’s still a little sore from the last fight but if he tries to get back on training he should be fine.

“Look at all the space we have, just take a seat,” Jin said finally making Jungkook look up as three people were filing into the booth. He noticed right away when you were making your way into the rounded booth pretty much inching closer to him. He’ll admit, up close you’re even more beautiful than he thought when he looked at you from afar. Now he can see your features better than he had at the store. What are the chances that he ran into a random stranger twice? And one he thought about on his walk home from the store as a short distraction?

You didn’t shy away from looking him over as you finally sat down just a few inches away from him. Jin flashed him a smile, “Jungkook these are some friends of mine. This is Taehyung, Jia and Y/n. Everyone meet Jungkook.”

Jin didn’t give much time for introductions when he waved over a server and ordered more drinks for the table. Jungkook took his chance to get a look at you again and for the first time that night, your eyes met his. He was the first to crack even the smallest hint of a smile. You had a pretty face, your cheeks slightly rounded but your eyes were what drew him in. He likes the curve of your waist and the way your thighs look soft to the touch. Your dress had been a little higher from the back than the front and he understood why. You were so physically attractive to him. You had wider hips and a slight tummy pouch. The top of your dress was easily filled out by your chest which spilled slightly from the top. Your collarbone still seemed to protrude and a diamond necklace with your name engraved rested prettily on it. Y/n, he remembers the girl next to you saying it the other night.

“So what are you guys doing here? Don’t you have better places to drink at on a Saturday?” Jin asked once drinks came and Jungkook looked over to where the conversation was. Taehyung gave a shrug of his shoulders looking to his two friends, “Just wanted to get a few good drinks in before going out. Are you two free? Want to come with?”

Jin shared a look with Jungkook, “Yeah? Let some stress out.” He wasn’t sure though, he’s already over exerted himself being out with Jin but at the same time now that it’s been brought up he wouldn’t mind. There was a shift on his side and suddenly you were leaning forward to look at his face.

“I agree, if you’re stressed then maybe you should come have drinks with us,” you said with a bright smile. That convinced him way too easily and before he knew it, he was leaving with the rest of you to a club. He stood behind you in line and when you were all inside he was at the bar right there with you.

“You look familiar,” you said bluntly turning away from the bar counter to look at him while your drinks were made. It caught him off guard at first before saying, “You do too.” Your smile was softer now but just as pretty and you batted your lashes, “I know where I’ve seen you.”

“Where?” Jungkook wanted to see if you actually did recognize him or if he just looked familiar to someone else you’ve seen. You pointed a finger at him, “The store. You were dressed all emo and stuff.”

“I was just wearing dark colors,” What you said made him smile a little before adding in, “But yes, I recognize you too. You were wearing pink.”

“Oh you even remember what i had been wearing? Was it because you liked it or because you liked me?”

“Can I say both?” Jungkook said with a lighter tone now. He found you attractive, alluring even, despite your snobbish tone. Your eyes narrowed in interest and you let your eyes travel from the faded scar on his forehead to the belt holding his jeans up. He was attractive in a way you couldn’t explain. An absolutely beautiful intimidating man.“I thought I knew all of Jinnie’s friends, how come I don’t know you?” You asked taking your drinks from the bartender.

He gave a small shrug, “I wouldn’t say we’re close, more like acquaintances. How do you know him?”

“Family friends.” “All of you?” You gave a nod of your head taking a sip from your drink just as he did. You looked down at the hand he had on the bar too. It was covered in ink and rings on his pretty fingers but the more you looked the more you saw. It included red knuckles with faded purple and brown marks like bruises. Jungkook noticed right away where your attention had drifted and he opted for moving his hand off and keeping it to his side.

“Can I be honest with you?” He asked suddenly trying to draw attention away from his hand and also speak some truth at the moment, “I think you’re beautiful.”

So he found himself closer to you later on in the night. His hand had even made itself to your hips as you sat on the stool scooted close to his. The two of you had completely forgotten about the group you were supposed to be with but they didn’t even attempt to intervene. If anyone seemed hesitant it was only Taehyung and Jin just brushed his worries away. He knew you well and you liked the fun, he knew Jungkook needed some fun even if it’s just for one night.

Later on in the night the two of you disappeared into a cab. He was more hesitant than you were to initiate any sort of intimate contact. Even inside the club he only had an arm around you and when he offered to take you home he was only hoping to spend a little more time with you before asking for your number. He didn’t expect for you to be on him in the back of the cab. Your lips were on his and he was kissing back eagerly, uncaring for the way the cab driver looked back at you.

“Just one address or two?” The driver asked as you pressed a kiss against Jungkook’s jaw leaving him breathless. His hand was on your curved back keeping you close as he barely had a chance to look over to the driver. You beat him to it when you pulled away for a quick second to mutter, “One address,” and went back to kissing him. He wasn’t complaining, he hasn’t done this in a while.

With work and all the matches he’s been in on top of training, he doesn’t have much time to go out and meet people who weren’t drunk placing bets on him. Even the women at the fights were drunk, a little more sleazy, not as clean and definitely didn’t have skin as soft as yours. His other hand found it’s way to your thigh, fingernails digging into the plump skin and he wanted to do more than just touch with his hands.

Jungkook’s not sure how it happened but they ended up at his place instead of yours, maybe because it was closer to the club or maybe because he gave it to the man first. Either way it was too late to argue about it when you were already urging him to get out. He quickly paid for the cab and was helping you, kissing you one last time as the cab drove off. He smiled sweetly, “You sure you’re okay with this?”

“Okay with what?” You asked wrapping your arms around his mid section leaning into him when his arms went around your waist. He cleared his throat looking down at you slightly more concerned now, “With this, with me…”

You smiled, “I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t.” You’re not even asking questions. Not about his bruises or cuts or red knuckles, “Besides, I like you so are you going to take me upstairs or am I just gonna stay out here.” Jungkook took your hand now dragging you behind him inside his building trying not to get your expression. He didn’t want to see how you’d feel about his clearly run down apartment. Even this late at night there were a few tenants just sitting around on the stairs. He moved you in front of him staying close behind you to avoid you being stared at by some creep from the back. Once you were in his dark apartment it was immediate.

You didn’t even look around the place, letting him lead you to creaky twin sized bed he called his own and kissed him roughly, hands pulling at his shirt immediately as he made himself comfortable sitting next to you. You were on your knees looking taller than him deepening the kiss with your tongue now and he was gladly kissing back just as hard. His hands found their way to your legs, squeezing once again at your meaty thighs that pressed against each other with no gap between. The fullness of your figure was so damn tempting and it had his fingers inching under your short dress.

When you didn’t seem to object to his touch he went ahead and let his hands circle around your hips to the back where he could feel a very small pair of panties covering very little. Like your thighs, your butt was squishy making his fingers sink into it as he felt you up and it had him groaning into your mouth in want. His mouth trailed down your jaw, sucking gently against your neck as his hands continued feeling you up, your dress already up and around your wide hips as he played with your underwear. A finger slipped under it holding it out as he let his hand feel underneath.

A breath caught in Jungkook’s throat when your hand was pressing against his thigh now, long nail barely grazing his leg moving closer and closer to his growing member. You seemed just as impatient as he did and it made him wonder how long it’s been for you too. He doubts it’s been as long as him. You took him by surprise when you started unbuttoning his jeans with one hand and with ease and he was helping you move them out of your way. Following your lead when your hand began to palm him over his briefs, he did the same.

You moaned softly into his mouth as his hand pressed against your slicked heat from behind with his arm around your waist pressing you into his side. His head was aligned with your heavy chest and when he leaned it against the silky fabric, he could feel the softness of your breasts. His free hand couldn’t stop himself from reaching up and feeling you better. You wore a thin, flimsy bralette that hadn’t even been enough to conceal your nipples throughout the night but it made it easier for him to feel you better. The weight of your breasts was heavy in his hand, flesh spilling between his large fingers and you were so damn soft, everywhere. It made him want to sink into you, press his face between them and just feel your warmth.

Your breath hitches as he circles your clit, sending small shocks throughout your body. He moved your underwear out of the way, revealing your perfect cunt to his fingers with no barrier. Just as your hand snuck under his briefs, his middle finger was running between your folds, slowly letting more into your tight snatch. Even down between your legs were you soft, just as plump and warm. Your hand held his cock now, almost fully hard and with a gentle stroke you felt him hardening even more. Finally his long finger sinks in just as the strap of your dress slipped off your shoulders exposing more of your breasts to him. Without thinking he tugged your bra down making your tits bulge out from on top even more, “You’re so damn beautiful.”

He was being honest as he kissed the plump flesh feeling it bounce along his tongue and he just wanted to take a nipple into his mouth and suck. You didn’t answer verbally but he could physically feel the light squeeze of his cock on an upstroke and he was groaning around your nipple. His face was still rubbing against your breasts as his middle finger pumped in and out of your wet cunt lathering it in more slick and he took the chance to sink another finger in. You gasp, your tits bouncing against his face and he let them rub over his face while simultaneously hitting that spongy pleasure spot in your tight walls, stroking it everytime his fingers sank back in. You were still on your knees on his bed and he was still holding you against his side as you jerked off his cock but he wanted more.

Fingers still inside your pussy, he began to stand not moving your hand off his dick as he lightly pushed you back to lie down. His hand left your folds from behind and slipped it between your thighs again from the front. His pace quickens, and he uses his weight to hold you down, twirling your thick buds with his tongue. You breathed heavily feeling the twitch of his member when your thumb ran over the slit in his tip over and over again.

Without thinking, and probably too rough, his hands were leaving your breasts and pussy to pull at the fabric of your dress. It’s been teasing him all night and he needed it gone, so that’s what he did. The fabric was no match for the rough yank he did on it making it tear open and he was harsh with the way he yanked it off your body groaning at the sight.

He stood taking his jeans and shirt off as you undid your bra kicking it off exposing large breasts to his hungry eyes. His hands run down your middle, the soft chub on your ribs and stomach sinking his finger in and he was staring down at you with awe, “You’re so beautiful.”

“You already said that, I want to know what you’ll do to show it to me,” you teased wiggling your hips when his hand went to pinch at them, squeezing and groaning at the feel. He could feel a bit of your hip bone but it was mostly covered in plumpness that made his mouth water. Your hips were good for squeezing and he wanted to take you. Suddenly, realization hit him like a truck.

