#gripping pliers

[krishan-brothers]

The Science Behind Gripping Pliers: Why They're a Trade Industry Staple

How Gripping Pliers Leverage Physics for Maximum Holding Power The gripping pliers are designed to maximize leverage while gripping objects that are hard to hold with bare hands.   Their core function is based on the principle of mechanical advantage-the force applied through the handles is amplified by the pivot point, thus enhancing the gripping power. This gives them immense utility in situations where extra clamping force is required-such as securing pipes, bolts, and metal sheets.

The Role of Jaw Design and Material Strength in Professional Trades

Its gripping efficiency depends entirely on its design and materials, with the serrated or curved jaws of a gripping plier allowing it to grip onto circular or flat shapes without slippage. You can buy Knipex gripping pliers, crafted from high-quality steel and alloy materials, hardened for enhanced durability and extended usability with reduced wear. These reasons justify why those  grippers must find their way to the toolkit for mechanics, electricians, or construction people.

Why Gripping Pliers Are Essential for Precision and Efficiency in Every Task

From industrial use to household repairs, gripping pliers are very important in precision jobs. Its capability of holding any material with the right amount of grip allows for accurate cutting, welding, or screwing without movement. An electrician uses them to hold and bend wires in place for good connections, while a plumber works with tightening and loosening fittings with them. In auto repair, gripping pliers can help remove stubborn nuts and bolts.

Compare Different Gripping Types of Pliers: What Best Suited Your Trade?

Depending on the task, different gripping pliers offer benefits as follows: Locking Pliers, or Vise-Grip Pliers: They use a mechanism to grab objects tightly without the need to apply constant hand pressure. Needle-Nose Gripping Pliers: Suitable for finer work in tight spaces, such as circuit board assembly or what could be considered any intricate fix. Groove-Joint Pliers: The adjustable jaws allow for gripping objects of different sizes, making them useful in plumbing and HVAC work. Flat-Jaw Gripping Pliers: Best for holding sheet metal and flat materials securely during fabrication. Innovations in Gripping Pliers: How Modern Designs Enhance Performance Advances in tool manufacturing include ergonomic gripping pliers with an improved handle that reduces hand fatigue. Some come with compound lever mechanisms for easier force application for heavy-duty usage. Brands, such as the Original Knipex Gripping Pliers at Best Price, include innovative locking mechanisms and a corrosion-resistant coating to ensure great performance and durability.

Conclusion

Gripping pliers are an indispensable tool for any professional or do-it-yourself enthusiast. With their secure hold on objects and durability, it is impossible to work without them in many different industries. You could be an electrician, mechanic, plumber, or metalworker; whatever your trade, high-quality gripping pliers will make all the difference in how efficiently and accurately you can accomplish every task.

FAQs

1. What are the differences between gripping pliers and regular pliers?

Gripping pliers have stronger jaws and often include a locking mechanism to keep a tight grip, whereas regular pliers rely on constant hand pressure. 2. How do I select the best gripping pliers for my trade?

Consider jaw design, material strength, handle comfort, and whether you need a locking mechanism based on your specific trade. 3. Are Knipex Gripping Pliers worth the investment?

Yes, Knipex Gripping Pliers are good at durability, precision, and quality construction, and thus professionally preferable. 4. Are the gripping pliers useful for cutting?

Though gripping pliers are primarily constructed for holding, some have barbs at the ends for snipping wires and other materials. 5. How do I keep my gripping pliers usable over many years?

Clean the gripping pliers regularly and keep the pivot points lubricated. Also, store them somewhere dry so that they don't rust or degrade.

 Author

Sonia is a passionate and experienced blogger who holds professional experience in content creation.  She has over five years of experience, with a portfolio of 3,000+ blogs on different tools, the applications they have, and how they work. Sonia puts together creativity and research to make readers make decisions on the choices for their tools and trades.

[confines]

i made 14 more modules for my suncatcher on a whim and then attached them and then got pissed off at the positioning and dismantled it completely and put it back together how i wanted it and then i put the strands closer together and now i want to buy more chain and make more modules and i fear i want them to be alternating lengths so i'll have to either dismantle the strands again or remove them and install the new ones in between which wouldn't be that bad actually but i will have to make them coordinate well with the existing strands' pattern. 😳 i guess i'm finally getting into it. it already looks fucking bangin though.

[1327-1]

andrew bird armchairs is like the apocalypse 2 me

[pinksilvace]

Accidentally put on lotion in the middle of my handsewing session :) this is so great :) my hands are going to be so moisturized :)

[ongreenergrasses]

genuinely the fact that I forgot vice grips…I can’t make another poll but I truly left out the baddest bitch of them all

[evandore]

ok ive puzzled out how to put on the sleeves - it was mainly just seeing how to connect the dress to the sleeves cause there was a slight change in shape to what i usually work with. the only sort of probably im facing is ummm elastic for the wrist. it is a fucking hassle to sew in elastic especially since i do everything by hand lol...so i dont really want to do it over and over again. but i dont know how much elastic band i need to fit her wrist cause she got tiny hands. ugh i think im just gonna have to wing it and hope its alright. ill probably cut it half the length of the edge and pray lol

[asstrongasyouthink]

i will go actual years of my life without remembering a single dream and then i do and it's just. i finally succeeded at taking the guts out of this broken waterlogged compass i found in the crick. and i'm halfway through my next day before i realize it didn't actually happen

[v1x3n]

TIME TRAVEL ── ripped apart.

♯ PAIRINGS - john price x falsely accused reader x 141

♯ SYNOPSIS - tortured for information by your family and the person you loved, john price. you were harmed for something you hadn't even done, you were framed as the traitor and soon they would find out.

♯ TAGS - angst - torture, mockery, threats, drunk creeps, harassing, tension, blood.

─ previous chapter // masterlist // next chapter ─

A quick yet cold splash to the face awoke you, you cough as your face splattered with freezing water, you jolt up and choke. “Mornin” a rough voice sounds from beside you. You peer over and see Johnny McTavish, “how’d you sleep, bonnie?” he mockingly sneers. “Fuck you” you spit at him, look down at the floor you had passed out on, the dried blood and the water spilled all over below you, you grip onto the floor and slowly look up, meeting your eyes with the door in the corner, you could see prices beefy build standing there on the other side of the bars that held you in this room. The gaps through the metal you could make out a stern yet upset face , one that you gotten used to when you had helped him ease his worries after a harsh mission, or when you had gotten hurt and he was dreadfully worried for you. You sometimes thought that maybe he was nicer and cared more about you than others but you know now that wasn't true - it couldn't be fucking true if this is how he treated you when one fucking person accused you of being the traitor.

Johnny glances over at price then his gaze arrives back at you, “divnt look at ‘im, look at me.” your eyes move down to the floor as you choke once more, a string of saliva drips from your mouth and platters onto the floor, your breath smelt like vomit, you scowl at the memories of last night. Prices fist clenches at the look of you, so so scared. Johnny's hand is brought to your jaw as he bends down, forcing you to look up at him, “are ye gunna talk?” Your continued silence was enough to make him wince. His fingers dug into your jaw, you whine at him and continue looking at him. Trying to make yourself seem the tiniest bit strong - even for one moment, but you knew he saw the nervous, scared look you had in your eyes. “It's not me!” you shout out, your eyes moving back to the spot where price has stood just moments before but he had vanished. You felt like you were almost hallucinating, between this and your dreams - your fucking stupid dreams - you felt like you were going insane. The only thing keeping you sane right now was the pure pain, it kept you realize that you were alive. Still fucking alive, living through all of this shit they are putting you through. 

You spit on his face, the small collection of saliva in your mouth manages to spew out onto him, he scoffs at you before swiping it off. “Fucken hell, lass.” that mocking glare peers into you, a sense of danger swells into your heart. “Let.” you shout, “me.” your voice gets louder after each work, “out!” you scream, trying to push him away from you, his breath hot on your face while he forces you closer, almost cheek to cheek. “Keep fucken shoutin’ nd yer gunna lose yer tongue.” the man sighs onto your cheeks. 

You shut up real fast, lips sealed and you glare at him, he steps up whilst realizing your jaw from his tight grip. Johnny stands above you and peers down at you. “Sit up” demanding whilst grabbing some pliers from his left pocket, he bends down - waiting for you to obey his command. 

Your knees are weak as you fumble, trying your hardest to get up but as you see the pliers you instantly freeze, “wait wait wait!” you panic, trying to back up. Your mutilated hand gripping onto behind you to scoot away. “Awh bonnie, don't be scared” he chuckles, grabbing onto your hair once more, forcing you closer, shards of hair ripping out as he pulls you by the scalp. He drags your hair back so you're looking up into his eyes, one of his rough hands on your head whilst the other holds onto the tool. “Open up, lassy” Johnny's harsh smile pulls a deep concern deep into your heart.

If you felt like you were in danger before who knows what the fuck you were feeling now.

His soul scarring smirk as he tortures one of his best friend is un-fucking-godly. “I said open up.” his eyes crinkle when he smiles at you, the pliers spin around and he brings the handle to your lips, forcing them apart. Your jaw opened by force by the tool, johnny eyes meet with yours as your stomach sinks. “Keep it open, jus’ like tha’” you decide to comply - too scared for what he would do if you wouldn't, you held your mouth wide open, eyes squeezed closed to prepare yourself for what johnny was about to do. The tool brings close towards your mouth and it chips at your front teeth, a spark of your tooth hits the ground. 

Your knees scrape against the floor as you unconsciously squirm away, he grips onto your scalp further, pulling your hair so you were kneeled in the position you were earlier. The pliers hit your tooth and create a clinking sound, the tool pulls onto it. Eyes squeezing together as the tooth pulls out and blood pools from the gum, “Aye” the man in front of you grunts and holds onto the tooth with his gimmick. Johnny's expression did not change as he ripped out your tooth, his smile plastered onto his face with a concentrated expression - simply watching his friend and past coworker pull teeth from the person he cared about. A trail of garnet lingering through your saliva and you spit out onto the floor - well, you try too but with Johnny holding your head back. The wetness trails down to your chin and down your neck, the blood mixing with your spit. You stayed silent as the pliers held up with your torn tooth. “Atta girl” he sneers once more and his hand detaches from your hair as his posture straightens up. 

That night had started off easy but soon it turned into hours on torture, the one memory replayed in your mind as johnny harmed you, over and over. Trying so desperately to get information out of you but you obviously wouldn't - and couldn't - say anything. The memory you kept repeating was after a long mission. You and the rest of the taskforce decided to go out for a few drinks at the closest bar. Long story short - all of yous were pissed. 

That night yous laughed around a small table and passed banter along to one another. You fumble over to the bar and bend over the counter, almost yelling over your thoughts running through your head. Then some fucking creep comes over and starts talking to you. 

God, you felt his eyes trail your body as his hand moved down your arm, you flinch back and politely mutter, “oh uhm s-sorry but i have a..boyfriend.” you lie but he ignores your almost plea and he gets closer towards you, “c’monn… he doesn't haf t’ know” he slurs - clearly tipsy. You gulp and back up, looking over at your table to say if anyone was looking. But the table had one person missing, john. Eyebrows furrow and you back up slightly, only to be stopped by a large frame, before you could turn around you heard his booming voice, “he bothering you, sweeth’art?” the gross man in front of you eyes widens, he steps away from you. “N-no he's okay,” you mumble, looking up at the man behind you. His furious face was kinda hot, but you were too focused on how his rough hand moves to your waist. “No need f’ a fight, hm? Leave the bar and get yourself home,” John smiles.

Before the man could speak, John growls, “if I see you talking t’ my girl again, you'll get your tiny cock cut off.” a dangerous smile plastered on his face as the tipsy man trembles away from both of yous and eventually out the bar doors.

“You seriously okay?” he peers down at you, his hands still lingering on your skin. “Oh yeah!” you smile, turning around to look up at him, “thanks, you uhm- you didn't need t’” a layer of blush covers your cheeks and your eyelashes flutter as you look up at him. “Couldn't let that disgusting bastard touch you up like tha’” a distant shout from the table you were sitting at earlier interprets you and john's conversation, a scottish voice, “oi! Yous two quit flirtin’! Ye’are two drinks behind!!” another swarm of blush fills your cheeks and you two move back over to the table. 

You wish time travel was invented, maybe you would travel to that bar on that night, or maybe you would travel to before you met them - start it all over or change choices in your life. Ones that wouldn't end in betrayal and your heart broken. The things you would give to rewind this all. 

You gasp and reach out as John holds a dagger to your throat, “last chance” he dares - holding onto your jaw to hold you up whilst he knees behind you. His breath was hot on the back of your neck which in any other situation but this time it scared you. But after all he needed you to fear him. “We both know it's easier if you start talking, told you before. Last chance.” spitting at you and the dagger gently digs into your skin, creating a small slit. Your head leans back to try to get away from the pain but his strong grip on your jaw keeps you steady. The blade digging into you, almost too deep, “you have five seconds or i'm done with you.” after a few weeks you had finally given up. 

“Five” 

Your heart thumps, was he really going to do this?

“Four” 

Trying to squirm away from him yet once more his grip grew stronger. 

“Three” 

John's hand tightened on the weapon he had in front of your throat.

“Two” 

His voice grew deeper as the blade stings, drops of blood trails down your neck and onto your bare chest.

“One” 

Two hearts beat in that room as you were about to have your throat slit but John hesitates. 

Just as he went too, Kyle stomps into the room, “w-wait no stop!” the blade backs from your throat and the man backs up, “she-” Kyle breathes heavily - obviously trying to catch his breath. It was very clear he had just ran here. “She's not the traitor- w- was framed” Kyle's hands go down to his knees as his breathing slows down. You cough and hands fall to the floor as blood drops from the cut on your neck. Your face looks down at the floor and your hand reaches to your neck to stop the blood. John backs up and straightens himself out, staring down at the body before him trying to stop the blood. 

“Oh.”

[corensweat]

🌲 road trip.

scott miller x reader Synopsis: when your camping trip with scott gets cut short because of a work emergency, you nearly kill him and every member of storm par, intent on making your ire well known on the drive home. but when you push scott too far, his impatience has other plans. or “If I have to pull over, you won’t be able to walk for a week.” Word Count: 13.3k Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI!!!, no use of y/n, bdsm, established dom/sub dynamic, pet names (honey, sweetheart, baby), brief mentions of serial killerisms (teasingly… maybe), semi-priv public sex (in a truck), scott has a whore mouth (again), groping, belting (f! receiving), spanking/slapping (f! receiving, breasts & v), oral (m+f), nippleplay (f! receiving), unprotected pinv, orgasm denial, fingering (f), cumplay, breeding A/N: when the "just a quick one shot" turns into a beast... oops? 😬 thank you to my proud sponsor aka the scott rot™️! if you enjoyed, pls feel free to reblog or give it a like and as always, my inbox is open if you want to chat!!! 🤍

On hour two of the drive back to OKC, you think you’ve lost your mind.

What had begun as a much-anticipated weekend road trip with Scott — an incredibly overdue escape, though you weren’t exactly keeping track — had swiftly turned from enjoying the fresh, open air and the promise of an entire weekend distraction-free, to a mountain of frustration that battled the ones in the distance. All because your charming, secretly sentimental boyfriend had wanted a picture of you and the sunset for his lock screen.

If you weren’t so upset about it, you probably would’ve laughed.

But this was the fourth (fourth!) time that something had gotten in the way of your Scott Time, and, look — you needed it. So. Fucking. Badly.

Which was why when his phone had gone off again, after Scott had ignored the voicemails Javi left him, you were so, so very tempted to hurl the fucking thing into the pond. Instead, you sat there, already trying to think of a way to get your lick back with the fact that he was the one who’d insisted that going off the grid meant going off the grid and electronics simply took away from the nature of it all, the hypocritical ass. And you’d watched, with dawning realization and equal devastation, as Scott’s entire demeanor had shifted from peeved that Javi even had the audacity, to shutting his mouth and speaking in yes, sir’s and I understand, sir’s.

Oh, Marshall Riggs was going to get an absolute earful the next time y’all sat down for Sunday dinner.

But first, you had your sights set on Scott. And, quite frankly, he deserved every second of petulant that you were giving him.

When he adjusted the air conditioning, you dropped the temp lower. When he found a good station on the radio, you changed it. When he asked for one of the snacks by your seat, you munched on it first, mumbling a fake apology when you passed him a small piece. And when you finally started talking, it was one word answers: yes, no, dunno, sure, fine, whatever.