“I—I don’t have a condom.”

“I’m on the pill,” you said already reaching between your bodies at his hard clock begging for attention, “As long as you’re clean and pull out.” He gave a brief nod of his head capturing your lips with his as you lined his dick up with your heat and did the honor of taking him. You moaned into each others mouth as he stopped at the ring of nerves that needed a bit more stretching. You were tight, he felt all the soft walls of your cunt squeeze his thick member as he sank in with a groan, squishing against you, breasts against his chest.

“Oh God,” you moaned against his lips at the first real thrust of his cock into your wet pussy and his hand was sliding down to grip your ass while the other was on your breasts. He squeezed both in time with a second thrust, still testing the waters before doing it again, quicker and rougher now.

His head rested against your neck, moaning your name softly, “So fucking beautiful, all of you, fuck Y/n.”

“You feel so fucking good,” he growled into your skin leaning down to take a fat tit into his mouth matching each lick of your nipple with a rough thrust. Suddenly he’s lifting himself up, hands leaving your sides to press against the bed on either side of your head. He looked down at your naked body licking his lips, slowly bringing his hips back before slamming into you with force that had your tits jiggling and his lips parted at the sight, doing it again so it could happen once more.

Jungkook lets out a long exhale as you continue to cry out his name making him work his lean hips, thrusting in and out of you with purpose.

“Jungkook,” you moaned, hands holding his sides as he fucks you, tight abdominal muscles flexing along with the veins leading to his dick all the way from his navel. The position only lasted a moment before he was laying his full weight on you again wanting to feel you pressed against him, body shaking along his.

“I’m so close,” you groaned when he gripped your ass, not being gentle in the way he squeezed, shaking it a bit and using it to fuck your pussy back into his cock, “Let me cum.”

“Fuck,” he slams himself into you feeling his entire body shudder but he was holding off, “Cum, fuck, cream my cock right now.”

“Oh God,” he groaned against your skin when you did just that, fingers curling as your release hit moaning beautifully into his ear and his body shook slightly. He was gentle but quick in the way he pulled out of you, your orgasm wavering as your slick leaked out of your folds. His cock was on your pubic bone now, spurts of creamy semen spilling onto you, covering you in his cum. His hand was on your knee for support but it was no use.

He was dead weight on top of you, but you don’t mind—you brush your fingers through his hair, giggling when you feel his soft lips kiss your breast, “You’re amazing.”

You felt his breathing begin to get uneven and you wrapped a leg around him continuing the brush of your fingers, caressing him since he seemed to need it. You held him in your arms as he clung to you. Now, you’ll admit, at this time you’d start getting your clothes again and find your things to leave. Maybe you would’ve already had a scheduled Uber but you weren’t doing any of that—and it wasn’t because he tore your dress in half. “You made me feel so good,” you whispered softly into his ear and it made him hum in appreciation, eyes shut slightly. He never realized how much tension he’d been holding onto without release until now that you held him.

You were naked and sticky, even sweaty, but that didn’t stop you two from snuggling after sex, his gentle lips leaving soft kisses along your neck tiredly as his eyes shut in relaxation. Like that, you both let sleep take over and you were warm in each other’s arms.

The sun shined brightly against your sleeping face. You squeezed your eyes shut some more but it did little to keep the light away. You decided to move, roll over and hide your face in one of your many pillows but as you tried to, you nearly fell. A yelp escaped your lips, face inches away from the floor as two arms caught you by the waist. Jungkook was half asleep but alert as he looked over your tired form. You fell back onto the twin sized bed pressed against Jungkook’s chest staring at your surroundings.

In better light and a clearer head you had a better chance to look around his apartment. It was smaller than you pictured when you were lying underneath him. You just didn’t realize it was this small. You’re not sure if you’ve ever been to a place that looked like this. His bedroom, kitchen and living room all in one space with ripped wallpaper and broken cabinets. Jungkook seemed to stiffen under you when he noticed where your mind was going.

Last night was… how should he put it without sounding so dramatic? He just felt very appreciated and not just his body but also the things he had to say. You paid very close attention to what he felt and it was more than anyone has in a while. Sure, the fighting gets him attention but not for anything good. It was abuse and exploitation. That made him hate himself but what he experienced last night was lively. He wouldn’t mind getting this feeling because of you again except you couldn’t be any more opposite and that’s what had him skeptical.

“You okay?” He asked suddenly, nervous because you have yet to say anything after your abrupt awakening and he’s itching to know what you think. His shabby apartment looked even worse than he imagined. You just gave a single nod and that made him anxious now, sliding a little out from under you trying not to pay attention to the way you were both still naked. He released a quiet sigh, “If you want to go home now, it’s okay, you can tell me.”

It was morning anyway, he’s not sure what he would expect differently. You seemed to snap out of your own thoughts turning as best as you could to lay on your stomach over him. He looked down at you with an expression you could only read as dejected, sullen or tired even. Your chest rests on his chest as you look up at him, “And what if I don’t want to go home yet?”

Jungkook couldn’t hide the look of surprise on his face when you ran your hand over his chest turning to look at him, “How about a shower together?”

You stared at the man in front of you expressionless, or well, you were trying to be. He, on the other hand, was open with you. A knowing smile on his face with brows raised in amusement. He was even leaned back in his chair with his arms crossed over his chest, head tilted to the right just slightly waiting for you to speak.

“You’re starting to creep me out,” You said with a roll of your eyes as you looked over the roof, city life thriving about sixty stories below you. Jin cleared his throat, “I was wondering if you had anything to say to me.”

“About?” You asked as the waitress came back with your food. You were seated across from Jin at some high end restaurant for lunch. It sat on the roof of some luxury hotel and it’s where you two decided to meet between your classes. You had a feeling you knew what this was about but you weren’t about to give in. A day and a half was spent in Jungkook’s presence. You didn’t even go to class the following day, instead you stayed in his apartment and did absolutely nothing.

“You’re a vixen, y’know? You sank your claws into Jungkook and got him, I applaud you,” Jin said making you roll your eyes again. “What are you talking about? You’ve got a crush on him or something?”

“I’m just saying, I’ve been trying to get that guy to let loose but all he does is push every chance away,” Jin told you as he picked at his plate. Your eyes narrowed leaning forward against the table, “How do you two know each other, anyway? He didn’t really say.”

Jin sneered, “Of course he didn’t. He doesn’t like it.”

“Doesn’t like what? No, don’t tell me,” you shook your head. You wanted to know because you were definitely interested. But was it your business? Jin smacked his tongue, “It’s nothing serious.”

“I’m his manager of sorts, but also an investor?” Jin said with a shrug taking a big bite, “He’s a boxer, like in the ring with glo—“

“I obviously know what a boxer is,” you said clearly annoyed with your older friend who just chuckled knowing he was getting under your skin. You were curious now, “Besides, what does it matter to you? You work in a law firm.”

Jin groaned as if he had a reason to be annoyed with you when clearly he didn’t, “I’ve got a few interests, alright? Sketchy? Maybe, but it is exciting. I met him a year ago when I was watching a boxing match. He was new and he was good, a lot of strength and control. I just have this idea that he can make it big and I can get him there. It’ll be a give and take. I already make good money off his fights from my cut and imagine what a bigger audience can do?”

“So what you’re saying is Jungkook… he makes money from boxing?” You asked and he just shook his head no. “No, well kinda? His family has a lot of debt—“

“Stop, stop talking,” you covered your ears suddenly, “I don’t want to hear about his private stuff unless it’s from him. I get it. You kinda work together?”

Jin rolled his eyes, “Yes but that’s not what I wanted to talk about. I want to know what transpired you to go with him the other night. I didn’t peg muscular, tatted, brooding men as your type.”

“I didn’t either,” you said honestly, “But I don’t know. I saw him one time before that at a store and he had been bleeding from his forehead. I think that’s why I was curious at first.”

“And now?” Jin asked making your brows furrow. “What do you mean now?”

He sighed, “I mean are you curious still? Jungkook is a good guy, great guy even but it wouldn’t work Y/n. Your parents would kill you if they found out you were seeing a guy like him. He’s not… he hasn’t had the same privileges as you and it just wouldn’t look good. He’s a great kid but he’s got real struggles that you wouldn’t understand.”

“Hypocrite much?” You asked with a tilt of your head, “Like you would understand those struggles more than me? Are you going to tell him this too or just me because I don’t think Jungkook would appreciate it.”

“Jungkook’s smart, I’m sure he understands why it wouldn’t work. You’ve been to his place I assume, you had some thoughts on it I know. But at the end of the day, I’m loyal to you as a friend more than Jungkook. I’ve known you since you were five and I’m looking out for your best interest.”

“I don’t need you to Jinnie,” you rolled your eyes as you pushed your finished plate away. He let the topic drop with a reluctant sigh. He really did appreciate Jungkook as a person and even as a friend of sort but at the end of the day… what they had never went beyond business. The dinner the other night was to discuss another tournament, what happened after was a spur of the moment. He had respect for Jungkook for what the kid has been through but that’s what makes him wary. He’s seen how mad he can get, how little he actually has to support himself and how battered his life was. You wouldn’t fit in anywhere and Jin cares about you too much to let you fall for someone like him.

“Besides, I’m seeing him later after class,” you said brightly. Jin couldn’t argue with you anymore, he just wanted you to know what he thought. He knew Jungkook was a good guy, he just didn’t think he was right for you. Suddenly you flashed him a bright smile, big puppy dog eyes and a bat of your lashes, “You’re treating me to lunch right?”

“You probably have more money than me Hotel Heiress,” Jin said with a scowl but you didn’t let up. Your bottom lip curling down, “But you invited me.”

“Aish,” he rolled his eyes at you as he took his wallet out, “You’re so annoying.” “Thank you Jinnie, you’re the best.”

He took you back to campus after lunch and you went to your last couple of classes. Taehyung waited for you outside your last class, “Jia and I want to go shopping, you coming?”

“No, Jungkook is waiting for me outside,” you told him reading over Jungkook’s text telling you where he was. Taehyung’s brows furrowed, “Jungkook? The guy from the other night? Don’t tell me you’re seeing him again.”

“Fine I won’t tell you.” “Y/n I’m serious, I don’t know him but the other night something seemed of—Y/n!”

“Bye!” You sang as you saw Jungkook’s black, tinted car. He was outside waiting for you and a smile spread across his face. He pulled you in for a hug, “Aren't you cold?”

“Shivering,” you said with trembling teeth and he helped you into his car ignoring the rise of your skirt. Once he was inside he kicked the heat up, “So where do we go?”

He was nervous. He hasn’t seen you in a couple days and now that it’s the weekend he’s not sure what he should do. Is this a date? Do you even want to date him? You didn’t ask him anything over the time you were at his place but he could tell you wanted to. Would you run away when you found out the extent of his struggles? You bit your bottom lip in thought, humming as you tried to think of something, “Lets go to my place.”

So he followed the directions to the other side of the city where he’d dropped you off just days ago. He only got to look at the outside of the skyscraper hotel with your last name displayed in metal letters under the hotel’s name. The inside was gorgeous, marble everywhere with white clay walls and curved edges that gave the hotel a seamless image. Even the furniture was the color of the walls and the only pop of colors were deep green and shades of brown. He let you drag him into the elevator where you pushed for the top floor putting your key in to unlock the floor and he traveled the hundred stories up.

The second the elevator to your floor opened Jungkook’s breath hitched. He didn’t realize you had the entire floor to yourself until he walked in and saw the various doors to different amenities all just for you ranging from private gym to an entire room larger than his apartment dedicated to shoes and handbags. You walked down the hall to the main living space and he continued to look around. Large kitchen, large windows that looked over the skyline with a pool on the balcony.

“So this is your place?” He asked obviously as you went to your bedroom which, once again, was bigger than his apartment with a king sized bed and canopy. You gave a quick nod of your head disappearing into your closet to change into something warmer, “18th birthday present.”

He was too nervous to even sit on your bed but you came out all joyous jumping on him and tackling him down on it. Immediately, a jolt of pain shot up his side making him wince and you jumped to get off his lap. His hands gripped your waist keeping you in place and your brows furrowed in concern. You reached for his shirt when he held your wrist to stop you but you pulled it up anyway. Jungkook’s face heated when you stared at the faded bruise on his side. It was worse than it was when you two had sex, it was more brown now with yellow around the edges since it was old.

Your finger just barely brushed over it enough that it didn’t hurt but he still flinched at the contact making you frown as you straddle his groin, “You were fighting?”

His eyes widened at first but relaxed when he realized who would’ve told you. Maybe you were closer with Jin than he thought. Lord knows he only sees Jin when it comes to the business they’ve involved themselves with. You, on the other hand, were at Jin’s societal level and probably saw him at galas and fashion shows. So Jin told you about the fighting and you still let him into your home? Without another word you shimmied off his lap and he could feel his heart drop. Maybe you were rethinking things. Maybe you saw that it was a bad idea to get involved with him and now you’re backing out. He wouldn’t blame you after seeing the way you lived compared to him. He expected you to kick him out, not to lean down and press a soft kiss on his ribs, “Did you at least win?”

Jungkook gave a slight nod of his head in response and you smiled moving to lay on the bed now right next to him. You sat your head up on your palm looking over to him, “Do you like boxing?” He shook his head honestly and it made you frown, “So why do it then?”

He was quiet for a moment, “I’m good at it and it’s easy money.” “This is easy money?” you pointed to his bruise but before he could answer you were backtracking, “I mean… I’m just trying to understand but you don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t want to.”

Jungkook couldn’t help but lean forward to press a gentle kiss on your lips before wrapping an arm around your waist pulling you into his side, “Why are you so perfect? Aren’t you a little scared? I’m not a good guy.”

“Why? Because you beat the shit out of people for money? Oh yeah you’re such a thug,” you rolled your eyes, “Besides, I’m not perfect, I’m actually a spoiled bitch.” He laughed along with you snuggling in your bed despite the sun still being out.

“To answer your question from earlier, the only reason why I do this is to help out my parents. They’d kill me if they found out but they’ve got a lot of debt and I want to help them how I can. I dropped out of school my final year and I went straight to work,” Jungkook began to open up, “I didn’t want to leave school but we needed the money so I had to get to work. There weren’t many options where I’m from so I packed up my shit and came here.”

“Wasn’t that hard?” You asked cutely and he could see it in your eyes that even if you didn’t understand, you wanted to. He nodded, “Yeah, I slept on a lot of couches at first. I couldn’t get a good job since I didn’t have a diploma but I started working as a mechanic and was able to get the place I’m at now for cheap if I fix maintenance problems myself.”

“I met this guy who told me he knew how I could make quick money and it was just supposed to be a one time thing but I can’t support myself and my parents with just the car shop.”

“And Jin wants you to be a legitimate boxer? Like one of those lightweight champion fighters?” You asked making him crack a smile as you laid on his chest. He began to play with your hair, “Yeah and I just don’t get it. I’m not going to get far. I don’t how to play by all the rules. I don’t think it’s worth the risk. For now I’m fine working at the auto shop.

“But, you don’t want to see if it actually works out?” You asked curiously, “And would you want to work as a mechanic forever?”

“I’m not thinking about forever, I’m thinking about the present and what gets me by. When I get a chance to live comfortably then I’ll look at the bigger picture but I still don’t think it would be boxing.” He was honest and a little blunt but he didn’t mean to sound that way. He was just being realistic. He knows he’s living paycheck to paycheck and still coming up short but it’s what he needs to do right now. He can’t dedicate himself to a career where he doesn’t get paid frequently unless he trains and devotes all his time.

You didn’t say anything for a moment and it made him wonder if he made you uncomfortable. It’s not that he thinks you had it easy growing up but clearly you’ve grown up with a totally different mindset and endless possibilities. After a while before he could backtrack you spoke, “I see what you’re saying, sorry,” you mumbled and he seemed to squeeze you in his hold. He shook his head no though you couldn’t see him, “Don’t apologize. You were just curious.”

‘So can I go to see you?” You weren’t even done saying what you wanted to say when Jungkook was muttering a few ‘no’s’ making you turn to face him now still laying on him. You went to move back and his arm stayed loose around you but let you move, “Why not?”

“Because it gets really ugly and it’s dangerous. It’s not something I want the girl I’m into to see,” he said mixing in a confession and putting it out there for you to understand what he’s on. He absolutely had no desire to get close to anyone romantically but now that he has, he’s really interested. He finds you attractive but it wasn’t just that. You seemed to listen to him and though you could, you don’t judge him— or at least he didn’t hink you do. You looked at him with an annoyed expression but it was playful, “But I want to see you.”

You didn’t directly say you were into him but you did lean in for a kiss letting his lips meet yours softly. You released a soft moan when his arm tightened back around you turning his body slightly to kiss you better. The two of you pulled apart but his hand was still cupping your face gently and he looked down at you. You opened your mouth to say something but he immediately shut you up with another kiss before pulling away again, “So pl—“ Then another kiss on your lips and you couldn’t help but laugh when he did it again quickly now, “Please let me wa—okay!—“ kiss after kiss on your lips so you wouldn’t keep talking about seeing him fight.

He wouldn’t let you.

Or so he thought. Jungkook held your hand tightly as he led you through the thick crowd watching the fight from before. You looked around anxiously now. It was louder than you imagined, dirtier, rougher. It reeked of alcohol and dirty money. You could feel the stares on you when you walked past and though it made you uncomfortable, you felt a little better with Jungkook there.

He sensed your unease because he pulled you closer until his arm could wrap around your waist, pressing his face against yours to whisper in your ear, “You still okay?”

“Mhm,” you nodded leaning in to give him a quick kiss as he smiled, “Alright, I gotta get ready.”

“Jungkook! My man, you’re late,” a guy with a huge grin on his face approached. You ignored the way he seemed to look at your figure but Jungkook was pulling you closer to his side than before. Jungkook just smiled, “Things came up.”

“I see that,” the guy’s eyes stopped at your legs, then your hips, and chest, “I’m Hoseok by the way.”

“Y/n,” you answered in a snobby tone as you glared back at him. He was way too open with staring you down when Jungkook was there. Jungkook thought the same and it had him pulling you along, “I’ll be out in a bit.”

It was still strange to see you in the locker room with him. The same grimy room he was in last time when he was beaten pretty bad and still came out on top. You tried to hide your disgust but he could see it in the way you avoided touching anything. Jungkook cleared his throat, “I can take you back to the car, if you want.”

“Why would I want to leave?” You asked moving closer to him as he attempted to wrap his fists up by himself. Jin should be here soon to help him with that but until then you’ll just watch him get ready. He looked over to you, in your skirt and sweater making him even more nervous. He asked you to dress down, not because he didn’t love seeing your pretty outfits, but because he didn’t want anyone to get any ideas with you. He’d hate to hop out of the ring so people wouldn’t come at his girlfriend. It still feels weird to say that. Never did he imagine he’d get swept up so quickly and yet here you were, absolutely breathtaking and sweet.

His breath hitched so suddenly, your arms wrapped around his exposed torso in a back hug pressing a kiss to his shoulder plate. He turned his head to look back at you and you took the opportunity to kiss him on the lips.

“Sneaky little snake Y/n.”

You pulled away with a roll of your eyes. Jungkook looked to the swinging doors as Jin walked in. Jin glared at you, “What are you doing here? And why are you dressed like you’re going to a summer Christmas party?”

“I’m covering up,” you said only answering his last question as you let go of Jungkook to give Jin a spin, “Don’t I look pretty?”

“You always do,” Jin said with a shrug as Jungkook’s eyes narrowed in his direction at that comment. He still has to get used to the fact you’re very close with Jin. Tame his jealousy and be less serious all the time. His friend seemed to be thinking the same since he rolled his eyes, “Don’t look at me like that. Why’d you bring Y/n to a place like this?”

“Because I asked,” you said when Jin stepped up to help Jungkook put his gloves on. He scoffed, “And Jungkook is fine just doing whatever you ask?”

When Jungkook didn’t say anything Jin released an annoyed huff of breath as he finished up with the wrappings. Jungkook wasn’t paying attention to anyone but you as he lifted his gloved hands to reach for you. Jin looked between you two muttering something under his breath as he walked out the door giving you two a minute. Jungkook put the gloves on your hips as you moved between his legs looking down at him from where he was sitting on the bench. Your arms rested on his shoulders as he looked up at you with rounded eyes. He leaned forward resting his forehead on your chest, “I’m happy you’re here tonight.”