And every time he gripped the steering wheel just a little tighter, you felt vindicated by the fact that it was ticking him off.

Good. You were ticked off. And unbelievably, atrociously bored. There were only so many things you could do in his truck while you were half giving him a cold shoulder. And, well, after the last time you’d reached for the volume and he’d caught your wrist with a stern ‘knock it off’, like you were a child, you’d resorted to pouting out the window, then sifting through his middle storage, and then snooping through his glove box.

All of which were boring, in the exact way that only a man’s truck could be boring. Who didn’t have a car Chapstick, but could have packs of gum hidden everywhere? And where were the just-in-case napkins? And what did he even use pliers for?

Your brattiness — no, curiosity — wins over the agitation that still simmers just under the surface. You turn to Scott with a mischievous grin as you hold up the pliers. “Be honest. Are you secretly a serial killer?”

Scott glances at you, then at the pliers, before rolling his eyes with a faint smirk. “Caught me,” he deadpans, his voice carrying just enough sarcasm to draw out your giggle.

“I knew it.” You dig further into his glove box like you expect to find a pair of gloves, which stupidly has you giggling because you’d lost your mind, see, and there was no way there’d actually— Oh. Shit. He really did have gloves. “You’re the worst serial killer I’ve met. Your whole murder kit is in here and you haven’t even tried to kill me yet?”

“Getting close to it, honey,” Scott quips, a teasing edge to his voice that makes your heart flutter. His eyes stay fixed on the road, but you catch the slight twitch of his lips, betraying his amusement.

Until you keep it up, making an exaggerated show of pulling out every item you find, each discovery more dramatic than the last. The subtle tightening of his jaw tells you that rummaging through his stuff is getting more of a rise from him than your earlier silence had. His grip on the steering wheel tightens, the whites of his knuckles glowing under the moonlight, and you can’t help but feel a thrill of satisfaction at the sight.

Curling your knees to your chest with his newest item in your lap (a bundle of zip ties), you bat your lashes up at him with feigned innocence. “Am I bothering you, baby?”

“Nope.” Scott, to his credit (you pretend it’s not because you’re his girlfriend but because he just chooses to be kind), swallows down whatever shitty retort is on the tip of his tongue as he shakes his head. “Not at all.”

His eyes flick briefly to you, then back to the road, as if anchoring himself, before he plasters one of his obnoxiously fake smiles on that doesn’t reach his eyes. Your own smile slips at the blatant irritation bubbling just beneath the surface, hating that look, knowing he knew you hated when he was fake with you. He reaches over, his hand finding your knee — not in the usual affectionate squeeze, but more as a grounding gesture, a silent plea for you to stop before you push him too far.

“You might want to close that now,” he adds, his voice soft but laced with an unmistakable edge as he jerks his chin toward his still-open glove box. “Before I really lose my patience.”

“But...” you start, pouting a little, your fingers lingering on the edge of the glove box. “I was just having fun. I mean, what else could be in here? Secret spy gadgets? Hidden treasures?”

Scott’s grip on the steering wheel tightens. His patience is fraying, each word clipped and precise as he says, “Close. It. Now.”

You relent, closing it with a dramatic flourish and an equally exaggerated sigh. “Okay, okay. Glove box exploration time is over.”

Scott exhales, his shoulders relaxing just a fraction. “Thank you,” he mutters, though his eyes still carry a hint of irritation as he changes the radio station a couple of times, scowling at the country crooning through his speakers, before just shutting it off.

“You sure you’re okay?” You test, still pushing his limits. You figured that Scott knew you better than that. That you knew him better than that. Nearly seven months together — again, not that you were counting — and he really thought you couldn’t tell when something was off?

You continue, “Just because… Well, you seem a little stressed. Is it because you didn’t get to tie me up and torture me back there by the pond? I mean, I’m sure you’ll get another chance someday, like when cows fly, but—”

“Are you done?” Scott huffs, shooting you a look.

You don’t back down from it, leveling him with your own hard expression. When he’s forced to return to the road, breaking eye contact first, that prideful part of you purrs. He sighs. “I don’t like this any more than you do, but I don’t have any other choice. So sit down, shut up, and stop fucking with my system, please.”

He says the last through gritted teeth, and as much as you loved to antagonize him, you knew when to push and when to not. Putting the last of the stuff back where you’d found it exactly how you’d found it, you stuff your hands under your thighs and pout quietly until he visibly relaxes again.

“You’re not being very nice,” you mumble, the silence that encases you both too much to bear.

Scott runs his tongue over his teeth, then looks over at you, his expression hard. “And you’re lucky I haven’t spanked your ass raw for that attitude yet.” Surprise must flash across your face, because a smirk twitches at the corner of his mouth that he quickly masks. “What? Did you think I would just let all that slide?”

“No.”

Maybe.

“Liar.”

Damn it.

Before you can say anything else, Scott reaches over, gently but firmly tilting your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze as his eyes leave the road for a second. “Do I need to remind you of the rules?” he asks, his tone shifting from frustrated to something far more controlled and deliberate — each word laced with a quiet authority that sends a shiver down your spine and makes your blood run hot.

It’s a tone you’ve come to know all too well, one that signals a subtle shift in the dynamic between you, a reminder of exactly who’s in charge.

To anyone else, it might have sounded like another classic Scott lecture — a stern word from someone who was used to being in control. But you knew this side of him intimately well, understood the depths of what he was really asking. This wasn’t just about a conversation or setting you straight; it was a command, a subtle but potent assertion of the power he held over you.

“Answer me,” he prompts, his voice dropping to a low, steady hum that makes your pulse race. “Yes or no, honey.”

“No,” you breathe, testing the waters of defiance.

“Let’s try that again.” Scott’s grip remains steady on the wheel, but the weight of his gaze feels like a tightening hold around you. “No, what?” he asks, his voice low and demanding, leaving no room for anything but the correct response.

You swallow. The tension between you is thick and electric. “No, sir.”

He holds your gaze for a moment that feels like an eternity, long enough for you to actually worry about him being behind the wheel. But a quick glance at the road reassures you — he’s in complete control, staying perfectly between the lines, maintaining a comfortable distance from the cars ahead and behind.

His eyes flicker to your mouth, lingering there with a deliberate intensity. “We’ll see.”

A noise of discontent escapes you immediately when he returns to his side of the truck as if nothing happened, all the air leaving your lungs. We’ll see. That was it? No good girl? It’s a reprimand all on its own, defiance filling you quickly.

What was the point of his rules if he wasn’t going to listen to them?

First with his phone, which had gotten you here in the first place, and now this. You pout, crossing your arms as you glare at the car in front of you, hating everything about this weekend. God, you’d both been so exhausted from the drive to the campsite that you hadn’t even touched him like he’d promised you could **— **on top of the week he’d already instructed you not to touch yourself.

And now Scott was going to be buried in work again. He’d drop you off at home just to drive another hour or two to who the hell knew where, and from there it was back to the office to get the paperwork rolling, call the banks, pouring hour after hour into making sure this deal went through. All because Riggs had decided his time off was more important than yours.

But it wasn’t. You’d waited eons for this. And you were damned if you were going to let both him and Scott stop you.

Slowly, so slowly, you angle yourself toward your boyfriend, his eyes distant as he readjusts in his seat and fishes absentmindedly for a piece of gum to smack on. For a moment you can’t help but admire him, appreciating the way he filled out the seat, the way his jaw worked with the gum, how when he got lost in his thoughts and had a particularly interesting idea he swiped his fingers along his perfect, full mouth.

He was masculine without any effort, intelligent and calculating, and, despite this weekend, was the most attentive boyfriend you’d ever had.

And you ached for him.

Just that tone shift alone — from Scott to sir — had spiked your temperature, leaving you warm with the lack of air conditioning. You knew better than to reach for the knobs, even if the thought of him pinning your wrist down had your thighs pressing together. So you shift forward to unzip his jacket you’d stolen, meaning to shimmy it off, when you catch his eyes on you.

Instead of taking it off completely, you let the gray fabric bunch to your elbows. His eyes slide from the way it now sits on you to your white tank top before focusing back on the road, his gum making that unmistakable snap! he always did. “What’re you doing?” He asks, stealing another glance as you wriggle in the seat.

“Just hot, baby,” you hum, which wasn’t a lie.

But there’s no way to be subtle as you collect your hair into a ponytail and tie it with your scrunchie, just like there’s no way Scott can be subtle as he zeroes in on your hair being up or the fact that your tits jiggle with every bump or dip in the road. His hand flexes on the wheel, quick to snap his attention to the mirrors, as if he’d been checking them in the first place.

You bite back a smile.

By the time Scott is pressing on the brakes, an accident brings the two-lane down to one, one foot is propped up on his dashboard, your head turned to face him with every sigh that leaves your lips. With nothing to pull his attention now other than the slow crawl, his eyes catch yours again, his guard dropping as he falsely believes you’ve listened.

And that’s when you make your move.

“Baby,” you groan, wetting your lips as your fingers brush across his sleeve. Your other hand rests against your knee, slipping down along your thigh while you bat thick lashes up at him. “Can you turn the air on, please? I’m dying.”

“Mhm.” Scott does, following the invisible line your fingers paint across your skin as the air kicks on. The cool air is welcomed and the content noise that leaves you isn’t entirely fabricated. When his hand drops to rest on your thigh, you know he feels how flushed you are under his cold touch. And you know he feels you arch into it. “How’s that? Better?”

“’ Little.” Not even close, but you play it up now that you’ve got him. “Still too hot.”

“Sorry, honey,” Scott’s deep voice is genuine, frowning a bit as he squeezes your thigh. “Got it the lowest it can go. Need me to roll a window down?”

You shake your head. “It’d just bring all the hot air in.” Something he should’ve known, but you couldn’t blame him for being a little distracted. You press on, confident, still inflecting that whine in your voice. “Your hand feels good, though.”

His touch inches up your thigh in response, sure that he’s not even aware he’s doing it. As your touch moves in time with his, you drag your free hand across your chest, pressing against the leather of his seats and pushing a strap off your shoulder. The cool air directly hitting you causes a flurry of goosebumps to rise and your nipples to poke through the fabric, chest rising and falling as you make a show of overheating.

Scott snaps his gum again, removing his hand to tug gently on his jacket. “What did I say about going through my stuff?”

“Oh, you left it at my place. I didn’t think it’d be a big deal.” You try to play innocent, but the smile you give him is nothing short of mischievous as you intentionally arch up into his touch. “Do you want it back, sir?”

He’s quiet for so long that you think he’s returned to the road. Instead, his eyes are locked on the thin tank top that clings tight around you. A quiet hum echoes in the back of his throat as he runs his knuckles over the swell of your breast, dragging slowly across your nipple, before he seems to think better of himself and places both hands back on the wheel.

“Keep it.” He grunts, “It looks better on you, anyway.”

“Really?” Despite how you try to hide the happiness from your voice, you fail miserably. Scott didn’t offer many liberties, especially not with his personal belongings. You don’t let the distance keep you far, unhooking your seatbelt and leaning over the center divider to beam up at him.

“Really.” Your heart pitter-patters in your chest when he hums again, pressing a quick kiss to your lips. His eyes slide back to the road, still at a slow crawl. “Don’t get any ideas, honey.”

Oh, you had about fifty different ones, most of which included seeing how far you could go down this new avenue. You drop a kiss to his shoulder, nuzzling against his cold skin, slipping your arm through his and guiding his hand back to your thigh. Scott squeezes again, a small warning to behave. But since when did you do that?

“Come on,” he taps an index against you after a few minutes, “Buckle up. Safety first.”

“But—” You pout, wrapping your arm around him tighter. He could drive with one hand, and besides, you were barely moving enough for a seatbelt to matter. “You feel so nice. And you’re always away for sooo long, baby. And now you’re gonna be gone again?” Brushing your nose along his jaw, you let your hand drop casually to his thigh. “I just miss you.”

“It’ll only be for a few days.” He shifts under you, chewing his gum slower. No doubt weighing whether he should let this continue or end it early.

“A few days too many.” You feel him inhale as your touch roams, sliding over his muscled thigh and across the zipper of his jeans. He’s already half-hard, the outline of him growing more apparent as you continue, “Do you know how lonely it gets without you? Knowing I can’t cuddle you… Kiss you… Touch you?”

You grope him where you know his weak point is while leaning up to scrape your teeth against his earlobe. His hips lift of their own accord as he instinctively searches for more, his grip on the wheel tightening as he squeezes your thigh in his big hands.

You hide your smile as he thickens under your palm. And smile wider at the growl in his voice as he orders, “Behave.”

“Am I breaking any rules, sir?” With your lips at his ear, every needy breath against him has Scott tensing in response.

Your shorts ride up — and so does his hand, until he’s close enough that you can grind your clothed heat into him. It’s just a single roll of your hips, keeping pressure where you crave him, but it has you whining all the same.

“Please, I missed you so much… I miss touching you, feeling how big you are in my hands…” You drag your palm against his thick length, fully straining against his zipper now, his breath coming out heavy as you grip him. “Please, please, just let me taste you. I’ll be such a good girl, I promise. Wouldn’t I look so pretty with your cock stuffed down my throat? Sounding so pretty as I choke on you?” You whimper against him, the sound small and needy. “Please, sir?”

The combination of your fingers wrapped around him and the feel of your tongue lapping at that sweet spot on his neck has Scott groaning, the noise coming from deep in his throat. Before you can react, he presses you firmly back into your seat, keeping you pinned with his hand across your sternum while you try to fight against the distance he forces between you two.

“Behave.” His gaze meets yours, dark and heavy and no-nonsense.

Your cunt clenches at the authority in his tone, nipples peaking in response. Scott slips his palm under the fabric of your shirt, kneading your heaving chest and rolling the hardened nub between his index and thumb. You writhe at the sensation, a moan spilling out of you, until he pinches you hard enough that you gasp. Just as quick as it happens, he pulls out just enough to bring his palm down roughly against your tit.

The sting of the impact has you arching off the seat as your cry pierces the silence.

Scott presses his index to your mouth in warning as the police lights finally illuminate his truck, the accident off to the side. You’re breathing too heavy to pay attention to it beyond that, not caring about anything happening outside of this truck, and you pass by quickly without any incident.

The air is still heavy as you meet his gaze. And you can’t help when your fingers grip the sides of your shorts to bunch the material in your hands, greedily grinding into the taut seam aligned perfectly with your center.

Scott watches it all silently. “You want to be my good girl?” His fingers draw invisible lines down your thigh, spreading your legs apart with just a touch. You comply easily, nodding as he smooths his hand along your skin and ignites a fire inside you. “Then fucking act like one.”

There’s no warning when he slaps your pussy hard, the denim digging painfully into you. Your hands fly out to grip whatever you can as your hips stir against the pain, crying out as another smack sounds, punishing your disobedience.

And still, you can’t help but whine out for him. “But I need you! I’ve been so, so good this whole time, I swear. Even when you told me not to touch, even when I wanted to so badly— I listened, I swear I did.” Pouting over at Scott, you whimper. “Please, I promise.”

“Go on. Keep it up. Do you think you’re listening now?” His hand tightens to a fist as he rests it hard against the center divider. His gaze pings to the time display on the dashboard, then to you. “The more you misbehave, the longer you wait. Was a week too short, honey? Do we need to extend it to two? Three? Can you even wait that long without disobeying me again?”

You can barely answer, only whimpering out as you press yourself into his arm, careening out of the seat. His hand clasps hard around your wrist when you reach for his zipper again, cutting off whatever noise is in your throat with a low growl.

“If I have to pull over,” he grits out, looking you dead in the eyes, “You won’t be able to walk for a week.”

You level his hard gaze with your own even as your heart pounds heavy, his threat thinly veiled as his grip tightens around your wrist.

And you swear you don’t mean to, but the words tumble out of your mouth before you can stop them. “Can you go that long without fucking me? If I can’t touch, neither can you. Not a kiss, not a hug, I won’t even let you fuck my mouth!”

As your frustration boils over, you breathe raggedly against yourself, fighting to rip your hand out of his strong grasp. He’s quiet as he watches you, the look in his eyes betraying nothing that simmers underneath the surface.

Calmly, too calmly, he continues driving, following the road as the dark trees pass you by. When he moves off the pavement to turn down a dirt road, your heart flies to your throat.