“Really? I thought you told me no,” you said playfully and he looked up again, still resting on you, squeezing you even closer to him. “But it’s nice to have someone there for me.”

You didn’t know what to say so instead your hands slid up from his shoulders to his face and you leaned down to meet his lips. He kissed back immediately, trying to touch you more but his gloves didn’t let him. It was short and sweet only interrupted when Jin opened the door back up.

He looked to you, “Come on, we’ll find somewhere to be, let Jungkook concentrate before the fight. He’s going up against a new guy first.”

Jungkook gave you a kiss goodbye and you told him good luck and left. You stood with Jin at the closest seats to the ring and he was trying to let you know what might happen tonight.

“So there’s two fights for him. The first will probably be the easiest but if he’s too worn out in the second he might not win. Now, he’s got a winning streak and a lot of people don’t like that so they’ll be fighting dirty tonight,” Jin told you honestly, “A lot of people are mad they’re losing money to him and there’s very few rules here. There’s a couple illegal moves but a lot of it is free game so beware he could get seriously hurt. Hence why I want him to go the professional route but he won’t, his family doesn’t want him fighting. If anyone talks to you don’t even entertain it, alright?”

“Yes dad,” you said, though you were definitely feeling anxious now. Music was loud but yelling was louder. It reeked of sweat, alcohol, blood. It was dirty and crowded and you could feel people looking at you. There were very few females here and they all glared at you too. Jungkook told you to not even bring your purse but you still felt like you needed to keep your possession close.

When Jungkook came out in just a pair of boxing shorts and shoes, mouth guard in looking like a completely different man than the one you kissed just moments ago, you saw him in a new light. Reality was hitting you that he was very much an intimidating man. When he passed you by he didn’t shy away from going to you for a good luck kiss before jumping over rope to get into the ring. When he kissed you it only made more heads turn.

You didn’t pay much attention to what the ref[?] was saying because it was so overwhelmingly loud in here. Practically overstimulating you and suddenly you weren’t so thrilled being here. Jungkook looked scary but so damn attractive, jumping from foot to foot getting his blood pumping as the other guy came in. He was roughly the same size as Jungkook, just less muscle. “You’re in for a show,” a voice spoke as someone plopped down next to you. You looked over to Hoseok who now sat on your left while Jin sat on your right.

“How much?” Jin asked him and they leaned over you to discuss betting amounts. When the bell rang you paid your full attention to the scene before you. Since this wasn’t such a professional fight there were less rounds to go through and the first knockout was a win. Only three rounds and he needed to score high on two to win.

The first round wasn’t a clear win. Jungkook did the first hit making the guy stumble back and you understood why everyone was so energetic. This was nerve wracking and everyone shouting for the one they wanted to win was getting to you. It was during the second round when things began to heat up. This time the other guy did the first hit, a hard fist to Jungkook’s bruised side but he didn’t even flinch. He delivered a harsh blow to the guy’s jaw giving him an uppercut that sent him stumbling against the ropes.

His body slipped to the floor, blood dripping from his mouth and your hands clasped together as the referee counted the seconds for knockout. The guy attempted to get back up but only kept slipping down on the floor. When the whistle blew the round was given to Jungkook. You clapped happily now making him look over to you with a small smile. He was already drenched in sweat, long hair stuck around his face and clearly out of breath. Jin got up with a bottled water and towel taking it to Jungkook as they talked about something you couldn’t here.

“What do you think so far?” Hoseok asked you as the third round started and your eyes locked in on the fight. You have a shy shrug, “It’s… new.”

Hoseok chuckled, “I bet it is, you’re the only one I’ve ever seen wear Cartier here. Better to take it off before someone else sees it.” You nodded but you didn’t take it off in case you’d lose it. Instead you hid it under your sweater now. The third round was quicker, it took one blow for the guy to fall and laughter rose around you.

By the end of the fight, Jin was hurrying you up to the locker room assigned to Jungkook again. Jungkook was already at the sink examining the damage but when he saw you he hid his bruised side. You didn’t even have to say anything when he was reaching for you, “You okay? Is this too much? I’ll have Jin take you to the car, did anyone say anything to you? I’m sorry, this is probably jus—“

You shut him up with a kiss, his body immediately relaxing into it as his head tilted to the side to deepen it with his tongue. Jin audibly gagged behind you, “I miss Jungkook when he was depressed. Now all you two do is eat each other’s faces off. How you feeling Kook?”

“Good, nothing major,” Jungkook cleared his throat awkwardly when Jin passed him an ice bag. The break till the next fight was really short. The guy he would be going up against had already fought his contender when Jungkook arrived. Once they have their fight and marks are tallied they’ll know who wins. If he wins he’ll be able to pay off some of his loans before the loan sharks come knocking on his door again. He’ll send money for his parent’s bills. He’ll pay his car payment, utilities, buy groceries, and take you out on a date. It won’t be as nice as you’re probably used to but hopefully he can do something. He’ll show you that even if he doesn’t have the kind of money you do, he’ll do anything for you to see how strongly he feels.

Having a support system in the audience cheering him on was motivation to win and he promises he’ll win for you. You wanted to watch him fight so he’ll give it his all.

You got back to your seats once the warning for the next fight came. Jin clutched your hand, “You’re holding up better than I thought. You’re usually more high maintenance. You don’t even like going to the gym because it makes you sweat.”

“But sweat looks so good on Jungkook,” you answered looking at Jungkook, “Now shut up. The fights about to start.”

“You think this guy’s got a chance against Seungmin?”

“Nah, he’s not that focused tonight. Probably because his bitch is in the crowd.”

Your brows furrowed at who was talking about you. Jin shook his head when you tried to turn and look, “Just ignore it.”

The first round started heavy. Jungkook’s opponent threw the first blow right in his face. His head whipped back as he was hit in the nose and you visibly winced. Jungkook didn’t feel too much pain from it, probably due to adrenaline, but it made his eyes water and blur for a second giving the guy a chance to hit him in the gut.

The crowd was going crazy around you as Jungkook delivered three hits in but his body collapsed to the floor. The guy had hit the back of Jungkook’s head that had him stumbling down on the floor in pain. You gripped Jin’s arm, “Isn’t that illegal?” He only shook his head, “Not here.”

10

9

8

7…

You waited to see if he’d get up but he couldn’t lift his head. Your leg was bouncing anxiously and before you knew it, the round ended with a knock out. Jin got up immediately going to Jungkook’s aid and he looked worse for wear. The round was given to the other guy and before you could even think you were walking to the rope. Jin was wiping blood off Jungkook’s face grabbing the back of his head checking for blood.

“He’s got a heavy hand,” Jungkook panted out of breath feeling his ears drum. Jin held his head, “Block your fucking head Jungkook. He’s playing extra dirty, he’s going to keep going for it if you’re already injured.”

“Jungkook,” you said softly making him turn, finally noticing you and suddenly he was sitting up on the stool. He sniffled, “Yes baby? Are you okay? I promise I’m fine, if it’s too much don’t look—“

“Fighter’s ready!”

Jin gave Jungkook a kiss on his forehead, “Two rounds. You gotta win this and then you get a pay grade. Alright?” Jin led you back to your seat before you could even talk to Jungkook more but maybe it was for the better.

Jungkook was tired, worn out from the last round and the fight before. His opponent at least had resting time after his fight since Jungkook’s fight was after. Jungkook didn’t get as long of a break before he was thrown into the last fight. He stood in position for the bell to ring but the guy across from him was jittery.

A smirk on his face as he looked over the audience before he snickered, “Brought your toy along? I like her, might just take her from you.”

Jungkook tried to ignore it, jaw tense as he reeled in his anger. The guy was a shit talker, he wanted to get in Jungkook’s head but he won’t let him. He just wants Jungkook to lose focus but he won’t. The second the bell rang Jungkook gave the first hit, getting Seungmin right in the stomach before giving him another hit on the side of his head.

You watched anxiously, Jungkook seemed to have felt better enough to fight back stronger. Hoseok looked over to you, “The kid’s got it, he’ll win.”

You’re not worried about him winning. You’re worried about how hurt he’ll be after and you understand now why Jungkook didn’t want you here. He was strong, he could fight and hold his own but watching him get beat black and blue was heartbreaking. But you couldn’t look away. You were at the edge of your seat, there was blood dripping down Jungkook’s eyes painting it red but he kept fighting, he stayed on his feet even when he was backed into a corner. He blocked his head with gloves and when Seungmin least expected it he punched his nose then jaw. The opponent’s body whipped with the force of the hit and though he tried grabbing rope, he crashed to the floor.

Jungkook was jumping from foot to foot keeping himself moving as the ref counted down to knockout and he released a breath. He sat on the stool in the corner of the ring tipping his head back staring up at the hanging lightbulb over them. They’re tie. This last round will declare the winner of this fight and it has to be him. He can get a few hundred and though most will go to bills he swears he’s going to try and take you out.

Jin was in front of him again, this time he pressed an Enswell to the cut above his brow, “Last round, it’s yours man, I can feel it. You’re faster, you’ve got more coordination. How’s your eye?”

“Hurts like a bitch,” Jungkook confessed through his mouth guard. He turned to look for you but stopped, wincing when Jin wiped the blood away. The cold metal against his skin was numbing the pain but he could still feel his eye swelling, “How’s Y/n?”

“Fine, focus on your opponent not your girlfriend,” Jin said harshly but he only meant it out of concern. He wanted Jungkook to be focused so he wouldn’t get so roughed up in the last round.

Now it was the last round. He shifted his mouth guard to fit better as he stared at Seungmin. He watched his head turn to look at you, eyes wandering up the expanse of your legs to your skirt. His words were mumbled due to the guard but he could understand him clearly, “Yeah, I’ll take her as my prize. She’ll look good as my bitch, bet she’s got a fat ass t—“

Jungkook shoved him, the crowd growing louder as the ref blew the whistle, pulling them apart. The guy only laughed glaring at Jungkook, “Look real nice with her legs spread just for me. She tight?”

The whistle blew.

The first throw Jungkook took didn’t land, it was too blinded by rage that Seungmin touched him first backing him up into the corner again with his larger build, “Bet she likes to fuck dirty with that body.”

Jungkook struggled, moving too quick to cause real damage and block his eye at the same time. Seungmin kept going, “You think she’ll put up a bigger fight than you? I like the figh—“

His breath was knocked out of his body when Jungkook threw a direct punch to his diaphragm making him stumble back. As he clutched his chest Jungkook took the opportunity to hit where his kidney should be, bringing the guy down to his knees in pain.

You were on your feet with everyone else cheering Jungkook on unbeknownst to what was being said about you. Though Seungmin was down, anytime he tried to get up Jungkook would stop him. With an uppercut, Jungkook punched right at Seungmin’s ear sending a ring down his ear drums and he fell to his side.

But Jungkook didn’t stop. The gloves made it hard for him to really get his hands on him but he wasn’t done. He didn’t even care about the round. He cared about beating the fuck out of this piece of shit for talking about you, so he did. He got over the guy, straddling his curled position as Seungmin blocked his own head from being hit. There were no rules outside of no weapons, and no weighted gloves so he wasn’t stopping until he was dragged off of him.

“Jungkook!” Jin called out when Jungkook brought a fist back and hit over the man’s hands getting as much of his head as he could. He raised another arm to do it again as the whistle blew.

He delivered another blow feeling the bounce of the mat, the ref saying he won since it was a knockout but he wasn’t done.

Just as he was ready to give him another hit he was being yanked off but he wanted more. He wanted the guy bloody and bruised for the way he talked about you. He lurched forward to do it but strong arms held him back, two people telling him to stop. The ref raised Jungkook, “The winner! There, you’re done with the fighting!”

He had to be dragged out of the ring by Hoseok and Jin. He could barely see out of his eye and the crowd half cheered half booed, “Where’s Y/n?”

He was feeling dizzy, drained and tired. Jin sat him down on the bench and you went to get ice. You wanted to cry though you had no reason to. He just looked so scary out there but also, he was clearly beat. You had to collect yourself instead of let your emotions show. You’re the one who begged him to let you see him fight. You passed the bag to Jin feeling like you needed to catch your breath. Jin let you sit next to Jungkook who seemed too far into his own world to pay attention.

He was hot, his body was on fire and he was breathing heavy, leg bouncing as he thought back to what Seungmin had been saying. The fucking disrespect. Even if you weren’t his girlfriend, how could Seungmin say things like that and expect Jungkook to not react? He wanted to fight him again, it was all he could think about.

“Take the keys,” Jin told you and you did. Hoseok came in shortly after, “I’ve got the cut. Seungmin’s mad, cussing at everyone saying it’s cheating.”

“Says who?” Jin scoffed making Hoseok shrug, “No one. Jungkook won, everyone could see Seungmin was instigating and now he’s mad he got his ass handed to him.”

He chuckled as Jin took Jungkook’s gloves off and the mouth guard fell to the floor. Jungkook grabbed a t-shirt ignoring his wounds as he stood suddenly. He grabbed his things and like confused idiots you all rushed after him.

The place was still bustling with drunk energy and Seungmin’s voice was heard over it all.

“Take him out the ring and I’ll fucking beat him.”

You stayed a little behind as Jin tried grabbing at Jungkook but he just pushed him off.

“I call rematch and I’ll take the money and his bitc—“

Okay, well now you knew what he had been telling Jungkook. Jungkook turned Seungmin around but before the guy could react, a hard fist was colliding with his nose. Screams erupted, some urging the fight, some calling security. This entire time Jungkook had been silent with only a deadly look in his eyes. You gasped loudly when the guy threw Jungkook off trying to get on top of him but Jungkook wasn’t letting him. His fists weren’t stopping and they were covered in blood now.

“Jungkook!” You didn’t know what else to do. You couldn’t just go in and stop the fight like an idiot but you didn’t want Jungkook to do something he’ll regret. Jin seemed to be thinking the same because he did try and get Jungkook off only to be shoved aside.

Suddenly, security was there, picking Jungkook up with an arm around his neck locking him in. He fought against the hold once Seungmin was sitting up spitting out blood but Hoseok cut in. You didn’t know he was the one in charge of it all but it made sense now.

“Enough!” He yelled out, “If you’re not inside that ring you’re not fucking fighting or your asses are done!”

You walked to Jungkook practically feeling the heat radiating off him but you tried being gentle as he fought against the security still, “Hey, Jungkook.”

He couldn’t even look at you, eyes set on the guy and before he could stop himself he was lunging for him again catching security off guard and accidentally releasing him. Seungmin fell into a group of people when Jungkook did it again. You covered your eyes blocking out the yelling as they tried getting him off.

This time security wasn’t so nice, picking Jungkook up and throwing him on the ground making him gasp for air from his injuries. You immediately went to him, “Stop, please, can you please just stop.”

You didn’t notice you were crying as Jin helped Jungkook up and silently dragged him out. Jungkook was mad even as you made it outside.

“I fucking told you not to come!” Jungkook yelled, “I told you Y/n.”

“I know, I’m sorry,” you apologized, making Jin shove Jungkook into the passenger seat. “Stop acting fucking crazy or I’m leaving your ass here and taking Y/n home.”

You had the keys with you, hurrying to start the car so the two of you could leave but Jin was at Jungkook’s window. You rolled it down for him and the look on Jin’s face was saddened.

“Hoseok took half the cut for fighting outside the ring.”

“What?” Jungkook asked sitting up in his seat. Jin just nodded, “Took it, man I told you not to act out.”

Jungkook took the amount that was in Jin’s hands counting it up before cursing. It wasn’t nearly enough, not for everything. It wasn’t even enough to pay his family’s bills. When Jin pulled back you took the opportunity to drive but you didn’t take him to his place.

You were struggling when you pulled into the parking spot in the hotel parking garage and dragged him out. The garage was connected to the side of the hotel so you took him in the elevator as far as you could go and went up. As long as you avoided the lobby nobody would no how badly your boyfriend was beat.

He was silent now, all the pain finally hitting him at once and he felt hopeless. All that was for nothing. He won but at what cost? He let his emotions get the best of him and he yelled at you. Fuck, why did he do that? He couldn’t even apologize, it’s like his mouth had been sewn shut and look at this. You’re having to drag him yourself because he can’t walk himself. How pathetic.

When you got to a floor you found a cleaner and called to her as you got onto the right elevator hiding Jungkook against the wall, “Take a first aid kit to my room.” Everyone knew who you were and you couldn’t risk Jungkook being seen and your father being notified. The woman just nodded, running off already and you went to your floor. Jungkook didn’t say anything about coming to your place instead of his. He would’ve if he wasn’t trying to faint.

It didn’t take long for the first aid kit to get to your place and he followed you in.

He didn’t feel too awful but he was embarrassed. He didn’t even want you looking at him. His eye is practically swollen shut but thankfully it wasn’t the side with the piercing on it. He could still feel some blood on it but he had to force himself to ignore it as he followed you to your bathroom. You were bent over running the water in your overly large bath tub. You directed him to sit on the marble side of it and he did as told. You reached out to pull his shirt up but he stopped you.

“I can do it,” he mumbled looking down, “I’m fine.” You tried getting him to look and he wouldn’t but when you lifted his head he turned away making you frown, “You sure?”

“I don’t want you seeing me like this,” his voice was raspy, “Fuck I’m sorry baby, I’m so sorry for yelling at you earlier.”

“It’s okay,” you said, holding his face gently, “But look at me, please.” It took him a second but when he did you released a sigh. You had a warm wet cloth as you began cleaning his eye area, “I’m here.”

He looked at you close to tears. “You don’t have to do everything alone. I want to take care of you too,” you said, making him sniffle. He shook his head, “I always do it alone, it's okay.”

“It’s not,” you said once he was finally undressed. You checked the water and poured some bath salts in and urged him to get in. He was naked in front of you but you couldn’t look at him, he didn’t want you to see all the pain he went through even if he says it’s not that bad. You sat on the edge of the tub waiting for him to get in and he did so shyly. As he sank into the warm water he looked back at you, “I shouldn’t have yelled at you in the car. I’m sorry you had to see me like that, okay? If you don’t want to be with me because of it I wo—“

“You won’t what? Stop me?” You asked cupping water in your hands and letting it run over his body, “So if I tell you right now that I don’t want you, you’ll just leave without a fight? You must not like me that much.”

“I love you,” he blurted out, happy that he was facing the wall instead of you but he would rather have you in here with him, “That’s why I wouldn’t stop you from leaving me. I’m not good enough for you.”

“Says who?”

“Y/n be serious, please,” Jungkook released a sigh turning to look at you. Now that he’s more cleaned up his wounds don’t look so bad but his eye was still swollen and his knuckles were bloody, “Look at me. Look at what I did tonight and where I live an—“

“I am looking,” you told him with your hands in his hair wetting it, “And tonight made me realize that I’m in love with you. I don’t care about where you live, I don’t care about any of that.”

“But I do,” he said when you started tugging your skirt and sweater off. Yes, he wanted you in his arms in this tub big enough to fit four people, but he didn’t want to just think about himself. He wanted you to know that he understands how different you two are and if tonight scared you, he understands why. He was a monster.

“Why?” You asked, sinking in across from him, “Why do you care about that stuff if I don’t?”

“Because it’s not enough for you. I want to give you so much of myself. I want to treat you the way you deserve to be treated and I can’t,” Jungkook said honestly, voice cracking here and there, “I’m not good enough, I fight to make money and look what happens. I can’t control myself, I yelled at you for no fucking reason and I hate myself so much.”

“Because you yelled at me or because you don’t think you’re enough?” You asked cautiously, making him shake his head no but he didn’t even know what he wanted to say. Yeah, he strongly disliked himself. He worked his ass off and it was never enough. He never had enough money, enough food, enough restraint, stability, or love.

You were careful when you leaned forward placing a soft kiss to his jaw, “I know you didn’t mean to snap. I know your buttons were pushed. I know you were stressed out and I don’t blame you at all. If I did I wouldn’t have you here with me. I don’t know how much more direct I have to be for you to see that I care about you so fucking much.”

“I don’t care about money, or yelling or any of that shit, I care about you and how you make me feel so safe because I know my strong boyfriend will beat the shit out of anyone who talks about me,” you said making your tone lighter at the end and he almost cracked a smile. He would never let anyone treat you any sort of way. That’s true.

His sore hands were holding your waist now underwater trying to pull you onto his lap. Though he’s been hit a few times in the gut, the place he was most hit was his face. His lip was pulled between his teeth, “My fighting scared you.”