“What are you doing?” You squeak, looking behind you as if expecting anyone else to follow, but it’s just you on the solitary single lane, his tires crunching on the dirt road. “Scott?”

His mouth stays shut, turning into a clearing of trees. You usually love the outdoors, but the forest around you looks foreboding and eerie, the trees looming large overhead. You glance out the window to the night sky, but there’s not even a twinkle of starlight here. Just inky black nothingness.

He shuts the engine off, taking the headlights with it.

You think you stop breathing.

“Get in the back.” His order is quiet against the silence but travels along your skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake. “Now.”

As much as you want to protest, the words catch in your throat, refusing to form. Instead, you wordlessly climb over the center divider, dropping his zip ties into the cupholder with a deliberate clink. Your bags, shoved angrily into the back when he’d asked you to pack up, tumble to the floor, landing in a haphazard pile as you settle into the backseat.

The sudden darkness engulfs you, your eyes straining to adjust to the dim light. You can barely make out Scott’s silhouette, his intense gaze fixed on you before he opens his door with a determined click.

Silently, Scott slips out of the driver’s seat, the slam of each door echoing through the night like a final verdict. You hold your breath as he rounds the truck, each crunch of his boots against the twigs and leaves sounding louder than meant to be. The backseat door opens, and he slides in beside you, the leather creaking softly under his weight.

You find your breath again when his hand, warm and steady, smooths around your ankle, his touch both grounding and possessive. He makes room for himself, his presence filling the confined space with an electric charge. The air grows thick with anticipation as you sit there, the darkness around you deepening, your heart pounding in your chest.

Scott’s fingers trail up your leg with deliberate slowness, each movement precise and controlled. His eyes never leave yours, the intensity of his gaze holding you hostage. “You didn’t think I’d let you off that easily, did you?” he murmurs, his voice low and commanding, sending a shiver down your spine.

Your eyes dart to either side of you, searching for some sort of escape. But it was too dark outside to see, the woods maybe terrified you a little bit without Scott by your side, and even if he chased after you — and you weren’t bratty enough to do that — you had absolutely no idea how to get back to a road, let alone the road.

And, well, you didn’t really want to get away from him. Just the punishment you knew he would dole out for your disobedience.

Still—

“I thought we had to get back to the city,” you squeak out, voice trembling against your better efforts as you try to plead your case to deaf ears, “Riggs– Riggs said you needed to be back, right? And you know how far my place is from your office, and—”

“We have time for this,” Scott interrupts, his voice firm, a low rumble that leaves no room for argument. He presses his index to the pout of your mouth, silencing you. It sends a jolt of electricity through you, your breath hitching as you squirm under his grip, eyes wide and pleading.

If you were a deer in headlights, Scott was a hunter. And he was a damn good hunter.

Scott’s beautiful mouth curves into a grin, his eyes darkening with a hint of amusement. He leans in closer, his presence overwhelming, the scent of leather and the outdoors mingling with his intoxicating scent. The tension in the air thickens, every sound amplified by the stillness of the night. The rustling leaves outside, the distant hoot of an owl, even the faint hum of the truck’s cooling engine — all seem to echo the pulsing beat of your heart.

You can feel the rough texture of his jeans against your skin as he shifts, making himself comfortable, his body pressing against yours in the confined space. His hand, warm and commanding, moves from your mouth to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly over your lips.

“You’re not going anywhere until I say so,” he states, his eyes gleaming, all possession and affection. His words wrap around you like a promise, binding you to this moment, to him.

You swallow hard, your throat dry, the gravity of everything sinking in. Scott’s eyes lock onto yours, a silent command for your complete attention. His other hand slides down your arm, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake, before settling on your waist, pulling you even closer.

“Relax,” he whispers, his breath warm against your ear. “You’re safe with me.”

Your lashes flutter as a noise sounds in the back of your throat, caught between a plea and a whimper. You trusted Scott more than anything, and knew, without question, without fear, that he would never do anything you didn’t want.

And god, you wanted him bad enough that it ached.

“I need you to understand a few things, honey,” Scott continues, his voice still that deadly calm, his finger dragging slowly down your chin, tracing a deliberate path down the column of your throat. “I can tolerate you being upset. I’m not happy about it, either, despite what you might think.”

He pauses for a moment, letting his gaze lock onto yours, his eyes dark and unwavering. “But what I won’t tolerate,” he says, his tone sharpening as he closes his hand around your throat with a possessive grip, “is your disrespect.”

“But—”

“Shut up.” Scott’s voice is a low, dangerous growl as he tightens his hold on you, his thumb pressing firmly into your pulse. The pressure is confident and calculated — the kind of control that comes from having done this countless times before. “I’m not done.”

Defiance bubbles up and fights Scott at every turn, and despite the way you wriggle under him, your eyes grow hazy with need at the feel of his hand around your throat. God, you knew exactly what those hands were capable of; sweet, delicious torture, doling punishment and reward with equal passion. “But—”

“Why can you never fucking listen?” His voice drops to a growl that vibrates against your ear, his body shifting so that his weight presses down on you. You whimper at the added pressure, your fingers instinctively fisting the fabric of his shirt, trying to hold onto something solid.

Scott notices. With a swift motion, he knocks your wrists away, gripping both of them together with a firm, unyielding hold. When he pins them above your head, possessive and commanding, you can’t help but moan, growing pliant under his weight.

“Maybe I do need to remind you of my rules,” he says, his voice a dangerous purr, “since you seem to like breaking them.”

He leans in closer, his breath warm against your cheek. Every word is low and steady, completely in control. “You’re going to pay attention now, aren’t you? You’re going to listen to every word I say.”

Your pulse races under his thumb, the pressure making it difficult to focus on anything other than the commanding presence of his body pressed against yours. The conflicting emotions — fear, need, frustration — swirl together, drawing the breath from your lungs.

Scott’s eyes meet yours again, the dark intensity he’d first set on you softening slightly. “Do you trust me?” He asks, his voice barely more than a whisper, carrying with it both a challenge and an invitation.

“Yes, sir,” you breathe. Always.

“Good.” He presses a tender kiss to your temple and cheek, nudging his nose into the curve of your shoulder and kissing the column of your throat. Your body responds in kind, arching up into his generosity, the calm before the storm, as he slowly releases his hold on you. One tap against your wrist is a silent order to keep them there, and you thread your fingers together, looping them into the door grip as he kisses his way back up to your mouth. “Because you’re going to hate me tonight.”

You want to tell him that such a thing is impossible — there was nothing Scott could do that would make you hate him, no matter how much of a pain in the ass he was sometimes — but he doesn’t give you a chance to speak. Lifting you up, or at least as much as he can in the truck with his hulking size, Scott draws a hand around the curve of your waist, pushing his jacket aside to expose more of you.

“Take this off.” He orders. His expression melts back into one of superiority, one you’re all too familiar with, and you try not to pout when he continues with, “I changed my mind. I want it back.”

“Want what back?” You hum, fingers twitching. You debate the pros and cons of pointing out that you can’t take off his jacket with your hands still pinned in place, but bite your lip instead. You were already pushing the envelope — a lot — by feigning innocence.

“You know what.” Sensing that you’re still… sort of… listening, Scott, taps your wrist twice, freeing you of your position. Under his tone, your fingers close around the material of his comfortable clothing, lifting to slip it fully off your frame. You drop it next to your stuff with your eyes trained on his. “When I’m convinced you can behave, I’ll consider giving it back.”

That snaps your mouth shut. Pressing your lips together, you nod as you place your hands back in their previous position, the only tell that he’s satisfied by your change of heart being a slight twitch of a smile.

“I didn’t say you were done,” he drags his gaze along the length of you, his touch following where his eyes roam until he hooks a finger around the belt loop of your shorts. “Take these off, too, and turn around.”

Electricity charges through you at the command in his voice. Your movements are slow, careful, as you try not to bump into anything as you slide out from under him and remove your shirt. Your shorts follow, but he stops you as you hook your thumbs under the waist of your panties, both of his large hands sliding on your hips to face you opposite him.

He’s massive against you, your back pressing against his chest as his hands roam freely, trailing up the length of you and then down your arms to place your hands back in their previous position, fingers curling around yours in a silent gesture. And then his touch returns, calloused fingertips dragging over every spot of your soft skin, cupping your breast in his hand as he sighs against your neck.

You feel the hard length of him straining against his jeans as he pulls you to him, every caress coaxing a fire in you. Even though you want nothing more than to touch him, to take him into your hands, he has you caught. You really wanted that jacket.

And you hated disappointing him.

His touch wanders to your ass, squeezing the flesh in his hand before he smooths a hand up your spine, signaling for you to bend over. You comply with shallow breaths, the warmth of him missing when he puts even more space between you.

“How many times do you think you disobeyed me tonight, honey?” He asks, the question making your heart stutter. He continues to knead your skin, but with your angle, you can’t see anything happening behind you. “I’ll let you guess.”

You try to think back, but everything is hazy now. When you got in these moods — which was more often than not — you had a hard time telling which rules were broken and which weren’t, because, well, you tended to do it a lot. And you knew Scott well enough by now that even if you guessed any number, it wouldn’t be specific. It wouldn’t be right. Guess lower, and he’d add more. Guess higher, and he’d use your number, then remind you of the true one after it was all said and done.

A gasp escapes from you as your eyes flutter shut. Fuck. “I– I don’t know, sir.”

If he’s surprised, he doesn’t let it show. Instead, he just hums, adjusting the twisted straps of your underwear higher up on your hips. “Thirty-two times.” He lets that sit heavy in the air for a moment, your breath stalling in your throat. “You know what happens when it gets that high, honey.”

“You use the belt,” you whisper, the words barely audible.

Scott nods. “Mhm. I use the belt.” The soft, metallic clink of his buckle coming undone is followed by a steady hand against your hip, smoothing circles along your skin as you begin to tremble in anticipation. “Shhh. You know the rules. Count.”

The first point of contact is always the worst. He lets the moment play out, your body tensing and easing as you wait for any sign that it’s coming, but he gives no indication when he stops touching you. And then the sharp sting as leather meets your rear, the folded-over halves biting into you with practiced efficiency.

Your eyes squeeze shut, fingers tightening around the handle as you gasp out, “One.”

By the end, your muscles are taut and your backside is red and flaming, your whimpers spilling freely from your mouth. It takes more effort than you’d like to admit to hold yourself up, trembling with exertion. Scott rubs his hand along your curves, having given equal attention to both cheeks, a content noise sounding in the back of his throat as you still careen toward him.

“Last one, honey. You’re doing so good.” He praises quietly, the only encouragement you need as his belt goes sailing toward you again, leaving another welt in its wake.

“Thirty-two!” Escaping through gritted teeth, you jerk forward with the impact, breathing hard and heavy when you hear the clink of his belt falling to the floor.

Scott taps twice along your stomach as he brings you up to his chest, careful to leave space between you as he smooths over your sore muscles, easing the pain. He presses kisses along your throat, your shoulder, letting you shake against him as you lulls you down from the high, every touch soft and affectionate. “That’s it, I know… Shhh… Did so good for me, honey…”

Each sweet nothing brings you down, continuing to press kisses against your skin until your breathing evens out. Scott sets his hands to your hips, holding you firmly, nudging the space just behind your ear.

“If you just listened, I wouldn’t have to punish you.” He reminds, letting your hands drift over his. Despite the softness of his tone, you still catch the authority seeping through every word, and you know it’s far from over. “I don’t like how you spoke to me today, honey.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” you breathe, meaning them truthfully. Scott presses another kiss to your skin in acknowledgment. “I was just upset. I wanted to spend this weekend with you, and—”

“Am I not making this time now?” He questions, cutting you off. When his touch wanders between your thighs, fingers circling your clothed clit, soaked despite his brutal treatment, he groans against you. “What was it you said earlier… That I couldn’t touch you? That you wouldn’t let me?”

Vaguely, through your hazy mind, you remember saying that. But you keep your mouth shut, quiet little noises escaping as he continues to please you, easing away the pain he’d caused. Your desire for him, so neglected because of his orders, coils deep inside you as he recites your perfect tempo — having spent hours exploring, learning, and committing what you enjoyed to memory.

“Let’s make one thing abundantly clear,” he continues. “Every part of you is mine to touch, spank, suck, lick, and fuck as I please. Any time. Any day. Any place. Those are the rules you agreed to. If I want you just like this…” Adding pressure, he holds you up as your knees buckle against him, “I will, for as long as I want. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.” Your words come out shaky, breath hitching with every skilled circle of his fingers. “I understand, sir.”

“Then show me you understand.” Within a second his touch is gone, leaving you delirious as you search for him. You hear the rustle of fabric behind you, twisting to watch him slip off his shirt, then ease himself down on the backseat with a foot firmly planted on the floor. His fingers hover over the button on his jeans, flipping it open as his dark gaze trains on you. “Come here.”

You comply immediately, drawing forward as his hand slips in your hair. Scott pushes down the restricting fabric, slipping his hand into his black briefs, freeing himself from his jeans. Your mouth waters at the sight of him, thick and veiny and dripping with precum, his fist stroking himself as he holds you there, coating his length with his desire.

“Look what you do to me,” he whispers, drinking in every shallow breath, the way your eyes remain fixed on his hand, how your hips stir with every twist like you imagining yourself riding him. “Even when you’re a fucking brat, I can’t get enough of you, honey. Always so fucking hard for you. You have no idea…” He releases himself to cup your chin, spreading himself over the swell of your mouth. You greedily taste what he offers, tongue lapping at him before sucking on the tip of his thumb. “I’d spend an eternity inside you if I could.”

Those words — the claim, the rare admission — makes your heart somersault in your chest.

Without waiting for his command, you crawl between his legs and sink to draw your hand along his jean-clad thigh, a silent plea echoing in your eyes. As he wets his lips, you grip his length in your hand, his girth barely allowing you to wrap fully around him. Scott’s breath hitches as you stroke him exactly how he prefers, your hand sinking lower with each slow, deliberate movement.

He’s hot and heavy in your hand, the tip of his cock as pink as his lips, and you pay special attention to it, thumb smoothing along the sensitive underside of him. The soft action has his hips bucking up into your touch, breath hissing between his teeth as he wraps your hair around his fist.

No matter how many times you were in this position, nothing changed how exhilarating it was to have brief a moment of power over him.

When you move to take him into your mouth, your tongue flat and eager, Scott wraps his fingers around your throat, that playful glint in his eyes replacing quickly with hellish intent.

“Did I tell you that you could touch?” He murmurs, releasing his grip on your hair to pluck your hand off him.

You want to point out that he didn’t seem to have a problem with that when he’d been half-thrusting into your hand, but the look in his eyes silences the retort on your lips. So you let him grip your wrist, and your throat, sure he can feel the heavy pound of your pulse as you whimper at the interruption.

“I just want a little taste,” you plead, jutting your bottom lip out and batting your thick lashes up at him through a heavy-lidded gaze.

Scott just shakes his head. And you feel the coil of defiance begin again.

“Don’t you want my tongue on you, sir? Licking up every thick inch of you? Seeing how much I can take in my hot little mouth?” You know you’re pushing it with how his grip on your wrist tightens, but fuck, you needed to feel him, to touch him, especially after he’d denied you the pleasure of it for so long.

You shift so your free hand wraps around his shaft again. Scott grunts as he watches you play with him, your small hand moving effortlessly along his girth. With both his hands occupied, he has nothing to stop you from doing what you want, what you need, as your gaze flickers down to openly admire his masculinity. “Don’t I look so pretty when I choke on you, baby?”

Despite how his gaze darkens and he twitches in your hand, Scott releases your wrist enough to rest his hand on the edge of the backseat, his brow raising. “You’d look prettier if you listened, sweetheart.”

The condescending nickname rolls through you, your face twisting in disgust at it — he knew you hated it, knew it reminded you of the old men who often tried to make passes at you. It disgusts you enough that you release him from your grip, watching a smile slowly spread on his face.

“I thought I told you not to call me that,” you whisper, not trusting your voice to sound weak with his fist still around you.

“And I thought I told you to listen, but you don’t seem to be doing a good job of that even after the belt.” He shifts his grip from the front of your neck to the back of it, pulling you closer. “What’s my name?”

You hesitate at how hard his gaze is trained on you. “Sir.”

He nods. “And what did you call me earlier?”

Oh. As the dots connect, realization flickering across your features, Scott’s eyes mirror your understanding. He doesn’t give you a chance to say it, continuing, “Until you can learn to listen, you don’t get to cum until I say so.”

You wait for a day, an end time, something that’ll make counting the days at least a little worthwhile — but it never comes. Instead, he just stares at you, waiting for you to defy him again, waiting for you to open your mouth, to push back. But his fingers twitch like he’s going to reach for his belt again, and the thought of that on your already raw backside makes a whimper escape.

“I understand, sir.”

His gaze softens for a moment — and a small part of you hopes that he changes his mind, that he’ll take it back… But Scott was never that type of man. Once something was final, it was final. No amount of begging or pleading could win your case.

He cups your face in his hands like he knows what he’s asking may push you past your breaking point. Never in the months you’ve been together has he implemented something indefinitely, but you’ve never pushed back this much. When his mouth roams over yours, gentle given the circumstances, you taste the sharp spearmint of his gum as his tongue explores you, soothing your whimpers and whines until you’re somewhat relaxed under his touch.

“Are you going to be a good girl if I let you blow me, honey?” He asks, lips ghosting over your mouth, your jaw, pressing a kiss against the column of your throat. You nod, not trusting your voice. “I mean it. No whining. No pleading. No biting.” His gaze flickers up to yours as a memory passes through both of you, your cheeks heating up, caught. He knew you too fucking well. “If I want you to choke on me, you’re going to choke. If I want you to wrap those pretty lips around my head, you will. And if I want your mouth not on me at all…”

“I’ll listen, sir,” you promise, breathless, squirming with need.

Scott’s eyes flash with approval, pressing one more kiss to your mouth before he settles back down against the leather. You follow, slow, cautious, your hands pressing into his thighs as he grips himself.

And when you wrap your lips around him, everything else fades away. You take him at his pace, slower than you would prefer but dutifully obeying his silent instructions, your hair coiled around his fist. The taste of him on your tongue has your eyes glazing over with desire, flickering up to watch him watch you, your head bobbing around his length, spit sliding down his shaft as he makes you take him deeper, deeper, until he’s hitting the back of your throat and there’s still inches between you.

Scott groans as he pushes you further, trained on how your body instinctively fights him, taking his cock entirely in your mouth when your nose brushes the soft skin of his abdomen. Your core drips with need, soaking your panties, at the guttural sound that escapes him: all masculine and intoxicating. You crave more of it, more of his approval, more of him — but he pulls you off with a pop, a trail of saliva traveling from his swollen head to your mouth, before doing it again and again, each time longer than the last.

“So fucking good,” he pants, pulling you off him again, his eyes blown as you suck on his tip like a lollipop.

Your tongue swirls around his head, wrapping your hands around the rest of him that you don’t swallow, little moans escaping.

And then he’s pressing you back down again, his grip holding you stationary as he thrusts into you like he can’t help himself, every action powerful and erotic as the sound of your throat taking his vigorous pace fills the truck. As he fucks your mouth, you knead your breast in your hand, pinching hard at your nipple when the desire to slip your hand between your thighs nearly overcomes you.

Scott watches it all with a growing arousal, his voice deep as he groans. “Fuck, honey, just like that. Want you to remember this next time you think of talking back,” he says, eyes closing briefly at how good you feel. “So fucking perfect with my cock down your throat. Does that make you hot, honey? Wanna rub that fucking clit while I fuck your face?”

You moan around him in response, something between a yes and a please that sounds more muffled than an actual word. Every time you take him deeper you feel that hot flash of aching desire pulse through you, your blood hot, sure that even through your panties you were dripping all over his leather seats.

The thought has your eyes rolling to the back of your head.

Scott’s growls turn positively primal as he pulls you off. “Keep making that face and I’m gonna cum right down that pretty throat.” He lifts enough to bring you to your knees, wrapping an arm around you to pull you flush against him as he drags his heavy touch along your naked frame. “You don’t want that, do you, honey? Fuck, I can smell how soaked you are for me.”

He wastes no time as he slips his hand beneath your panties, fingers sliding easily between your slicked folds as he groans. “My dirty girl. You like my filthy fucking mouth, honey, is that it?” Scott pushes a finger inside you, your body arching up into his as you nod, a breathy noise escaping. “Like when I tell you how good you feel? How fucking hard it gets me? How I dream about fucking you every single night when I’m away?”

God, yes. You assumed — but never asked — about what he thought when he couldn’t be near you, but the confirmation that you were on his mind just as much as he was on yours makes you clench around his finger.

“I’m gonna taste you,” Scott promises, his voice ragged. “And then I’m gonna fuck you so hard they’ll hear you in the city.”

It’s all the warning you get before he presses you down onto the seat, his mouth capturing yours as he settles atop you. Your body is pliant underneath his, gripping every inch of him, while he trails his mouth along your soft skin. Fuck, you felt like heaven to him — so smooth to his calloused hands.

And you made the prettiest noises when his mouth descended on your nipple, sucking and flicking at the hardened nub before giving equal attention to the other, all too aware of how your hips roll helplessly as he kisses his way down your tummy.

“I love how desperate you get,” he groans, hooking his fingers under the waistband of your panties, drawing them down your legs. He nudges your legs apart with his nose, dragging his teeth along the sensitive skin of your thigh. Thick fingers spread your folds apart as he takes you in, the touch making you reach for something to hold onto.

“Please,” you whine, running your fingertips along his shoulder, propping yourself up as he sucked a possessive mark into your thigh. Scott just hums, moving to the other, relishing in the sharp intake of breath as he nips at you. “Please make me feel good, sir?”

“You gonna be good for me?” He asks again, blue eyes flicking up to meet yours, his question serious as he nears the apex of your thighs.

You nod, tongue darting out between your lips as his focus momentarily breaks, darting down to watch how his fingers slide effortlessly over you, teasing your clit. “I’ll be good, sir, I swear.” Just as long as he keeps touching you like that, you’ll agree to anything.

Scott hums, playing with you for long enough that you think he’ll tease you into oblivion. But then his tongue darts out. licking a hot stripe up your center, and he groans, and you… You have just enough time to fall back to seat before his mouth is upon you.

The way he claims you with his tongue makes the wait worth it. Scott isn’t shy about feasting on you, his wet fingers slipping to spread your thighs further apart for him, lapping at you like your pussy is a melting ice cream cone on a hot summer day. Every swirl of his tongue, every flick against your clit, every long drag that has you gasping for breath, your mouth falling open while he readjusts his grip to keep you steady.

Scott groans as he collects your desire on his tongue, pulling back enough to revel at how spread open you are for him. He spits, the lewd action making your head spin, before his fingers rub it through your folds, circling your entrance while his other reaches up to knead your breast.

“I wish we had hours for this.” The admission is low in his voice, ragged from claiming you, pressing a kiss to your thigh as you try to still your hips against his torturous fingers. “Just as sweet as I remember, honey. Better. Fuck, you taste so…”

He doesn’t finish his thought, descending upon you again as his mouth attaches to your clit. You cry out at the special attention he gives it, teasing you just right, his tongue swirling and flicking and lips closing around the sensitive bundle of nerves. Your hips move on their own accord, fingers digging into his brown curls as you grind in time with his tongue. Scott gasps as his touch abandons you to stroke himself, the angle uncomfortable in the cramped space of his backseat.

You clamp down on your bottom lip when your orgasm builds faster than you expect it to, hoping to stifle the increase of noise as he brings you closer and closer. Scott just keeps his brutal pace, those dark blue eyes drinking in the sight of you.

“Sir—” Your breath comes out hot when he groans, the vibrations of it nearly toppling you over the edge. You want so desperately to listen, fighting the way he coaxes it quicker, something heady and mischievous sparkling in those eyes, but it’s too much, he’s too much, that invisible rubber band pulling tighter and tighter, your control slipping, the wet sounds of his tongue dragging over your heat too much to bear—

You scream out as Scott pulls away entirely from you, all that tension coiling tight with nowhere to release, and watch helplessly as his expression flickers somewhere between smug and disappointed. You tremble against the loss, little twitches that give away how close you were from disobedience, your whine high and keening.

“Oh, honey, were you close?” Scott coos, his tone full of condescension as he rests his cheek on your thigh, an evil, wicked, vile grin teasing the corners of his mouth. You glare at the dimple in his cheek. “You think I’m dumb enough to not know when you are? That your pussy doesn’t tell me when you’re trying to be quiet? I know all your tells, honey. Every. Single. One.”

He doesn’t give you a chance to reply, his palm coming down hard against your open heat. The slap has you spiraling, a cry escaping you as your back arches up off the leather, the pain lingering uncomfortably as your ass grinds against the seat. Scott wastes no time crawling up your body, swallowing all your pitiful noises as you taste yourself on his tongue.

His teeth sink into your bottom lip as he pulls away. “Not tonight, honey.”

Your heart seizes in your chest at the confirmation — having suspected it, but half-hoping that he’d forgive your past sins if you were good enough. Scott just grins, lifting so all his weight isn’t settled atop you, running his hands down the still-twitching frame of your body, pushing his jeans down further as one hand drags along your hip.

“Please?” You beg, taking his face in your hands, blinking big doe eyes up at him. “I can’t—”

“You can.” His confidence in you is unwavering, pausing his movements to give you his undivided attention. One kiss, two, three, to the corner of your mouth, each softer than the last, bringing you down from a high he stole away. “We’ll test those limits properly another time. I have so many ideas…” He trails off with a groan, seeming to think better of listing all the ways he could make you bend to his will. “But you can. And you will.”

A whimper escapes at the finality, but you manage a weak nod. It’s all the encouragement Scott needs to draw your leg around his hip, slotting himself between your parted legs. The weight of him dragging through your slicked folds presses a gasp into his shoulder, your arms sliding around his broad frame.

And then he’s sinking into you, stealing the breath from your lungs as your taut body stretches to accommodate his size.

He’s massive — and delicious and throbbing and every other perfect word in the dictionary as you forget how to breathe, how to think, the more he buries himself inside you. You hear his strangled moan against your neck as your head tosses back, pulling him closer, hissing as he draws back just to press right back into you.

He works you just like that for what feels like hours, pushing and pulling, slow as he presses kisses to your skin, holding your hips steady. You know he’s holding himself back, that he’s letting your body get used to him after so long apart, after little more than a press of his fingers and tongue at your entrance. It makes your heart flutter in your chest — he could have fucked his way ruthlessly through you and you would’ve taken every second of it just the same, but the fact that he pauses to take his time now, to lengthen a moment that he shouldn’t be having in the first place…

God. You loved him.

You both moan as he bottoms out inside you, his hips driving forward just a little further on instinct. “Fucking missed this,” Scott pants, careful as he slides a palm under you, lifting your ass off the seat to thrust inside you again. Your gentle touch trails across his broad shoulders and down his arms, a silent message for him to keep going.

And then he fucks you like he promised.

It’s a combination of everything: the time apart, the time you had left, how neither of you could seem to get close enough to each other. He splits you apart and brings you back together with every snap of his hips, filling you exactly how you need, gasping against each other as you angle up to meet him halfway.

Your mouth presses feverishly to his, the sound of your desperate moans filling the small space against the way your body greedily accepts his. Scott stalls his tempo just enough to pull away, sliding his hands back to your hips to lift you onto him before returning to his brutal pace, the new angle giving you a perfect view of his cock stretching you out.

“Being so good for me,” Scott hums, pleased, his fingers splaying over your belly as he ruts deeper into you. The intensity of it, of him, makes you blink back stars as his heady gaze is trained on yours, grabbing onto him as he continues, “Feels so fucking good, honey, fuck.“

Your eyes slip down to watch as he slides in you, the sight of him hard and coated with your arousal making you moan. Scott grips the back of your neck to keep you there, your body curled up into whatever mold he desires, pressing your knee back to the cushion as he shifts himself closer.

“Dirty fucking girl, you like that?” Scott’s voice turns guttural with how you tighten around him, your pretty moans like music to his ears, “Like watching your little pussy take my cock? Seeing how fucking good I stretch you out?”

You nod, another moan spilling from your mouth, only to whimper when he slides fully out of you. The crude smack of his cock against your clit only makes you hotter, your skin on fire as he plays with you, always in control. “Tell me,” he groans, teasing as he grinds himself against you. “Let me hear you, honey.”

“I love it,” you pant, unable to tear your gaze away from his thick length. You want desperately to reach down and press him where you crave him most, but you resist, fingers curling into fists at his sides as you plead, “Please fill me up, sir, I need it. Need you to fuck me, need you to claim me, need you to make this little pussy all fucking yours, please.”

It’s all Scott needs to press into you again, his pace hard and demanding with your wishes. He slides an arm underneath you to hold you steady, his teeth leaving marks on your neck, your shoulder, your collar, pressing moans into your skin with every rough piston of his hips, the sound of skin on skin, and your hard, labored breathing filling the space. And then he’s flipping you over, your hands and knees pressing into the leather as you push back against him, delirious with the new angle as he tugs you up, your back to his chest.

The possessive, strong grip on your waist slides up to knead your breast while he thrusts into you from behind, his lips at your ear, growling every profanity under the sun.

“This what you want, honey?” His hips snap hard into you, the contact against your sensitive ass making your eyes roll back into your head. The mix of the pleasure and the pain he gives you is unlike anything else you’ve ever felt. Scott always finds the perfect balance, his hand sliding between your thighs to tease your clit, your body wanton against him. “Being claimed? Owning you completely?” At your answering moan, he grins. “Could you handle it? Being mine in every way?”

“Yes,” you moan, trying in vain not to swirl your hips and failing, searching for more while he rolls your nipple between his fingers. “I’m already yours, sir.”

“Yeah, honey, I feel it.” They come out strangled as you clench around him, your body responding eagerly to every touch. “So sweet right now, aren’t you? Wanna cum so badly, don’t you?” You whimper out as he angles himself deeper inside you, hitting that spongey spot in time with his ministrations. It’s hard to breathe, hard to think, as he finds the perfect pace to drive you closer to the edge, dangling just on the precipice of release. “Bet you’d agree to anything right now just to cum, wouldn’t you, honey?”

Head tossing back against his shoulder, you dig your nails into his jeans where you hold him to you, looking at but not seeing the reflection of how he commands you, his mouth drawing along your neck. “Please,” you beg, trembling with the exertion of holding yourself together. “Scott— Sir, please, I’m so close—”

“I know.” Cooed, mockingly, along the column of your throat, he ceases every torturous move as he stills inside of you, his hands quick to press your hips down against his. The sudden lack of attention makes you cry out, chest heaving, as he steals your orgasm away again, the frustration and desire mixing until you’re growling through clenched teeth.

Scott just grins, watching it all with a gleeful expression, that dark look swirling in his eyes as he doesn’t dare move an inch. “You can be as nice as you want, honey,” He presses a patronizing kiss to your shoulder, that alone having you twitching against him, small little sounds that you can’t control escaping as he toys with your fraying edges. “I’m still not letting you cum tonight.”

“But—” You think better against talking back, clamping your mouth shut as you whimper again. “When?”

“When you’ve earned it.” Scott slides his hands over your body, dragging along your peaked nipples, taking both breasts in his large hands and groaning as he touches you. “You want to earn it, don’t you?”

“Yes,” you gasp automatically, your hands fisting handfuls of his brown locks as he sucks another possessive mark on you. “Please, sir.”

“How far would you go?” His voice carries that inquisitive tone that speaks of danger, the kind that has your cunt fluttering around him in response. He grunts against you at the sensation, still unmoving, just thick and hard and throbbing in you enough to leave your mind reeling. Your breath stalls when his touch wanders down to press at your belly. “Would you let me cum inside you?”

Every thought in your brain scatters at those words, wanting and needing before you can even voice it. He’s never asked; always pulling out to paint your chest, your back, your face. But the way he asks, his voice quiet yet desperate, the unmistakable edge to it that tells you he’s been thinking about it for a while, waiting for the right time, the right moment — suddenly his insistence on if you’d brought your birth control comes to the front of your mind, and you know. Know he’s been planning this. That if it weren’t here, it would’ve been sometime this weekend.

Scott is patient as he lets it all sink in, studying you, waiting for a shift of an expression, or your body responding against his desires. Something dark awakens in him at your whimper of approval.