“No, it didn’t,” you confessed, “What scared me is knowing that guy could do pretty much anything to you and it wouldn’t be breaking the rules.”

“I know,” he said, agreeing with you. It was getting extremely dangerous. If he gets hit in the head any more times he’ll get punch drunk before he’s 26. It’s not the fighting that’s the problem it’s where he’s doing it that is, “But as embarrassing as it is to confess to you, I need the money.”

“I understand baby, I’m not saying anything about that,” you told him honestly, running your fingers through his hair, “But it doesn’t have to be this way.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying I agree with Jin,” you told him making his brows furrow as much as they could. “If fighting is what you’re good at and you want to fight then go ahead. It shouldn’t matter what anyone thinks unless they’re here caring for you instead of putting more stress on your shoulders. I know your family doesn’t like you fighting and honestly, after tonight, I didn’t like seeing that but it’s not because I don’t support you.”

“It’s because I do, that I want you to have better opportunities in a safer, more regulated environment and not some dingy ass fight club,” you told him with a kiss to his shoulder blade, “So I think you should think about going professional. Jin and I have good connections everywhere and with the right training you can get really far. But if you really don’t want to then I won’t ask anymore.”

“You think I can do it? How am I gonna have time to train when I’ve got to make money,” Jungkook asked, suddenly thinking about it. You were a lot more convincing than Jin but maybe it’s because you’re so loving—and naked in his arms.

“I’ll help you with mon—“ “No,” and he was unconvinced, “I’m not taking handouts. I’m sorry baby but not from you. You’re my girlfriend, you’re not supposed to have to let me borrow money. I want to be able to take you out and spoil you and I can’t if—“

“It’s not a hand out, it’s your girlfriend wanting to do things for you because she really loves you and wants you to be at a point in your life when you’re not stressing over every little thing,” you told him. He shook his head, still unconvinced. He can’t. He can’t. He loves you too much to put his worries on your shoulders. You pressed a kiss to his collarbone, “Besides I’m not saying you won’t be able to do it on your own, I know you can.”

“What I’m saying is that you don’t have to do it alone, and if it’s not money that you want help with that’s fine but don’t shut me out because you’re scared of relying on someone else. You’re too used to being the one dealing with your problems and everyone else’s. I want to be the one you have in your corner.”

“So I should go pro?” You nodded making his eyes dart around in thought, “I’ll still be fighting but I know now it’s because I like it.”

“Yes but you’ll be doing it as safe as can be, I don’t want you to go into a fight like this again and the guy do anything he can to get you down,” you told him and he looked up at you.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“I am… I am asking for your help,” he struggled to get the words out but he did, “Because I don’t want to keep living the way I am, barely surviving and having to do dangerous things to get by. The reason why I never considered it is because I wouldn’t have the time or the money or even the support but I have you now.”

“You do,” you smiled, “And even if it doesn’t work—it will—but if it doesn’t, I’m still going to be here supporting everything you do.”

“I love you,” he blurted out looking in your eyes, “So fucking much and I’ve never felt like this for anyone else. I’m just sorry you have to see me like this.”

“Shhh,” you pressed your lips to his, “I love you too.”

You gave him a chaste kiss, “But we need you training on defense asap.” His brows furrowed as you continued, “I’m serious, you’re a good fighter but when it comes to blocking hits you suck.”

The two of you laughed lightly at that. It was true. He was a street fighter only using his fists to fight but when it comes to defending himself he’s not so quick. Hence why his face is usually the most damaged. His fingers sunk into your sides, “You gonna be my new trainer, baby?”

“Maybe, I know my way around a fight.” “Mmm, you’re gonna have to show me some moves but not in the ring.”

Your eyes rolled playfully, “Not tonight, you’re probably tired after your rounds.”

“I could still go for another round or two.”

“Are we still talking about fighting?”

::.

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a/n oooo not a boxer jk. still debating how I feel about the fic but it was fun to write

no part two but I will accept requests for drabbles of the fic

also, my blog now has a tipping option to support my writing :) I obv am not expecting any sort of payment but just added it

[guess-my-next-obsession]

Guilty as Sin? — Chapter Nine

pairing: professor!javier peña x f!reader

rating: series is 18+ only, minors DNI, professor/student dynamic, the gurls (Steve and Javi) are catty in this one but Steve deserves it, Javi has a filthy mouth, we get him to beg, unprotected piv, oral (m!rec), secret relationship/age difference mention, angst at the end but it's resolved

word count: 5.6k

series masterlist

Something was burning. 

The smell hit you in your sleep, causing you to stir awake with a sour face. You looked over at Javi’s side of the bed, but it was empty. You rushed to your feet, grabbing Javi’s robe and hastily wrapping yourself in it as you rushed to the bedroom door. You expected the apartment to be engulfed in flames from the foul, bitter smell, but were greeted with a far more amusing sight when you whipped the door open. 

Running around the kitchen with the urgency of a contestant on a cooking show, Javi and Steve tried their best to air out the smoke coming from the stove. 

“What the hell happened?” you asked, pinching your nose. Javi’s wide eyes met yours, a frown already etched onto his face. 

“We were trying to surprise you,” he said, almost bashfully. “But Steve took his eyes off the bacon—“

“I wasn’t in charge of the goddamn bacon,” Steve interjected. “I was in charge of the pancakes and look—“ He gestured to the stack of golden brown pancakes on the kitchen island. “Perfect.”

“I told you to watch it while I—“

“The hell you did—“

“I know I did,” Javi replied, rubbing his eyes as he walked over to where you stood in the doorway of the bedroom. He dropped his hands to your face, cradling your jaw as he leaned in for a gentle peck. “Sorry for the rude awakening, cariño.”

You smiled, tugging him closer by the belt loops of his jeans just to kiss him again. “S’okay.”

“We could go out to eat,” he mumbled against your lips. 

“We can’t,” you sighed, tilting your head back to look into his eyes. “Or did you forget about the whole secret relationship thing?”

“No, smartass.” He gave your ass a small tap. “I was thinking we could get something on the road.”

You raised a brow. “The road?” 

“Yeah, Steve wants to go visit my dad,” he said, suddenly looking shy. “Thought you could come along and…meet him, I guess.”

“You…want me to meet your dad?” you asked, stifling your shock. 

“Yeah, I mean…if you want,” he said, shrugging. “I want you to meet him, but not if it’s too much or too soon for you.”

“No,” you said, lifting a hand to rest against his chest, his heartbeat wild beneath your palm. “I want to, as long as your dad doesn’t mind?”

“He’s kind of been asking to meet you for a while now,” Javi said, biting his lip. 

“You told him about me?” 

“Yeah,” he smiled. “After our weekend together.”

“Javier Peña,” you crooned, running your hand over his heart. “A softie underneath it all.”

“For you,” he said, lifting your hand to his lips. “So is that a yes?”

“Mmhm,” you hummed. “Just need to go home and shower first.” 

“I’ll drive you,” he said. “Just let me help Steve destroy the evidence of his failure first.”

 After battling Steve for the passenger seat, the three of you headed out for Laredo. Javier stopped at his favorite burrito place and got the three of you breakfast for the road with the condition that Steve doesn’t, in Javi’s words, eat like a fucking animal in the backseat.

The two of them carried on like siblings, bickering and teasing one another with a playful undertone that showed the deep-rooted fondness underneath all that masculinity. You stayed relatively silent, enjoying their chatter while you finished a paper for Dr. Brown’s class that was due at the end of the week. Javi’s hand made itself at home on your knee, his thumb brushing soothing strokes against the ribbed fabric that sent a throbbing ache between your legs. He seemed clueless to the fact that all it took for you to want him was a single glance, that all it took for you to need him was one simple, innocuous touch. The fucking menace had no clue just how badly your body craved his, and if he did, he certainly refused to show you any mercy. 

When you stopped at a gas station in a small town off the highway you were offered a moment of alone time with Javier as Steve went inside to “handle business” in the restroom—you didn’t ask him to elaborate. 

“How’s the paper coming?” Javi’s head was tilted back against the headrest, the hand that was on your knee now resting against the back of your seat. 

You shut your laptop and set it on the dashboard before tugging Javier over the center console for a kiss. You held onto the curve of his jaw, your thumbs stroking over stubble as he parted his lips to move with yours, a dark rumble slipping straight from his mouth into yours. You let out a soft whine at the sound that only spurred Javi on, one hand coming to rest on your hip with a needy squeeze. 

“Need you so bad,” you confessed, nibbling on his bottom lip. Javier’s hand slid from your hip to the apex of your thighs, a soft sigh slipping from his lips as he let his palm cover your heated core. “Take me into the bathroom and fuck me, Jav.” 

“Jesus,” he groaned, letting you get your fill of him as you trailed your kisses down the line of his neck to his thumping pulse. “Not enough time to make you come, hermosa.” 

“I don’t care,” you said. “I just want to feel you.”

Javier let his head fall back against the headrest as your hand wandered up his thigh to cup him through his jeans. “Baby, shit—“

The backseat door opened, abruptly ending the heated moment. You both straightened yourselves in your seats as Steve climbed in with a bag of snacks in hand. 

“Got y’all some water,” he said, handing the cold bottles to both of you. “Since you’re so goddamn thirsty for each other.” 

“You saw that?” you laughed, covering your face with your hands. Javi pried them away with a smirk, bringing them up to his lips to kiss your knuckles. 

“This could be you if you, I don’t know, talked to your wife?” he said, shooting a glance back at Steve. “Jealous ass.”

“Just wait,” Steve said. “Eventually it’ll all wear off and then you’ll be flyin’ out to Florida to sleep on my couch.”

“I prefer my bed and the woman keeping it warm,” Javi said, lacing your fingers together as he pulled out of the parking lot. “And unlike you, I don’t let pride get in the way of that.”

“Javi,” you said, giving him a lighthearted scolding. “Don’t need to kick him while he’s down.”

“He’s kicking me while I’m up,” he argued with a smile. “Besides, Steve could use some tough love.”

“I’m right here, jackass,” Steve said. “And this argument ain’t my issue. Connie needs to understand that I’m allowed to make my own decisions about my career.”

“And she’s allowed to divorce your ass for not taking her and Olivia into consideration.”

“Who’s Olivia?” you asked, turning in your seat to look at Steve. You watched as his look of pride shifted to one of guilt. 