“You’d look so fucking pretty like that,” he continues, slowly resuming his pace, much slower now than it was before, as he groans every fantasy he’s dreamt of for the past week into you. “So full of my cum… It wouldn’t all fit, would it, honey? But you’d beg me, wouldn’t you? Beg me to fuck it deeper in your sweet cunt?” Your breath labors as he grunts out, teeth sinking into your skin. “Beg me to put a baby in you?”

Fuck, yes.

You writhe against him with every word out of his mouth, your moans spilling freely as you nod, desperate, agreeable, unaware of how much he wanted it, obsessed about it. How the sight of you in his clothes made him want to put a ring on your finger, how every time you came over to his place he had to fight to ask you to move in, how the idea of your belly swollen with his child made him so horny he couldn’t think about anything else some days, how the thought of you and forever were so intertwined to him now that he couldn’t imagine anyone else to spend the rest of his life with.

All sappy, sentimental things that he didn’t dare voice, locked tight between his teeth, letting only a little spill out.

The need to own you, to claim you, was overwhelming. Scott wanted nothing more than to fuck you hard enough to make your brain flicker off until you couldn’t even speak, until you were completely at his mercy, until every drop of him was spent inside you. Possession and desire bleed into one — just waiting, aching, throbbing, bruisingly so, for your voiced consent.

“I need it,” you finally choke out, trembling, your voice utterly broken. “Please give it to me, sir? Please, please, pretty please?”

Scott moans, long and deep and loud, as he buries his face in the curve of your neck. And then he’s pounding into you, every muscle of his body pulled tight as you wrap around him like velvet perfection, his grip hard and unyielding against your hips as every rough slam of his hips into yours sends your body jolting forward. Your hand slaps to the window in front of you, leaving prints against the foggy glass, and he follows greedily, pressing his weight into you as he spreads your thighs further apart with a growl, fucking you into the seats.

Your orgasm painfully lingers, every needy moan spilling from your mouth only driving him further into you, wild with need, no longer the controlled man you knew but something more animalistic, primal.

“Fucking take it just like that,” he growls, not even sounding human, every word gritted through his teeth as you feel every thick inch of him around your slick walls, his hand slotted between your thighs to part your folds, sinking deeper until there’s no space left. “F-fuck, that’s so fucking— Perfect, honey, fuck— Pussy’s fucking made for me—”

He’s close — you can feel it in the way his thrusts grow uneven as he chases his release, the way he roughly grasps your chin to kiss you, sloppy and more tongue than lips, how his fingers leave Scott-shaped bruises wherever he grips you, his blunt nails biting into your hip, your sides, your breasts as he struggles for purchase. You don’t realize you’re sobbing in pleasure until he wipes your tears away, until he praises how good you’re being taking him like this, groaning when your body responds eagerly to his positivity.

You dance in time with him, meeting him halfway, angling your hips up just right. And you feel, rather than hear, the way Scott moans in ecstasy as he finds that perfect spot in your heat, numb to anything and everything that isn’t his thick cock pounding your weeping, used hole.

You think you cum — or maybe it’s just the last shreds of sanity leaving as Scott reaches his peak, nothing but your eyes rolling to the back of your head as he fills you with his seed, rutting up against you until it’s painful, the warmth of him spreading into you. His heart pounds against you as he slips his hand to your belly, pressing you closer, his breath hot and ragged against your skin as his hips twitch until he’s emptied out, fucking the last drops of his cum into you exactly like he’s dreamt.

And when you come down your orgasm sits uncomfortably high and untouched, a broken sob escaping you as he pulls out with a wet pop.

You feel his cum slide down your swollen cunt and flinch with sensitivity as he’s quick to collect himself on his fingers, fucking it back into you. The tension coils tightly inside of you until you’re sure you’re begging him to stop, the pleasure and pain completely overwhelming, exhausted with the effort of obeying his orders as he presses his digits into your used hole.

When you think just about to break, he stops.

And you know you’re going to kill him as he steals your release for a third time.

“Good girl,” Scott whispers, pressing kisses along your soft skin, his hands soothing every part of your twitching frame. You don’t have the strength to ask for more as he pulls you into his arms after sliding your panties back into place, letting you come down as he finds his peace in caring for you, murmuring sweet nothings while your body is pliant against him.

You nuzzle into him when you feel more in control of yourself, your heart slowing to a more steady pace. His name falls softly from your lips, your arms snaking around him to hold him close, his fingertips soft along the small of your back.

When he presses his mouth to yours, you melt into his embrace, exploring him lazily until he’s pulling away, brushing your unruly hair out of your face. “Mine.” He praises with a smile, that dark expression gone, leaving nothing but bright, shining blues you could drown in for hours. “All fucking mine. I own you.”

“Mmm,” Despite the weary in your bones, you can’t help but smile back, a giggle escaping, “Do you?”

Scott doesn’t need to slip his hand between your legs for you to get the picture, just hooks a finger along the waistband of your ruined panties. “You just let me prove it, honey.” He leans forward to kiss you again, slower this time, before pulling away with a regretful sigh when the distinctive chime of his phone goes off. “Need help getting back in your seat?”

“Already?” You whine.

“Gotta go, honey.” He taps your hip, twice. Non-negotiable. “Come on, before the bears smell you and want you for themselves.”

That has you cracking a grin. “You wouldn’t fight a bear for me?”

“What do you think the murder kit is for?” One last kiss to your mouth. “’Course I would. Just not tonight.”

You pout further, but let him grab your long-forgotten clothes off the floor, making yourself presentable again before he does the same. And when you settle back into the passenger seat as he starts the engine, you let your head rest against the window, bubbly and content and happy. Even if you know it won’t last when he has to leave.

As Scott drives through the familiar city streets, you hate the knot of apprehension that clogs your throat when your mind wanders too far about him being gone. Out on the field, anything could happen, even if it was just one of his routine visits. The people he spoke with — if he approached the wrong one, it would be so easy for them to lash out. Scott was a big man, he could take care of himself, but that didn’t stop your fears from pressing down against you.

His hand is firm on your thigh, thumb stroking soft lines in your skin as he catches your expression. And then his truck takes a turn in the opposite direction of your apartment, heading toward his house.

“Where are we going?” you ask, your voice tinged with confusion as you try to shake off your emotions.

Scott’s grip on the steering wheel tightens just a fraction, his eyes fixed on the road ahead. “My place,” he answers simply. “You’ve been up all night, and I’m not about to drop you off and leave you alone like that.”

You frown, the earlier emotions fighting to come back; you glance quickly out the window, cheeks flaming as you’re caught, hating that he’d noticed your weakness. “I’m fine, Scott. I can—”

“No,” he cuts in gently, but firmly. “You need rest. And I’ll rest better knowing you’re somewhere comfortable.” His eyes flick toward you, catching your reflection in the dim light of the street lamps. “Besides,” he adds, his voice lowering to something more intimate, “I’ve got a bed that’s been missing you.”

It’s not a request, and the way he says it makes your heart skip. You know he’s right. As much as you’d wanted to protest, the thought of sleeping alone in your own bed feels wrong, especially with the lingering warmth of his touch still buzzing under your skin.

By the time you pull into his driveway, the familiar sight of his place is almost a comfort in itself. Scott’s fingers brush over your thigh before he parks the truck, a silent reassurance. “I’ll be gone for a few days,” he murmurs, shutting off the engine, “but I want you here. I want you safe.”

The words hang in the air between you, heavy with a meaning he’s too stubborn to say out loud, but you feel it all the same. He reaches over to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his thumb lingering on your cheek. “Let me make sure you’re okay.”

You nod, unable to find the words, so you just lean into his touch. Scott doesn’t need more than that. He’s out of the truck and rounding it to your side before you can even blink, opening your door and offering his hand.

“Come on, let’s get you inside,” he says softly, tugging you out and pulling you close against him. His arm slips around your waist as he guides you to the front door, his hold steady and reassuring.

Once inside, the warmth of his home envelops you both, and you feel the tension in your shoulders start to melt away. He’s quick to guide you to his bedroom, knowing the layout of his place better than anyone, but still taking the time to make sure you’re comfortable, handing you one of his shirts to sleep in.

As you slip under the covers, Scott pauses at the edge of the bed, eyes lingering on you. “Get some sleep,” he tells you, his voice gruff but tinged with affection. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

You reach for him, and he doesn’t hesitate to slide in beside you, pulling you against his chest. For a moment, you both just lie there, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your ear soothing you into a drowsy haze. Scott presses a kiss to the top of your head, his hand resting protectively over your hip.

“Sleep, honey,” he murmurs, his voice the last thing you hear before sleep claims you.

In the morning, you wake to the sound of his alarm, the room still dark. Scott’s already dressed, but he hasn’t left yet. He sits on the edge of the bed, watching you with a softness in his eyes that he rarely lets show. He reaches out, brushing his fingers through your hair as you try to rustle yourself awake.

“Go back to sleep,” he says quietly, his thumb grazing your cheek. “I’ll be back in a few days. Promise.”

Before you can respond, he leans down, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, lingering just long enough for you to feel the warmth of his lips. You smile, eyes fluttering shut as you drift back into a peaceful slumber, the last thing you feel is the comforting weight of his hand slipping from yours.

When you finally rise, well rested but achey from the night’s exertions, the sun is high in the afternoon sky and his house is empty, his truck missing from the garage. You wander into the kitchen in search of a cup of tea, pulling the kettle out from underneath his cabinet. And when the steaming mug is in your hands, settling into the breakfast nook that overlooks his backyard, your eyes fall upon his jacket, folded neatly atop all the stuff he’d unpacked while you were sleeping.

And you know he loves you as much as you love him.

[krishan-brothers]

Top 10 Uses of Gripping Pliers in Everyday Work

The most important gripping pliers, which are known as locking pliers or vice-grip pliers, are very essential for the professional and do-it-yourselfer.  With its locking mechanism and strong jaws, gripping pliers are useful for gripping, holding, and keeping objects in place without having to apply continuous hand pressure. Now, let's dive into the top 10 uses of gripping pliers in everyday tasks.

1. Knowing Gripping Pliers: Why They're the Must-Haves

Gripping pliers are handy tools provided with a lock, which helps fix firmly on an object. This facilitates gripping stability for applications in most repairs, such as pipe holding during repairs and tightening bolts loose or vice versa. They surpass most other pliers at the work that requires max stability. Key Features of Gripping Pliers: Locking Mechanism: Ensures that the jaws are closed tightly without hand pressure throughout. Adjustable Jaws: Accommodates objects of different sizes. Durability: Built with high-grade materials to sustain heavy-duty use.

2. Effortless Wire Handling: Stripping, Bending, and Cutting

Gripping pliers are perfect for electrical jobs, especially when dealing with wires. The firm grip ensures that stripping insulation, bending wires into the desired shapes, or cutting through them cleanly is done with precision and control. That is why gripping pliers are the first tool electricians and hobbyists reach for. Applications: Stripping insulation without damaging the wire. Bending wires to fit into tight spaces. Cutting wires cleanly and efficiently.

3. Securing Fasteners: The Role of Gripping Pliers in Tightening and Loosening

Bolts or nuts and screws that are either stuck or hard to turn provide the extra twisting force to succeed with gripping pliers. Its tight grip eliminates slippage and ensures good fastener tightening or loosening. Advantages: It provides additional torque for stubborn fasteners. Prevents damage on fasteners with precise gripping. Best suited for automotive repairs and mechanical jobs.

4. Innovative Uses: How Gripping Pliers Assist in DIY Activities

For the do-it-yourself enthusiast, gripping pliers are an all-around multipurpose tool that can adapt to many tasks. From holding pieces of material in place until glue dries to clamping objects for drilling or cutting, these pliers make complicated projects seem simple and increase precision. Examples: Material Clamping during Woodwork Holding Objects in place for crafting or painting Temporal Vise for small-scale projects

5. Safety and Efficiency: Tips to Use Gripping Pliers on Daily Tasks Using gripping pliers 

Using gripping pliers is not as complicated as it may seem, requiring a few easy techniques to safely and effectively get the job done: Tips: Adjust Properly: Use the adjustment screw to set the jaws for a snug fit. Secure the Lock: Engage the locking mechanism firmly to prevent slippage. Choose the Right Size: Use pliers suited to the object's size for better control. Release with Care: Disengage the lock gently to avoid sudden movements. By following these guidelines, you maximize the efficiency of gripping pliers and minimize accident risks.

Conclusion

Gripping pliers are an all-around indispensable tool for professionals and hobbyists across various fields. From electrical work and automotive repairs to DIY projects, their ability to securely hold and manipulate objects makes them a must-have in every toolbox. With their locking mechanism and adjustable jaws, gripping pliers offer unparalleled convenience and precision. Whether you’re an electrician, mechanic, or DIY enthusiast, investing in high-quality gripping pliers will ensure that your tasks are completed efficiently and safely.

FAQs

Q1. What are gripping pliers used for? Gripping pliers are used for holding, clamping, and manipulating objects securely. They are ideal for tasks like loosening stuck bolts, stripping wires, and clamping materials during projects. Q2. What is the difference between gripping pliers and regular pliers? Gripping pliers have a lock, which ensures they can clamp to objects without having to apply constant pressure from the hands, as with regular pliers.

Q3. Can gripping pliers be used for cutting?

Yes, gripping pliers may have some with cutting blades fitted that cut wires and other little materials.

Q4. Are gripping pliers for professionals? Of course! Gripping pliers are generally used by electricians, mechanics, and many professional users due to their versatility and reliability.

Q5. How do I take care of my gripping pliers?

Keep them clean, lubricate the joints periodically, and keep them in a dry place to prevent rust and ensure a longer service life.

Author

Sonia is a passionate and experienced blogger who writes sticky, informative, and relating content. Over five years of experience and over 3,000 blogs in her portfolio, Sonia specializes in writing about tools and their applications across industries. Quality and creativity are the core virtues Sonia adheres to, making sure that every blog delivers value to her readers. Sonia likes reading innovative research topics in her spare time for inspiration.

[bubblegumgothglados]

Do you want to hurt your victim?

Like really really hurt them? Like worst pain they've ever felt? And you want to do it with minimal risk of permanent damage?

Have you considered pulling their fingernails out? Here's a guide

What you'll need

Restraints. You probably want them supine in case they faint. You definitely want the hand you're working on well restrained so they can't flinch half way through and hurt themselves. You also probably want to gag them so they don't bite their tongue off by accident.

Tourniquet. To cut off the blood supply before removing the nail and then to help reduce the blood loss afterwards.

Pliers. For the actually pulling, you want maximum surface area but you also don't want to be flattening the curved edges of the nail because snapping it would be bad. So the exact size that'll be best will depend on the nail you're trying to pull. In any case make sure you can get a really good grip on it.

Anesthetic and pain killers. I'm assuming you only have access to over the counter stuff but get the best you can. If your victim uses their safe word when their nail is half way off dose them with pain meds and apply a topical numbing agent. From there you can either get them to a doctor to finish the job with proper local or finish it yourself because once its half way off it has to come all the way off it will not reattach.

Wound care supplies. Antiseptic, gauze, bandages, etc. I'm assuming you know wound care already.

Method

Restrain them as much as you feel necessary, sterilise the area and your tools, have your wound care supplies ready, clamp pliers down onto the nail, apply firm steady pressure up and away from the finger, wiggle slightly as it comes off. Pretty simple really.

As always if anything goes wrong be ready to call emergency services and get your victim to the ER. But really there's very little that can go wrong here. The only complication would be the nail snapping in which case you would finish removing the piece of nail you still have a hold of and then remove the snapped pieces.

Aftercare

Apply pressure until bleeding stops. Slather on antiseptic, wrap in gaze, and bandage. Do not apply ice, ice does reduce swelling but swelling is part of the healing process and ice impedes that process increasing total heal time. Re-bandage after a day or two, if the bandage has stuck to the wound run it under water until it loosens, do not soak (do not let them go for a swim). Keep an eye out for signs of infection.

Normal aftercare rules apply I.e. snacks, fluids, rest, and whatever emotional aftercare you both like and need.

Make sure your victim keeps their hand above heart level as much as possible over the next five days to stop blood from pooling in the wound.

There is the risk of damaging the nail bed causing the nail to grow back not quite the same. I've had this happen to me and it's slightly annoying not actually a problem

The nail should grow back in about six months, and then of course you can rip it out again

[bl00dyfaiiry]

Yandere stalker x F!Reader

Trigger Warning: Noncon, blood, stalking, unhealthy obsession, abduction, forced impregnation, creepy behavior, sadism, mentally unstable, gore, forced orgasms,

A/N: Credit to @Pyanyasha on twt/insta/tiktok for the artwork (Source: Pinterest) PLEASE lmk if the creator don't want their artwork for this fic ! tysm.

you had always loved the quiet solace of the early morning jog, the cool air kissing your skin as you pounded the pavement, the rhythmic sound of your sneakers a comforting metronome in the stillness. But today, the tranquility was shattered by the feeling of eyes on you, a sensation that sent a shiver down your spine despite the warmth of your sweat. Glancing over your shoulder, you saw a figure in the shadows, just at the edge of your peripheral vision, retreating as soon as you looked. You quickened your pace, heart racing, but the presence remained, a shadowy stalker that danced just out of sight.

You turned down the narrow alleyway that was a shortcut to your apartment, the tall buildings looming above creating a canyon of darkness that swallowed the meager light from the street lamps. The silence grew more oppressive, a living thing that seemed to press down on you. Your breaths grew shallow, fear coiling in your stomach. You knew you should turn back, find a more populated route, but you were almost home. Just a few more steps.

As you reached the halfway point, the alley grew even darker, the lights flickering erratically. You swallowed hard, willing your legs to move faster, your eyes straining to pierce the gloom. That's when you heard it, the soft, deliberate scuff of a footstep behind you. You whipped around, but there was nothing, no one. Yet the feeling of being watched had grown so intense it was almost a physical touch.

The sudden absence of sound was deafening, the world around you seeming to hold its breath as you waited for the next step. But it never came. Instead, you felt a hand clamp over your mouth, a vice-like grip that smelled faintly of metal and something... sweet? Before you could even struggle, a powerful arm wrapped around your waist and yanked you backward. Panic exploded in your chest as you were lifted off the ground, the world spinning as you were dragged into the darkest corner of the alley.

Your muffled screams were absorbed by the shadows as you kicked and clawed at the unseen attacker. His grip was iron, unyielding, and your attempts at escape only served to excite him further. You felt a sharp prick at the side of your neck, and a cold liquid trickled down your skin. Your muscles grew leaden, your vision swimming. The hand over your mouth was removed, and a cold, wet cloth was pressed to your nose and mouth. You thrashed wildly, but the strength drained from your limbs, your eyes fluttering closed despite your desperate need to stay alert.

As consciousness slipped away, the last thing you heard was a whisper in your ear, "You're mine now, Y/N." The voice was low, a dark purr that sent a shiver of terror through your already paralyzed body. The smell of the sweet substance grew stronger, coating your nostrils and tongue, making your stomach churn. Then, there was only darkness.

When you awoke, you were lying on a cold, hard surface, your limbs bound tightly with something that bit into your skin. Your head felt fuzzy, your thoughts sluggish and disjointed. You tried to move, to struggle, but your body refused to cooperate, the drug still coursing through your veins. Gradually, your senses returned, and with them, the horror of your situation.

You were in a room, dimly lit by a single flickering bulb that cast eerie shadows on the dingy walls. The air was stale, with an underlying metallic scent that made your stomach clench. Your eyes searched the room, trying to find any clue as to where you were or who had taken you. In the corner, you spotted a table laden with tools that glinted menacingly in the weak light—knives, pliers, and something that looked suspiciously like a scalpel.

The door creaked open, and the shadowy figure of your stalker emerged, a twisted smile playing across his lips as he took in the sight of you, helpless and terrified. He moved with a predatory grace, his eyes gleaming with a mix of lust and madness. You tried to scream, but all that came out was a pathetic whimper.

He approached you slowly, reaching out a hand to stroke your cheek, his touch as cold and clammy as a corpse's. "Don't be afraid," he murmured, his voice a sickly sweet caress. "I've been watching you for so long, Y/N. I know what you need. I know what you crave." His words were like a knife to your soul, twisting and turning, making you doubt your own sanity. How could he possibly know what you craved? How could he claim ownership over your thoughts, your desires?

Your heart raced as he leaned closer, his breath hot on your face despite the cold room. "You're going to be my perfect little doll," he whispered, his eyes drifting over your bound form with a hunger that made your skin crawl. "I'll make sure you love every moment of it."

The fear was a living entity inside you now, a beast that thrashed and roared, demanding that you find a way out. But as he began to undo the bindings at your ankles, you realized with a sickening jolt that your body was responding to his touch in ways it shouldn't. The fear was giving way to something else, something darker and more primal. Despite the horror, your body was betraying you, reacting to the twisted game he had begun to play.

As he pulled you to your feet, his grip never loosening, you had the sudden, stark understanding that there would be no rescue, no escape. You were his, to do with as he pleased. And in that moment of crushing despair, the only thing you could do was cling to the hope that you could somehow survive the nightmare that was about to unfold.

He dragged you closer to the table, the cold metal pressing against your thighs as he bent you over it. The anticipation in his eyes was palpable, a sick excitement that only served to fuel the horror churning in your gut. He leaned in, his hot breath a stark contrast to the cold air, and began to peel away your clothing with a disturbing gentleness, as if he were unwrapping a precious gift.

You felt the sharp sting of his teeth against your earlobe, a bizarrely intimate gesture that sent a shiver of revulsion down your spine. His hands roamed your body, his touch as cold and methodical as a doctor's, yet filled with a sadistic intent that made your skin crawl. You bit your tongue, tasting the metallic tang of your own blood, to keep from crying out as he explored every inch of your exposed flesh, his eyes never leaving yours.

The sound of fabric ripping echoed through the room as he tore your pants away, exposing you completely. You felt his erection press against you, a monstrous presence that seemed to steal the very air from the room. His hand slid between your thighs, and you couldn't help the involuntary jerk at the touch. He chuckled, low and dark, his breath hot against your neck. "You're so wet for me," he murmured. "Don't fight it, Y/N. You're going to love this."

With a brutal force that belied his earlier gentleness, he entered you, the pain searing and immediate. Your vision blurred with the agony of it, and you couldn't hold back the scream that tore from your throat. But amidst the horror, there was something else, a twisted thread of arousal that writhed within you like a serpent. Your body's traitorous response to his violent intrusion only served to sicken you further, to make you feel even more powerless and degraded.

The pain grew, a crescendo of agony that seemed to go on forever. You felt him pounding into you, his breaths growing ragged, his grip on your hips like steel. His movements grew erratic, driven by his own twisted pleasure, and you knew that this was just the beginning. The endless night had only just started, and you were his to claim, to use, to break.

The room spun as you felt the first waves of his climax, the warmth of his release filling you with a revulsion so deep it was almost a physical pain. Yet, as the last of his seed spilled into you, there was a part of you that felt a strange, twisted satisfaction, as if your body was acknowledging his victory. And as he leaned in to whisper sweet nothings into your ear, you realized with a sinking feeling that this was far from over.

[sadslay]

- NEED YOU ⋆☆ 𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

warnings - inspired by, mentions of scars & blood, nsfw content, this is short im so sorry

the first time you saw abby was when her and her people came to the seattle claiming to be fireflies. you had only heard whispers about the group, but no more then a week later abby was sitting in your waiting room with a bloodied face and fists. when you called her in she sat down quietly with her hands gripping onto the bed. the first thing abbys eyes stared at was the scar sitting in the base of your neck.

“abigail right?” you asked, beginning to gather what supplies you needed to clean her cuts.

“just abby.” she corrected, watching you closely as you spun back around with some clean water and a rag.

you knew exactly what brought abby here. an hour or so earlier there was an altercation with one of the young soldiers and it resulted in them getting up on medical leave while abby only came out with a few cuts and some bloodied knuckles. although you didn’t know the exact reason as to why abby lashed out, you were able to put together the pieces. from what you had read on her file and what you had heard around the base, abby was a fifteen year old ex-firefly that had recently just lost her father. you knew what headspace abby was in right now and it was not something that could be ignored.

“how long have you been at the base for?” you asked, fully knowing she had been here for nine days.

abby sat in silence as you cleaned the sticky drying blood from her left eyebrow before quietly replying, “just over a week.”

once you had cleaned the blood you were able to see the small cut running through the end of her eyebrow. lucky for her, it didn’t need stitches only a bit of medical tape to prevent infection. the silence between you and abby was heavy but surprisingly not awkward.

as you taped up her eyebrow, she asked, “i don’t need stitches?”

you shook your hear as you grabbed a near by cloth to begin cleaning the cut on top of her cheek. “no.” you spoke softly. “but your cheek’ll need stitches.

the rest of her visit she didn’t talk. you told her that the stitches were not dissolvable so she would have to come in a weeks time to get them removed and at the end of it all, she quietly thanks you and left swiftly.

⋆☆

carefully removing her stitches with a pair of tweezers and surgical pliers, you put all your focus into making the whole process as pain free as possible. you had noticed abby fiddling with her hands, most likely to keep herself distracted, and you could feel her eyes lingering on the base of your neck. no doubt she was intrigued by your scar, just about everyone was, but abby was different. abby hadn't once asked about your scar or looked at it in a disgruntled or disgusted way, in fact she rarely looked at it, but when abby did, she looked at it with intrigue.

"did you pick a job yet?" you asked quietly, managing to pull her eyes away from your neck.

"no." she replied quietly. "the job i wanted was taken." she added, the disappointment in her voice was so clearly evident.

you removed the last stitch, allowing abby to take in a deep breath as you put your tools down on a near by table. "n'what job was that?" you questioned.

“anythin’ in medical.” she shrugged as you began to clean your station. you let out a soft chuckle as you peeled off your rubber gloves making abbys eyebrows furrow. “whats so funny?”

you weakly shrugged as you turned back to abby, subtly assessing her face to see if she needed a cover while it continued to heal. “just didn’t expect that from you.” you mumbled, beginning to gather a small amount of medical tape to cover the cut on her cheek. “thought you’d wanna be a solider.”

abby scoffed. “just cause i’ve gotten into a few fights?” she asked as a smirk began to ghost over her lips.

gently applying the medical tape to her - mostly - healed cut you tried your hardest not to smile. “well yeah, ‘nd from the looks of it you can throw a good punch.” abby grinned, clearly proud of herself. “i treated her ya know?”

“you put her medical leave?” abby asked, raising an eyebrow as she watched you closely while you began to pack up your station.

“god no.” you chuffed. “i’ve sent worse injuries back into the field, it was issac that put her on medical leave.” you explained, beginning to take off your green medical apron and hanging it on the back of your office door. “it’s ‘cause he realized that if she couldn’t handle a civilian then she shouldn’t be a solider.”

abby thought for a moment, eyeing you up and down as this was the first time she had seen you out of uniform. “he’s got a point.” she mumbled nonchalantly as she remained completely focused on you.

“i could put in a good word for you ya know?” you mumbled, leaving up against your desk. “he owes me a favour.” you added as a soft smirk began to creep onto your lips.

“you think i’d be a good solider?” abby asked, pushing herself away from the medical bed to stand opposite to you.

you nodded, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “i think if you got into gym and really trained you’d be one of our best.” you admitted. “then you get some good benefits around the base.” you added. abby folded her arms across her chest and thought for a moment. “maybe you can tag along with me one time.” you shyly suggested.

“i like the sound of that.”

⋆☆

as seasons passed you and abby grew incredibly close. first it started as weekly catch ups at the gym and the odd visit to your office after hours as she’d refuse to have her medical done by anyone else, and then it became more frequent. abby would stop by your office before she would get sent out to do a run for issac and any chance she got she would invite you to lunch in the food hall or even drop off lunch right to your office.

with all of abby’s attention you quickly become infatuated. abby had a way of making the simplest things give you butterflies. you quickly realized that your feelings towards abby were not just platonic and after years of fighting you had come to terms with the fact that you had fallen in love with her. so when she asked you to travel halfway across the country - on a limb that the man that you had only heard stories about- to hunt down the man had killed her father you had to go with her.

while the group had stopped in butte for a few days, you found yourself scavenging around the rundown motel when you overheard abby talking to owen. you stopped in your tracks, quietly listening as the pair hadn’t spoken in months.

“‘cause she’s fuckin’ useless.” owen muttered in a hushed whisper.

you heard abby let out a sigh causing your eyebrows to furrow. “we needed her hear incase we got into trouble. she’s a good nurse.”

were they talking about you?

“what about mel?” owen asked. “just cause you wanna fuck her-”

“watch it!” abby snapped. “i brought her along because your fucking girlfriend can barely do her fucking job.” abby quipped her voice was stern as she grew more frustrated at own. “i bought her along because shes fucking useful, no other fuckin’ reason.” she spat.

after that owen stormed off, walking out into the hall were you stood opposite to each other. he gave you a pathetic smile before walking straight past you. slowly you began to fill with frustration as you march towards the door own had just walked out of.

“you know if you wanted a fucking medic to come on this fucking scouting mission then i would have sent one of my students with you.” you snapped bitterly as you slammed the door behind you.

abby frowned as she realized you had heard her conversation with owen. “come on,” abby groaned. “you know i didn’t mean it like that.” she mumbled, looking down at you as she inched closer to you.

you rolled your eyes at the blonde, coming to your wits end with her as she had been distant from you for weeks. “how’d you mean it then?” you quipped.

“it means i like you dumbass.” she smirked, taking that final step to bring the two of you together.

scoffing at the idea you tried to step back, “if you like me so much, how come you’ve been avoiding me?” you asked, bumping into the door behind you.

abby smiled at your naivety as her arm rose, boxing you in against the wall. “because i can’t control myself around you anymore.” she spoke barely above a whisper.

chocking on your words only made abby’s smile grow. “shhh,” she coed. “i know you like me too baby.” abby hummed, her nonchalant cockiness about the whole situation made your cheeks flush pink.

“do not.” you tried to protest, even you could hear the bullshit making abby chuckle under her breath. “fuck off.” you spat, barely louder then a whisper.

“you really want me to go?” abby asked, her head dipping slightly to be at your eye level, only for you to avoid her eye contact all together. her hand parted from the wall before shortly reconnecting her hand with the the bottom of your chin. “look at me.”

only abby could make a demand sound so soft you thought. you hesitated for a moment, knowing what would happen if you did look at her, but you were weak at the knees and desperate for any attention from abby. your eyes finally met abby’s turning your stomach into knots.

“you really want me to leave baby?” she asked again, her breath kissing your ear.

looking up at her, you began to feel light headed as something you had dreamed about for months, maybe even years was finally beginning to come true.

“please don’t make me say it.” you shamefully whispered, as abby slowly combed a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

“oh baby.” she snickered, her soft seductive chuckle gave you goosebumps. “but i want to hear you say it.” abby smirked.

there was no point in fighting it anymore, abby knew you liked her, there was no more denying it. “i want you to stay.” you spoke ever so softly. abby grinned as you took in a shallow breath before continuing to whisper, “i want you.”

that was all the confirmation that abby needed, to hastily press her lips against yours. it was so messy and polarizing to anything you had ever experienced before. abby’s hands grabbed firmly onto your hips as she pulled you against her, her touch alone was enough to make your knees buckle. your hand grasped onto the base of abbys neck as you almost felt light headed. the whole experience was so euphoric but ethereal at the same time.

“so needy baby.” abby breathed into your neck almost making you audibly moan.

desperate for some friction, you pulled yourself even closer to abby. “shut up.” you breathed, barely able to have a coherent thought as you began to rub against her thigh.

abby let out a breathy chuckle as her hands dipped down to your thighs before hoisting you up to sit around her waist. her hands held onto your ass firmly, relentlessly squeezing as she slowly lowered herself to the ground. as she sat down with her back pressed up against the door your legs knelt on either side of hers.

her hands roamed up and under your thin singlet, scratching at your skin before her hands returned to your ass. you rolled your hips against hers making your core tighten as your hand snaked up her arms to her neck. you slowly pulled away, leaning in close to abbys ear as she continued kissing the soft spot of your neck. your breathing was heavy and everything that abby was going made you feel so, so good.

as you leant up against abbys ear, your finger tips scratching the back of her neck you whispered, “i need you.”

[moody-alcoholic]

These Violent Delights

Chapter 23 - Cradled In Love

Summary: Poly 141 x fem!reader, a/b/o alternate universe 12k words. Omega is sick and Price and Simon have feelings. Honestly this chapter could have been way longer then 12k.