“It’s his three year old,” Javi said. “Who he left at home all because he doesn’t want to own up to his shit.”

“Jav, you’re treadin’ on thin ice,” Steve warned. “Keep my daughter outta this.”

“She’s affected by this, you fucking idiot,” Javi said, refusing to back down. “I don’t give a shit if you’re pissed at me. Whatever it takes to get you back to your family so you can keep them, I’ll do it.” 

“And what the fuck do you know about family, Javi?” Steve asked, his tone so calm it was unnerving. “Hm? All those years fuckin’ prostitutes teach you a lot about the family dynamic?”

Javier shook his head, his jaw clenching as he watched the road. You wanted to turn around and tell Steve to shut the fuck up, even if only for your own comfort. It wasn’t as though Javi had kept his past a secret—he’d told you all about the activities he got up to during the DEA and you didn’t judge him for it or the women he slept with—but the thought of Javier fucking someone else always soured your stomach to the point of genuine nausea. 

“I’ll drop the subject, Steve,” Javi said, his tone flat and sharp at the same time. “But you’re the one that’s going to have to deal with the consequences of your actions, not me. Try to put the blame on me, try to discredit me to my girlfriend, do whatever you think you have to do to feel better about putting yourself above your family. But when Connie and Olivia decide they’re done with you, don’t come to me asking why I wasn’t there. I’m here now, telling you to own up to your shit. Do it or don't.”

The rest of the ride was silent and tense. You busied yourself with your paper, Javi busied himself with focusing on the road, his hands tight on the steering wheel, and Steve busied himself with sulking in the back seat. 

It wasn’t until the three of you arrived at Javi’s dad’s ranch that the air between them lightened. 

Javi kept close to your side, his hand wrapped around yours as he walked you up the gravel path to the front porch of his father’s two-story farmhouse. 

“You nervous?” he asked in a whisper as he led you up the steps of the front porch. 

“A little,” you admitted, glancing back at Steve who was smoking a cigarette by the car. “You alright? Things seemed a little tense back there.”

“That’s just us,” he said, raising his hand to the front door and knocking. “Steve needs to hear the truth from someone. I don’t really give a shit if he hates me, just as long as he makes shit right with his family.”

“I don’t know what I’d do if we got into a fight and you just left,” you said, shaking your head. “I probably wouldn’t let you come back. Especially if we had a kid to worry about.”

“That’s not my style,” he said, lifting a hand up to lovingly pinch your chin. “I meant what I said. I like my bed and I love having you in it. I’m not going to fuck that up for anything.”

“Because you love me,” you mused, stepping closer. 

“Mmhm,” he smiled, wrapping an arm around the small of your back to pull you into his side. “First woman I ever loved.” 

“Shut up,” you laughed, giving his chest a playful swat. 

“I’m dead serious,” he said, leaning down to brush his nose against yours. “You’re the only woman who’s had me this way. Try and remember that the next time Steve brings up my past.”

“The next time he brings up your past, I’ll just remind him that I don’t view those women as competition,” you said, pecking his lips. “They all taught you different shit. In fact, remind me to send a thank you card to the woman who taught you how to eat—“

“Mijo,” an older, rougher, voice with a slightly heavier accent than Javier interrupted the filth you were about to say, causing you to turn towards the man with a wide eyed look of embarrassment. 

“Pops,” Javi greeted, chuckling at your expression as he let you go to pull his father in for a hug. 

“Chucho!” Steve called as he stomped his cigarette out into the dirt. “How the hell are ya, old man?” 

“I’ll deal with you in a minute,” he said, fixing his attention on you. “You must be the woman my son won’t shut up about.”

You gave Javi a smile, squeezing his hand. “I hope so, Mr. Peña, otherwise he’ll be in trouble.”

His father laughed, extending his hand. “Call me Chucho, mija.”

You nodded, letting him go off down the stairs to Steve with a finger wagging. “That wife of yours should kick your ass.” 

Javi let out a deep breath, relief washing over his face. “I haven’t brought anyone home since I was a teenager. Thought I was gonna pass out for a second.”

You laughed, hugging his arm. “Your dad’s cool.”

“Until you piss him off,” he added. “But I can’t imagine you’ll ever see that side of him. Now, Steve on the other hand…”

“He doesn’t like Steve?” you asked, furrowing your brows. 

“He likes him, but he’s big on family,” Javi explained. “And right now, Steve’s being a dick to his family.”

“Well, since they’re busy, why don’t you take me on a little tour?” you asked, biting your lip as you nudged your head towards the open front door. “Show me your old bedroom and all that.”

“Do you want to see my bedroom, or do you want to see my bed?” Javi asked, lowering his voice in a way that made you throb with need. 

“Like you’d actually fuck me with your dad and Steve here,” you whispered, licking your lips as you stared at his. So tempting, so full, so capable of making you feel good. God, you hoped he wasn’t bluffing. 

“Is that a challenge, cariño?” he rasped, brushing his lips over yours. You slid your hands up to his chest, anchoring yourself with your hands gripping the leather labels of his jacket. “I love a challenge.” 

“Javi,” you sighed, forcing your head to turn towards the men still locked into their passionate conversation. “Don’t play with me right now, I must be ovulating or something. I’m…needy.”

“Me too,” he husked, bringing his lips to the hinge of your jaw. Your breath hitched as he placed an open mouthed kiss there before skimming his teeth along the line of your neck, punctuating it with a lovebite. 

“Your dad’s twenty feet away,” you whispered, swatting at his chest. 

“He can’t see anything this far even if he was paying attention,” he mumbled, lathing his tongue over where he’d nipped at your sensitive skin. 

“Take me somewhere else,” you managed, half up in the clouds from the feeling of Javi’s lips on your skin. “Say we’re going to pick up lunch or something.”

“And then what?” he asked, pulling back to look at you with lust glazed eyes. 

“Then I want you to fuck me in the backseat of your car,” you said, gathering what remained of your wits. “I’m sure you know a backroad or two where we won’t get caught.”

Javier grinned, nodding his head before lacing your fingers together. He walked you down the porch steps, your feet crunching over the gravel as the two of you reached where Steve and Chucho stood talking. “Pops, we’re gonna go grab some lunch to bring back.”

“Mmhm,” Chucho hummed, a smile tugging at his lips as he looked down at your joined hands. “Take your time. I’m going to take Steve out to the field and put him to work with the cows.”

“I didn’t agree t’all that,” Steve said, holding his hands up. 

“Well, your wife didn’t agree to you re-signing, but you had no problem doing that.”

Javier’s hand never left the inside of your thigh as he drove you through a seemingly never ending labyrinth of dirt roads before finding a spot nestled in a line of trees, not a soul around for acres. 

“Get back there,” he ordered as he climbed out of the car. You bit your lip, scrambling to undo your seatbelt so that you could climb over the center console into the backseat. Javier opened the door on his side and slid in beside you, his hands already reaching for your face as you swung your leg over his lap to straddle him. He laid his head back against the head rest, studying you as you sat breathless and needy on top of him. “So fucking beautiful.”

“I need you so bad,” you whined, reaching for his belt to undo it. Javier sat back in his seat to give you more room, both of you watching as you took him out of his jeans and gave him a long, languid stroke. “Look at you…” You licked your lips as a droplet of his arousal spilled down his head and onto your fist. “You need me, Javi? Hm? Want me to sit on it?”

Javier groaned, his hands flexing on your thighs as you continued to stroke him slowly, his cock twitching in your palm with each pass. “Baby, fuck.”

“That’s not a yes,” you purred, cunt throbbing at the sight of him coming undone over your teasing. 

“Yes, baby,” he panted, his eyes lifting to meet yours. “Sit on my dick, cariño.”

“Ask nicely,” you said, leaning forward to ghost your lips over his. 

“Please,” he begged, filling the gap between you with a kiss to your jaw. “Want to watch you ride me out here in the open.”

You let out a sigh, tipping your head back to give him better access to your neck as you tilted your hips forward to grind your clothed center against his bare cock. “Feels so good, Javi.”

“Yeah?” he murmured beneath your ear. “You wanna come like this first? Get that pussy nice and wet for me?”

“Fuck,” you whined, resting your head on his shoulder as your rocked your hips, angling your clit to brush against the ridge of his tip with every thrust forward. 

“Just like that,” he murmured, hands settled on your hips to guide your rhythm. “Use me, baby. Doing so fucking good.” 

The only sounds to be heard beyond the birdsong in the distance were your breathy moans and Javi’s deliciously filthy praise in your ear as you chased your orgasm. Your hands gripped the top of the seat behind Javi’s head for leverage as your movements grew erratic and uncontrolled, your high within arms reach. 

“Come on, hermosa,” he breathed, his lips brushing against your ear. “So close, baby. Just keep going.”

“Javi,” you whined as your climax took hold, turning you into a crumpled mess of ecstasy on his lap. Javier held you tight, kissing your temple as you recovered. 

“You’re so fucking beautiful when you come,” he rasped, his hands sliding down the small of your back to slip underneath the band of your leggings, grabbing the globes of your ass to pull you closer. “Can you feel how hard you make me, cariño? I’m always like this around you. During class, when we pass each other on campus, when you’re in my living room building Legos with me at all hours of the night, when I bring you home to meet my fucking dad—you’re driving me crazy and I don’t want it to stop for a single fucking minute.” 

With furrowed brows and a pounding heart, you pulled him close, crashing your lips against his in response to his filthy confession. Pulling away breathless and dizzy, you lifted your hand to his face, dragging your thumb over his stubble. “I love you, Javier.” 

“I love you,” he murmured, turning his face to kiss the inside of your palm. “But if I’m not inside you in the next thirty seconds, I think I might die.” 

You laughed, sliding off his lap to tug your leggings and underwear down to your knees while he shoved his jeans down to his ankles and took his angry, leaking cock in his fist. You couldn’t help but let out a soft hum at the sight of him stroking himself, bathed in mid-afternoon sunlight that pooled in from over the treeline. “You’re a sight, Dr. Peña.” 

Javier grinned, his dimple emerging as he watched you climb back onto his lap, this time facing away from him. He let out a soft hiss as you wrapped your hand around his cock, dragging it across your wet seam. 

“I want to hear you beg again,” you demanded, your eyes locking with his over your shoulder. “Beg me to sit on your dick, Javi.”

Javier looked to be in agony, his eyes squeezing shut and head rolling back against the seat while his palms squeezed the soft flesh of your hips. “Please, baby.”