CW: +18 content MDNI. a/b/o alternative universe, a/b/o dynamics, typical a/b/o universe tropes (heat, knotting, rut, nesting), sex, rough sex, scratching, biting, blood, choking, mastabation, oral (F receiving), PiV sex, knotting, medical stuff, sick omega, thunderstorm, nightmare, assault, night terror, sedation, torture, hurt/comfort, medical examinations.

Previous - masterlist - next Bonus AO3

enjoy <3

You’re back in the bunker. It’s different though, it’s not the Professor who comes into the room, it’s Dr. Miller. He’s dragging someone in. The lights come on making you squeeze your eyes closed for a second. There’s grunting and moaning, and you look up. Whoever it is has a cover over their head. He’s trying to fight though, even with his hands and legs bound. 

You try to stand up but you can’t. You look down to see that there’s a restraint round your ankle though it’s only short, keeping you locked in the corner. The Professor walks in next. He looks at you, coming over. He reaches down gripping your chin, pulling your face up to look at him.

“Found one of your would-be rescuers.” His grip hurts. He moves your head so you can see Dr. Miller strapping the person into the chair. The cover is ripped off his head. It’s Kyle, his head bleeding, one of his eyes swollen. He has tape over his mouth. 

“Kyle no!” you cry out. His head snaps to you, and he blinks a few times, his arms and legs pulling at the chair. 

“This is your fault, you know!” Hale snaps, pulling your head uncomfortably. “You fucking deserve everything that happens. When he’s screaming for his life, you will remember you caused this.” 

He lets your head go. You pull on the restraints until your ankle is raw. 

“It’s okay,” Kyle says, smiling at you, but he sounds sad. Tears blur your vision. It’s not okay. This is all your fault. Dr. Miller steps back over to the chair with what look like pliers in his hands.

“Let's start with a favourite of mine.” He grabs one of Kyle's hands. 

“Please, Dr. Miller, please don’t hurt him!” you cry out. It comes out as a sob. He stops, looking over at you and laughing. He comes over to kneel down in front of you so his head is level with yours. 

“You’ll enjoy this. How long do you think he will last, huh? Four hours? Five?” He tips his head. Something inside you snaps. You don’t know what happens but before you can stop yourself you headbutt him. It makes him wobble and he falls backwards. All of the sudden there are no restraints. You jump on top of him and your hands lock around his throat as he struggles under your body. 

You press hard, your thumbs digging into the front of his neck. You squeeze as hard as you can even as your hands start to hurt. You don’t care, you’re going to kill him.

A crack of thunder snaps you out of your dream. You’re not sure what's going on. There’s someone slapping you, nails digging into your skin: Fleur. She’s fighting you and your hands are wrapped around her throat. 

You pull them away stumbling off the bed. Another crack of thunder makes you jump. You head for the door trying to regain your balance in the dark room. She’s coughing and wheezing.

You could have killed her. 

You continue looking for the door. 

“Wait!” she calls her voice hoarse. 

You could have killed her. 

Your head is pounding. You slam your body through the door stumbling out into the hall. Lightning flashes through the windows. You’re on the other side of the building, how did you get out without John realising? You grip onto the banister looking down to the ground floor. 

“Wait. It’s okay,” Fleur says. You turn to look at her rubbing her neck. Another door opens. Tears stream down your face as you start making your way over to the stairs.

“What’s going on?” Johnny asks. You don’t want to see him. You start trying to put distance between you all. Another crash of thunder makes you yelp. Why is it so loud?  

“She was choking me. I think she was having a nightmare,” Fleur says. 

There are more voices now, more people coming out of rooms. You just want to run. You see Simon with his mask. Piper pushes through them to go over to Fleur. 

“Get Price,” Simon orders. He turns to go over to Kyle’s room as Johnny sprints across the hall to John’s room. You let out a sob as you hit a wall. You sink down to your knees throwing your head in your hands. “Hey, she’s okay,” Piper says. You can hear her coming towards you, and then her cool hands land on your knees. 

“Go away!” you shout trying to pull yourself further into the corner. She backs up holding her hands up. 

“Okay, you’re okay,” she says. The next person you see is John. He comes over, kneeling down by you. 

“Don’t touch me!” you snap at him. You can't stop the sobs. It felt so real. The nightmares always feel so real. 

“What happened?” he asks. 

“She attacked Fleur,” Piper says. 

“She was shouting something about a Dr. Miller,” Fleur says.

You could have killed her. 

“Shit,” you hear John say. You look up at him. He stands back up. Another rumble of thunder makes you press your head back into your hands. 

“Do we have anything to help her?” John asks. He’s trying to keep his voice low but you can still hear him. 

“The pills aren't here yet. All I have are sedatives,” Piper says. That makes you sob again. They’re going to knock you out. Knock you out so you won’t hurt anyone. 

It's like the bunker all over again.

“What’s going on?” That’s Kyle’s voice. Your head snaps up. He’s alive, he’s safe. 

“Kyle!” you call, reaching out for him. He comes over immediately, pushing past everyone and bending down next to you. He wraps his arms around you and you sob into his chest. 

“He was going to torture you, kill you,” you say between breaths. 

“Who, love?” he asks, pressing a kiss on your head. 

“Dr. Miller and the Professor.” 

He sighs, rocking you in his arms.

“Shh, you’re okay. I’m here. You’re okay.” 

You grip him tight, worried that he’s going to disappear. People start to move as you let the scent of beta calm you down. John comes back to kneel in front of you. His fingers brush your face, and this time you let him touch you. 

He tips his head to the side. He looks sad. 

“Take her to bed,” John says, his hand leaving your face. Kyle scoops you up in his arms. You whimper against his chest as he carries you over to John's room.

“Kyle, will you stay?” you ask as he lowers you into the bed. 

“Of course. I’ll stay.” He crawls over you scooting in behind you, leaving space for John to get in the bed too. You turn toward him pressing yourself against his chest. 

“They’re dead. You know that right? They're never going to hurt you again.” 

You nod. “But what if something bad happens, Kyle? What if you get hurt?” 

“Nothing’s going to happen. We’re safe.” 

You let out a long breath. There's another clap of thunder. It makes you jump. 

“Easy, you’re okay. I’m here, I’m not going anywhere,” he says pulling you closer to his chest. You try to calm down and slow your breathing but it’s not helping. There’s too much going around in your head. 

You could have killed Fleur. 

The door to the room opens and John walks in followed by Piper. She comes to sit on the bed stroking your arm. Her hands are cold, they’re always cold. 

“Is she okay?” you ask. 

“She’s fine. A little bruised but she’s going to be okay.” 

“I could have killed her,” you say sniffling. 

“But you didn’t, and she doesn’t blame you.” 

“She should, it’s all my fault.” 

Piper lets out a sigh, her hand moving down to your hip. 

“I’m going to give you something to help you relax,” she says.

“I don’t want anything,” you say. 

“It’s okay. It will help you. You need to get some rest. The less you sleep the worse this could get,” she says. You can hear the sympathy in her voice. It’s almost like she wants this less than you. She rubs your waist, gently pushing the bottom of your shorts up. It seems like you don’t really have a choice. You look up at Kyle. 

“It’s going to be okay, we’re here for you,” he says. You can smell him projecting his scent into the air. You nod your head. Her fingers are replaced with something wet and then a sharp scratch.  

“Good girl,” she says getting up. You let out a long breath. This is just what they’re going to have to do now to stop you from hurting people. You hear John mumbling something to Piper before closing the door and climbing into bed behind you. He pulls the duvet up, wrapping his arms around you, pressing his chest against your back. 

“I’m sorry,” you say, closing your eyes. John presses a kiss on the back of your head.

“Nothing to be sorry about. You’re safe. Just rest.” His hand comes up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. It doesn’t take long before your body feels heavy and you relax between them, fighting to keep your eyes open. Each time you move, their hands stroke you, telling you it’s okay. It's not okay. You hurt someone. You try to fight the sleep pulling you under. You don’t want to dream again. 

…

Kyle looks up over at John. Even in the dark he can see the shine in John’s eyes. It's hard seeing you like this, so distressed and not in control. 

“She’ll be okay. She has us,” Kyle says, reaching over to brush John’s cheek. 

“She attacked someone,” John says. His voice is low but Kyle can hear the hurt behind it.

“She was dreaming. She didn’t know what she was doing,” Kyle says. He's trying to be reassuring but he’s not sure if it's helping or not. Kyle thinks for a second. So much has changed since Scotland: new people, new location. 

“She hasn’t built a nest yet,” Kyle says. “Do you think she feels unsafe?”

“I don’t know,” John says. Kyle looks back down at you. Your eyes are still puffy and red. 

“Me and Johnny could go out tomorrow to get her some blankets and pillows.” 

“Yeah, I think that's a good idea.”  

“She needs something from all of us too, to put in her nest like she did in America. I think that would help.” 

John nods. 

“Whatever she needs.” He kisses the top of your head again, wrapping his arm over to reach Kyle. “Anything she needs.” 

You wake in John's arms. He pulls you further up his chest as you begin to stare. Kyle is gone. You still feel sleepy, like you could just go back to sleep for another 8 hours. John kisses the top of your head. 

“Where’s Kyle?” you ask, trying not to move too much. You just want to stay here laid in his arms.

“He had something to do. He’ll be back later,” John says. You turn to look up at him. There’s light coming in through curtains. It must be late in the morning. The perfect moment with John is broken by the memories of what happened last night. 

Your stomach sinks. Guilt builds up inside you. You break away from John, sitting up. 

“What’s wrong?” he asks sitting up too, his hand rubbing up your back. 

“I need to apologise to Fleur,” you say, picking at the skin around your fingers. He sighs. You’re not going to let him talk you out of anything. You need to do it now. 

“You don’t need to do anything until you’re ready.” John swings his legs out the bed and stands up. 

“I need to. I hurt her.” 

John’s fingers come to pull your chin up to look at him. “It’s not your fault.” 

You don’t believe him. 

…

The lab is cold. You don't think you like it here. You’re sick of labs, sick of the clinical white walls and sterilised surfaces. There's always a smell you can’t place, one that tickles the back of your throat and lingers on your clothes. 

You can smell Piper before you see her. Her mellow beta scent relaxes you as you get to the end of the hall into the main lab. John’s with you, his hand on the small of your back. You don’t know if you would be able to do this without him.  

Fleur has her back to you but Piper sits up when you turn the corner. You feel sick. You don’t know why you’re so nervous, but you want to just disappear. Fleur turns around and Piper stands. You swallow the nerves, taking a step forward. 

“Fleur.” Your mouth suddenly goes dry. She stands up. She looks sad, her brow creased. “I’m sorry about last night. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I’m sorry.” It doesn’t sound like an apology but you don’t know what to say. You hurt her. You could have killed her. 

Sorry doesn’t feel like enough. 

Your eyes fall to her neck where you can see the bruising, and it makes you feel horrible. Tears build in your eyes. She takes a step towards you, and you’re frozen in place. 

You don’t know what you were expecting but she throws her arms around you, pulling you into a hug. You look over at Piper, unsure what to do or what to say. You rest your hands on her back, your whole body tense. 

She breaks from the hug, resting her hands on your shoulders. “It’s not your fault. I don’t blame you,” she says. You look up at her, swallowing the tears. Hairs rise on the back of your neck. You’re not used to this kind of response. 

“I could have killed you,” you say. It’s almost a whisper. “I hurt you.” 

“I’m fine. I’ve been through worse.” 

You don’t know if you believe her but it makes you smile. Her hands drop from your shoulders and she takes a step back. You look over at Piper, then back to Fleur. 

“It won't happen again,” you say. John’s hand comes to rest on your back. You don’t know if you believe it but you want to. You have to do better. Fleur’s not going to hurt you. No one is going to hurt you ever again. 

“C’mon, let's get some breakfast,” John says. You nod watching Piper sit down. Fleur smiles at you and you smile back. 

…

After breakfast John leaves, saying he has to go do something. You end up in the living room in the chair next to the bookshelf with a stack of books on your knees. You can’t decide what you want to read, skimming through them until you find something you like. 

Apologising to Fleur feels like a weight lifted off your shoulders. The guilt feels washed away. It’s still your fault but there’s no guilt. Maybe this is what it's supposed to be like. It’s weird though. You’re used to everyone telling you it’s your fault. But you’re not in the bunker any more. 

The sun is setting when Johnny and Kyle walk through the doors, their arms filled with blankets and pillows. You frown at them, but then you remember. You haven’t made a nest yet. All you can think about is the nest in the house in Scotland. That's the only nest you care about. It feels wrong making a new one. 

You put the books down on the footrest and kick the blanket off. 

“Where do you want this then, lass?” Johnny asks. You walk over to them, running your hands over the fabric. 

“My room,” you say. You walk past them and they follow. You make it to your room to unlock the door before then can see. You need to start staying in here again, where you can lock yourself in and not worry about hurting anyone. They put the piles down on the bed. 

“Here.” Johnny hands you a shirt and one of Simon’s masks. “Don’t tell Simon I nicked this.” 

You smile at him. 

“I got you something too. And something from John,” Kyle says, handing you a hat and scarf. You recognise them both. They’re almost identical to the ones you took in America. You take them in your hands. You bring Simon’s mask up to your nose. It smells like him. 

You turn looking over at the piles of fluffy blankets and pillows. It’s perfect. It's what you need. 

“Thank you,” you say, turning to them. They smile and leave, closing the door behind them. You get to work moving the other bed in the room to press them together. You throw everything into the corner where the bed used to be. You work until it starts turning dark out and you’re getting tired. Someone comes to call you for dinner but you’re not hungry. You want to work until it’s perfect. 

It feels like you’ve been working on it for hours but you make it perfect, and with the things they’ve bought you it smells like a proper nest. You change into pajamas and get inside pulling the blankets over your head. You need to have a good night’s sleep in your nest. It's your safe space.

You slept through the night with no dreams. No nightmares, nothing—just a deep peaceful sleep. Maybe they were right. Maybe you needed a nest to ground yourself. 

It’s when you leave your room that a pit forms in your stomach. Something is wrong. You can’t quite put your finger on it but something is different. It's almost like the air is different, something lingering making the place feel stuffy.

It feels like you’re floating as you make your way to the dining room. Your whole body feels heavy but relaxed at the same time. It's strange. Johnny and Kyle are already in the dining room talking with Piper. You flare your nostrils breathing them in as you walk over. Your senses feel dulled. There’s a stuffiness in your head and ears. 

You know you’ve smelt this before. You just can’t remember what it means. It's deep and musky, and it makes warmth bloom in your core. You sit down at the table with them. You can’t focus on what they’re saying. There's a pounding in your head. Suddenly the smell is intensified, and goosebumps rise on the back of your neck. Your mouth fills with saliva, and there's a throb between your legs. 

You turn and see Simon standing there. He smells different; he looks different. His cheeks and lips flushed red, his eyes locked onto yours. Before you know what’s happening, you’re on your feet stepping towards him. 

You need him. You need him to touch you. 

You’re trying to move but something is stopping you. Voices are muffled in your ears. Kyle and Johnny push past you over to Simon. You look, confused, turning to see Piper holding your arm. 

Johnny and Kyle are pushing Simon out of the room; your eyes are still locked together. You need to be with him. You're almost fighting Piper. You flare your nostrils, and now you remember the smell. Dark and smokey. It’s his rut.

“Hey, hey,” she says, gripping your shoulders and moving around to stand in front of you, clicking her fingers in your face. You snap out of your haze to look at her.

“I can help him,” you say.

“No. No you can’t,” she says. You open your mouth to protest.

“You’ve never handled an alpha’s rut before. Even Hale would leave you alone during his time. He could hurt you.” 

“It’s okay, he needs me,” you say as you see John come into the room.

“What’s happened?” he asks, confused and  looking behind him. 

“Simon’s in heat,” Piper says without letting go of your shoulders. 

“I can help him,” you say looking over at John, but even he looks concerned. Piper squeezes your shoulders.

“I’ve seen alphas tear betas apart. He could kill you, especially because he’s a new alpha. He’s not going to have the self-control yet.” 

“But he’s going to be in pain,” you say. You don’t like the thought of him being in pain.

“I know. I’ll try and figure something out to help him but you have to stay away. Okay?” 

You nod, swallowing the saliva that's formed in your mouth. 

“What do we do?” John asks as he steps up to you. Now you want him . You want to claw his clothes off. You reach out for him, and Piper lets you go to him. 

“Keep him quarantined. Keep her away.”