“Please what?” 

“Please sit on my dick, baby,” he managed, his voice teetering on a whimper as you slipped the very tip of him in and out of your slippery entrance. 

“You want it, baby?” you purred, thighs shaking from the build-up. Javi groaned, lifting his hips up to press into yours just an inch more than you’d been allowing. 

“I fucking need it,” he rasped, leaning forward to press a kiss against your clothed shoulder. “I need to feel your pussy. So fucking wet. Bet I could just slip right in.”

“Do it,” you urged, leaning forward to hug the back of the driver’s seat, your ass on full display as you turned back to look at him. “Fuck me how you need to, Javi.”

He let out a full whimper that time, taking himself in hand and lining himself up with your cunt before bringing your hips down to meet his lap in a hard slam. You cried out, the sound lost the wind, and held on tight to the leather of the seat as he guided your hips to meet the sharp snap of his thrusts. He let out a low growl at the vulgar squelch of your cunt with each thrust, your arousal only growing with every pass of his head against that deliciously destructive spot inside of you. 

“Listen to that,” he said, silencing your moans with soft shush. You obeyed, biting your lip to quiet yourself as he forced you to listen to the sound of your bodies joining. Your cunt throbbed at the filthy sound, Javi’s soft moans only adding to the jolts of pleasure cascading down your thighs to your toes. 

“Javi, shit,” you whined, reaching down between your thighs to rub some of the tension away. “Fuck, I’m gonna come like this. Don’t you dare fucking stop.”

“Never,” he rasped, doubling his efforts. The sound of his pleasure blended with yours in perfect, sinful harmony, his low groans and growls pairing with your soft cries, the breathy sound of his name slipping free from your lips each time he hit the perfect spot. “Come for me, baby. Come all over my dick. It’s yours, you know that? You can get it as messy as you want. Come all over it, every single day, whenever you want.”

You let out a strangled moan, your eyes clamped shut as you took over the pace, riding him with the sole goal of making him come with you. “Javi, you feel so fucking good, I can’t—“

“Yeah you can,” he urged, leaning forward to press his chest to your back, his hand snaking over your hip to replace yours between your thighs. You shuddered, something between a sob and a moan slipping free as he swirled his fingers over your swollen clit in time with deep, calculated strokes against your favorite spot. “Your thighs are shaking, cariño. Do I make you feel good?”

He knew the answer—he could feel it in the way your cunt squeezed him every time he moved inside of you—but it didn’t stop him from wanting to hear you say it. Just like you couldn’t help but want to hear him beg for you. 

“You make me feel so fucking good,” you moaned, teetering on the edge now. “I—fuck—I’m coming, Javi. Fuck. Please. Come—come inside me.”

“Ah, shit,” he dragged the words out, slowing my hips into a languid bounce as my walls threatened to choke him. “I’m gonna come, baby. Gonna come inside you and fuck it deep.”

Your only response was another cry of his name, your mind lost to bliss as he bounced you over his cock once, twice, before pulling you down to the hilt and filling you with a long string of curses and praise. 

“You fucking own my soul,” he said after a beat, the two of you still locked into place. He smoothed his hands over your hips before gripping them, guiding you into a deep, pleasure-wet grind. “We just stopped and I want to go again.”

You laughed, leaning back against his chest, his arms wrapping around you. “I think you’ll give me a stroke if we go again.” 

“We’ll save it for back home then,” he said, kissing your cheek. “Until then, I think we should probably hurry up and grab food before my dad works Steve to death.”

“He deserves a little punishment for talking to you like that,” you said, climbing off Javi’s lap before pulling your leggings over your hips, careful to keep the mess between your thighs from spilling onto the seat. Javi climbed out of the backseat with a stretch to his lower back, his dick hanging free and proud in the sunlight. You laughed at the sight of him rubbing his lower back without a single worry in the world for his state. “Put that thing away or the birds might confuse it for a worm.”

Javier snorted out a laugh, giving you a look of amused shock. “How dare you.”

“I dare,” you smirked, climbing out of the car to stand in front of him. You kept your eyes locked on his as you lowered to the ground in front of him, your palm wrapped around his half-hard shaft. “Guess it would have to be a big worm.”

“An anaconda.” 

You snorted. “Someone’s confident.”

“And someone likes to tease,” he said, fitting his hand to your chin as you brushed your lips over the head of his cock. “We don’t have time for you to seduce me again.” 

“No, but I want to,” you said, laying out your tongue to lick a stripe up his cock. Javier groaned, watching himself swell in your fist. “Just to clean up my mess.”

“Fuck me,” he cursed, reaching forward to grip the car for stability as you licked him clean, pursing your lips across his shaft before letting him slip between your swollen lips. Javi let out a soft hiss as you took him in as far as you could, sputtering on his length before slowly dragging him out, your fist stroking him as you wiped a tear free from your waterline. He gently pulled himself out of your grasp, guiding you onto your feet so that he could kiss your messy lips like it was the only thing he ever wanted to do. “You’re the love of my life, cariño.”

You smiled into the kiss, combing your fingers through his hair. “You’re just saying that because I just had your dick down my throat.”

Javier pulled back with a stern look. “I’m saying that because it’s true. You’re the love of my life.”

Your lips quivered into a tender smile, your hand cradling his face. “You’re the love of mine, too.”

Back at the ranch, you found yourself sitting across from Javier’s dad in the dining room, his eyes locked on his plate as he gathered a generous spoonful of refried beans and rice. Javier’s presence was a soothing anchor amidst the nervousness that was your first meal with Javier’s remaining family. Thankfully, between the thrill of Javier’s warm hand on your thigh and Steve’s rambling about his plan for making things right with his wife, you were too distracted to worry about what Chucho might think of you. 

“So I’ll fly out tonight, grab flowers or somethin’ on the way home, and walk in hopin’ for the best,” Steve said, clapping his hands together “Sorted.”

Javier chuckled as he chewed his food, shaking his head while tearing a piece of his tortilla to dip into his beans. “You’re an idiot.” 

“What the hell else am I supposed to do?” 

“You should probably call her and ask if you’re even welcome,” Chucho said, chuckling along with Javier. “She might not want you back.”

“Don’t listen to them,” you interjected with a small laugh. “But yeah, a phone call wouldn’t hurt.”

“I guess I’ll go call her, then,” he said, wiping his face with a napkin before excusing himself from the table. 

Now alone with both Peña’s, it was harder to ignore the fact that his father was sitting in front of you, taking careful glances your way as if he noticed something strange. 

“How old are you, Mija?” he asked, raising a brow at his son. “Javi told me he met you at work. I assume that means you’re a professor, but you look awfully young.”

You turned to Javier, finding him looking everywhere but at you. “I, uh, yeah. I work at the university.”

“Teaching?”

You shook your head, your tongue going dry under interrogation. “No, just an assistant.”

“Ah,” Chucho nodded, clasping his hands together. “That explains the age thing, then.”

“Yeah,” you chuckled, or rather, you attempted to. Javier’s hand gave your thigh a squeeze, a silent apology for going along with the white lie he’d given his father to cover up the scandalous nature of your relationship, no doubt. Though you knew the lie was likely just because he wanted to avoid the potential judgment and interrogation, the more childish, untrusting, scarred part of you couldn’t help but feel it like a knife to your gut. You selfishly yearned for him to claim you and every part of your relationship, rather than force you to lie to his father’s face about who you were.

Subtly reaching down, you shoved his hand away from your thigh, earning a puppy-eyed glance from him. 

“Excuse me for a minute,” Chucho said, clearing his throat as he stood up from his chair and left the room without further explanation. 

“Cariño,” Javier whispered, turning in his chair to face you as you pushed the remnants of your lunch around your plate, sulking. “Baby, can you look at me?”

You turned your eyes to meet his in an icy glare. 

“I’m aware that there’s a certain amount of lying involved in our relationship, but I didn’t realize that extended to your fucking dad,” you whispered back, the sound as passionate as if you’d shouted. “And you just sat there, letting me figure it the fuck out on my own.”

“I know,” he sighed, letting his eyes shut for a moment. “I panicked, and left you to fend for yourself like a dick. I’m sorry. I just…I told him that lie at the beginning because I wasn’t sure where this was going. God knows I never expected to introduce you to the fucking guy. But I’m sorry. For making you lie to him, for leaving you hanging, for all of it.”

“Does Steve know, at least?” you asked, still not quite won over. 

“No,” Javi said, frowning. “I told him the same thing.”

You scoffed, shaking your head. “It’s hard to not think you’re ashamed of me, or my position in life, or our age gap, or what people might think of you if they knew the real story, you know? Am I just going to have to lie to your dad and best friend forever? What happens when I graduate, or when I pass the bar? Do I just have to hide that from the people closest to you?”

“Cariño, I didn’t think that far ahead,” he admitted, his brows furrowed with guilt. “But you’re right. A part of me will always be a little ashamed that I crossed that line with a student, and that I fell in love with that student in the process. It’s not something a good man would do, and my dad and Steve know that as well as I do. I just…I don’t know. I didn’t want to give them anything else to judge me for. Steve holds my past with women over me every chance he gets, and all my dad sees me as is the man who ran from home, from the fiancé I didn’t love, to find myself.”

You let out a sigh, scooting closer to him to drape your arm over his neck while your hand coaxed his chin up, forcing his eyes to meet yours. “Your job is to tell me about this shit before it blows up like this, alright? Because if you’d just told me that, I would’ve gladly lied to your dad. And sold it better.”

Javier chuckled, turning to muzzle his face into your palm. “Understood.”

“Now tell me you love me,” you ordered, a smile tugging at your lips as he glanced up at you with those irresistibly beautiful brown eyes. 

“I love you,” he said, kissing your palm. “I love you, and I love all of you.”

You rested both hands on his cheeks, guiding his lips to meet yours in a deep, mending kiss. “Promise me we’ll tell them the truth one day.”

“I’ll tell them on our wedding day,” he murmured, kissing you deeper. “How’s that sound?”

You grinned, pulling away from him to look down at your left hand. You held it up, wiggling your bare ring finger at him. “I don’t see a ring, nor do I happen to remember you getting down on one knee.”

“Not yet,” he chuckled, taking that hand in his and bringing it up to his lips so that he could place a lingering kiss on your ring finger. “But one day.”