“I can help him,” you repeat. Her hand rubs the top of your back but you don’t care. You’re needy and you’re already running your hands up John’s shirt. If you can’t be with Simon, then you’ll take John instead. 

“He could hurt her. He’s never had a rut before. It’s not like her heats. He’s dangerous now,” Piper says. You feel her cold hands run down your back. You reach up, nuzzling your face in his neck. 

“Remember her forced heat?” Piper asks. There’s still an ache in you that needs to be satisfied. “That’s what’s happening now, only it’s natural.” 

“So she’s in heat?” he asks, running his arm up your back as you brush your fingers over his nipples. 

“Kind of. I would recommend trying to keep her satisfied,” Piper says. You smile up at him and he pulls you against his chest. 

“What about Simon?” he asks. 

“He will be okay. Take care of her. I’ll keep an eye on Simon,” she says. Your mouth is filling with saliva as you breathe him in. Her cold hands leave your back. You’re not really paying attention to what’s happening. As you make it up the steps you can smell him. Your body moves to his door before John pulls you in the other direction. 

“C'mon. This way,” he says, walking you towards his room.

“I can help him.” 

“I know, but let's talk about it later. He probably needs some rest,” he says as you make it to his door.

“He needs an omega,” you say looking back over at his room. The door is closed. You’re not sure what happened to Johnny and Kyle. You guess they’ve gone back to see Piper. 

You have sex with John. It just feels off, like you need more. It doesn’t scratch the itch you’re feeling. 

You try taking a shower where you end up fingering yourself to another orgasm but it’s still not enough. You sulk back into John’s room. He’s laid in the bed with a tablet in his hands. You walk over to the bed but you don’t get in. He puts the tablet down looking at you as you pick the skin around your nails.

“What's up?” 

“Simon. He's in pain.” You look up at John. “He needs me, I can help him.” 

He lets out a long sigh. You can see him thinking. He presses his lips together.

“Piper said you could get hurt,” he says, his voice level. You stop picking your fingers.

“You could have hurt me and you didn’t.” 

“She said it’s going to be hard for him. He’s not going to have control,” he says. 

“I trust him. Do you trust him?” you ask. 

He hesitates. “I trust him.” 

“Then let me help him please.” You’re almost begging. He throws the tablet to the side and gets out the bed. He steps up to you pressing his hands on your face. 

“Are you sure you want to do this?” he asks. 

You nod. “He needs me, he needs an omega.” 

John lets out a sigh and leans down to kiss you. 

“I love you, I just want you to be safe.” 

You smile.

“I love you too. I’ll be safe. Simon won’t hurt me.” He drops his hands from your face. You hug him then head for the door.

“Good luck,” he says. You turn back and nod at him.

You’re standing outside Simon’s door. You know he’ll be able to smell you. He’ll be able to smell you from across the building. John gave you permission, even though you didn’t need it. You had already made up your mind. You were going to help him no matter what Piper or John said.

“Simon.” You knock on the door. There's no response. Maybe he’s asleep. You reach down for the door handle and find that it's open. You press it down and as soon as the door opens you’re hit with his scent. It’s so strong you bring your hand up to your nose. The room is dark, but even with the low light coming in from the hallway you can see the place is a mess. 

“Simon?” you say quietly. You’re nervous all of the sudden. You can’t see him. Maybe this was a bad idea. You close the door behind you, swallowing hard, taking another step into the room. Your eyes aren't quite adjusted to the dark, but you hear movement. You try to turn towards the source but you don’t get time. 

You’re pinned up against a wall. Simon’s hands hold you up by your armpits, his fingers digging into you. He presses his face into your neck and his tongue drags across your skin. He growls as he breathes you in.

“Simon—” 

“Quiet,” he snaps. You can’t ignore him, clamping your mouth shut. All you can smell is alpha, but then vanilla fills your nose making you dizzy. He lowers you down to the floor. His hands run up your shirt, his fingers brushing your nipples. One of his massive hands grips around your neck forcing your head up. 

The smell of vanilla is so strong you feel like you can’t breathe. It makes your mouth fill with saliva and there’s an ache between your legs. Now you don’t care what he does or if he hurts you. Right now, you would let him rip you apart. You force yourself to swallow, and his grip softens. Your head is swimming but your body feels relaxed. 

You let out a grunt trying to suck in air. His hand lets go of your neck moving down your body to your chest. He rips your shirt. You gasp, your hands going down to your bottoms to drop them so he won’t rip them off you too. His mouth wraps around your nipple. He bites down hard and you let out a yelp. It just makes him growl, his teeth being replaced by his tongue dragging hard across your nipple.

“Alpha,” you whine. You need more, more of him. There’s a burning in your core. You need him, his knot. You need him inside you. The burn pulses through your body and you can smell honey in the air. You know he can smell it too, his fingers digging harder into your skin. 

“Christ, you smell amazing,” he breathes, his hand gripping your breast. You can feel his cock pressing against you and your hand travels down so that you can feel it through the fabric. His teeth find your shoulder and he bites down hard making you scream. You grit your teeth to stop yourself. 

“Simon, the bed please,” you ask, squeezing his cock. He pulls his mouth off you. He kisses you, rough and hard, and you can taste blood in his mouth. His arms slip around you and he picks you up. He throws you on the bed, his hands gripping your underwear pulling them off.

He stops then, towering above you. You get a better look at him even though it’s dark. His hair is a mess, his body shiny with sweat, and he’s only wearing underwear. You want to take them off for him. It must be so uncomfortable. You sit up slowly trying not to spook him. Your hands reach out for him and he takes a step back. You look up, his eyes glistening in the dark.

“I can’t.” He runs his fingers through his hair. His attitude changes. Suddenly it feels like he’s halfway across the room.

“It’s okay, you can,” you say. He steps back towards you, and you remain still. His hand comes to your shoulder. It's wet. He brings his fingers into your view and you can smell the blood. You reach out and take his hand.

“It’s okay, I'll heal. You need this Simon.” There's silence. All you can hear is his breathing, fast and breathless. You slowly move your other hand to his stomach pressing down. He tenses as your hand rests there.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he says. You smile. You hope he can see. You haven’t taken your eyes off him. 

“I trust you. Let me help you,” you say letting your hand travel down to his boxers. You can feel how hard he is. Running your hand over his cock causes him to moan. He twitches under your palm. You move your other hand, gripping the waistband and pulling them down. 

His hands come to your face feeling around it in the dark until his fingers brush your lips. You can taste the blood from the wound on your shoulder. There will be plenty more over the next few days. At least as soon as you give into him things will become hazy, and it will be just like your forced heat. 

You reach up for his wrist stopping his hand by your mouth. There's a throb between your legs, and you can feel slick building up. You suck his fingers in your mouth tasting the metallic tang of blood. You lick the digits clean, moaning as he presses his fingers further into your mouth.

A grumble leaves his throat and before you know it he pushes you down on the bed. Your head is fuzzy now as his hands travel down your body, his nails tickling your skin. He grabs your legs and bends down on the floor. He spreads them apart, running his tongue up your thigh. 

He sucks hard on the skin, moaning as he does. His grip tightens on you and he sinks his teeth into the soft flesh. You grit your teeth, arching your back as you cry out. 

“Christ, I wish I could mark you as mine,” he says, pulling his mouth away. You don’t get a chance to say anything before he buries his head between your legs. He’s rough. His mouth locks around your clit, sucking and nibbling. You give into his scent, thick and smokey, overwhelming you.

“Alpha, I need your knot.” It’s all you can think about. It’s all you need. He comes up from between your legs. You can’t control your scent anymore. You relax into the bed. You don’t care what he does to you or how he decides to use you. You give yourself to him. He works his way up your body kissing your stomach, up to your breasts. 

“Alpha please. I need you,” you beg. You don’t care, you'll do anything to have his knot. His tongue wets your nipples, gently nibbling on them. You moan at the sensation sending pulses down to your pussy. It’s a stronger ache then you’ve ever had before. You can feel his cock pressing against your stomach.

“Show me how much you want it,” he says. Your ears prick up, your head snapping to look at him. You turn over, pressing your chest against the bedding and thrusting your ass up in the air. His hands grip the soft skin, spreading your cheeks. It’s painful when his nails dig in hard.

“I want you alpha, please,” you beg, your pussy throbbing as slick drips out of you. You’re losing your grip on reality. His hands pull you toward him, his cock throbbing between your thighs. 

“So fuckin’ sweet.” He’s breathing you in, running his tongue up your back. He props himself up on the bed, his cock nudging at your entrance. The teasing is too much and you grip the bedding, trying not to scream out as his nails dig into your back.

He eases into you. He’s thicker, bigger than John, you think. It’s getting harder to think. His hands run up your back as goosebumps rise on your body. He moans with each thrust, pressing deep into you. You barely have time to get used to him before his hand reaches up to grab your hair. He pulls it back forcing your neck to sit in an uncomfortable position. You don’t care. Your thoughts are being drowned out by the sounds of his cock slamming into you. 

He hasn’t opened you up, and as such, you’re grateful for the unbelievable amount of slick dripping down your thighs. Anything to make it easier for your alpha to use you.  

His hand grips your ass, squeezing hard as his thumb nudges your hole. It’s enough to make you cry out. You don’t care though. You need more, you want more.

“Fuck—Simon.” 

“You can take it, c’mon be a good omega for me.” 

You purr at the praise. He lets your hair go and you press your face into the bedding ignoring the sting across your back. You bite down on the bedding so you don’t scream too loud. 

You don’t get time to warn Simon as the first orgasm washes over you. You clench around him which causes him to grunt, thrusting into you harder as you pant into the bedding. Tears stream down your face as he pulls out of you.

“Turn over,” he says but his hands are already flipping you before you can do anything. Your vision is fuzzy. Mixed with the fact the room is dark, you can barely make him out. 

“Alpha, please.” You need him, need his knot, anything to quell the ache. He grunts, hooking his arms under your knees and pulling you to the end of the bed, his cock twitching on your stomach. You reach down, running your hands over the tip. It's hot and wet as you press your thumb over the slit. 

His hand grabs your wrists, taking them off his cock and pinning them above your head. With his free hand he eases himself back into you. You can’t grip the bedding or run your hands over him as he pumps into you. His tongue licks your neck, running up to your chin leaving a wet line behind. 

“Please alpha!” you whine, your breathing turning into pants 

“Please what? What do you need?” he growls through gritted teeth.

“Claim me. I need you,” you say as his teeth nip at the sensitive skin above your collarbone. He hums, sucking on the skin. He’s so close to doing it, to digging his teeth into your skin. ‘ Yes, yes’ you call breathlessly as he pounds into you. 

His teeth sink into the skin just above your collarbone. This time you let out a scream as you black out. 

When you come too, he’s still running his tongue over the mark he just left. You can feel it, your skin throbbing. You feel breathless, gasping for air. He claimed you, just like John did. You didn’t know if that was possible but it is. He’s your alpha now, just as much as John is. He lets your wrists go and your hands run up his back and you dig your nails into his skin as you cum again. 

This time he’s grunting into your neck before kissing you deep and rough, pressing you down into the mattress. You can taste the blood on his lips. The taste lingers on your tongue as he moves to stand up again. 

Your body throbs as the haze comes back in your head. 

“Please alpha, your knot please. I need it,” you beg your words slurring. 

“You’ve been so good. You can give me one more,” he coos as he rearranges himself for a second, propping one of his legs up. Yes, you can and you will. You’ll be a good omega for him and then you can have his knot. His hands are on your shoulders pressing you into the bed grunting with each thrust. It’s harder and deeper than you thought he could go. Your hands wrap around his neck. 

You press your fingers on the back of his neck trying not to dig your nails in. He feels good, his breath hot in your ear as he pants in time with you. His hands move by your head. He’s pushing you down into the bed using his weight to keep you pinned down. You’re already going to cum again. You want to try and hold it for him but you can't.

“Alpha, please I can’t—” You scream as you cum, your lungs vibrating as he cums too. His cock inflates as he stops inside you. He pants into your neck as your body goes limp. You have his knot, now you get to rest. You need a rest, need a few hours of sleep.

“You okay?” you hear him ask and he moves you gently so you’re both laying down. You nuzzle your face into his neck. 

“Yeah,” you say, still trying to get your breathing to normalise. His arms wrap around you pulling you tight against him. You let out a long breath, your heart still hammering in your chest.

It’s the next day when everyone meets in the lab. Simon’s room has been quiet for at least an hour. Piper stands with her arms crossed. She already had a shouting match with John. She’s mad. She warned him Simon could hurt the omega. The screaming coming from the room hadn’t given her much hope. John’s been silent since he walked in with Johnny and Kyle.

“We need to check on her,” she says once everyone is in the room.

“Okay, so we’ll go check on her,” Johnny says. 

“No, not the betas, he’ll attack you both. John should go. He’s less likely to attack another alpha,” Piper says.

“Won’t he get defensive?” John asks. 

“I don’t think so. She’s your omega, she has your mark and he still accepted her. You’re a pack, that has to mean something,” Piper says.  

“Wait, there's a chance he wouldn’t accept her? Then what would have happened?” Johnny asks. She looks at him and then over at John. He crosses his arms.

“Answer the question,” John orders. It makes the hair stand up on the back of her neck.

“He could have killed her. I told you this was dangerous.” There’s tension in the room, arms being crossed. 

“I could go?” Fleur says breaking the awkwardness hanging in the air. “I’m not like you guys, I’m normal. He won't smell alpha or beta. I’m like Switzerland.” 

“Yeah that could work,” Piper says looking over at John. 

“Are we sure this is a good idea? What if he attacks her anyway?” Kyle asks.

“I think out of everyone Fleur would be the least likely to get attacked,” Piper says. There’s a few moments of silence as glances are exchanged. 

“I trust Simon. He won’t hurt Fleur or the omega,” Price says.

“I trusted you!” she snaps. The room goes quiet. No one moves or says a word, everyone's eyes switching between Piper and John. 

“Simon is still in there.”

“No, John he’s not. This is what I have been trying to say. An alpha’s rut is not like an omega’s heat. He could have killed her. Then her death would have been on both your hands.” She sits back down behind her desk.  

Price steps forward. He trusts Simon, and he trusts Piper. Right now she’s angry. She's worried she’s not thinking straight. 

“I trust Simon. I would not have let her go in there if I thought he would hurt her,” John says his voice low as he stops in front of her. She looks at him from over her laptop. 

“He will have already hurt her. We won’t know how much until after his rut is finished.” 

…

Fleur’s nervous. She shouldn’t be, after all, she volunteered for this. From the research she’s read, she’s pretty sure she’ll be safe. She doesn’t smell like a threat. She doesn’t smell of anything. Sending an alpha or a beta in would be suicide. For her though, as long as she’s quick and doesn’t disturb the omega, she should be fine.

She grips the bottles of water and protein bars in one hand reaching down for the door handle. Piper's warning rings in her head. She just has to leave the bottles and the bars and leave. Don’t touch anything, don’t touch them, just place it on the bedside table and leave.  

She opens the door. The place is dark, the room warm and the air stagnant. The smell of sweat and fluids, blood and saliva. She leaves the door cracked open behind her as she walks in. The place is a mess, bedding and clothes thrown over the place. She tiptoes over to the bed, her eyes adjusting to the dark. 

You’re laid in the bed on your side, Simon’s arms wrapped tightly around you. She can see where you’re connected, Simon’s cock stuck inside you. Piper said it was normal that you’re sleeping. An alpha’s knot can last for over an hour if the conditions are good. In a safe and secure MI6 facility surrounded by your pack, the conditions are perfect.

Fleur leans over to look closer. “Fascinating,” she whispers. It causes you to stir. You reach out your hand, finding Fleur. Panic rises in her. If she disturbs you too much Simon could wake. She puts the bottles and bars down on the bedside table. 

“I’m just here to check on you,” Fleur says, stepping back. You can smell how nervous she is. If she sticks around, she’ll wake Simon. You’re too sleepy to care. Your body is sore,and  you need the rest. 

“He claimed me,” you say, letting your hand come back to rub his arm wrapped around you.

“I’m sorry, he claimed you?” she whispers so quiet you almost miss it. Her eyes flick up to the back of your neck. She stiffens up. Simon starts to wake as you shift against him.

“Alpha,” you whine, rocking your hips against him. Fleur needs to leave. 

Everyone is waiting outside the door, arms crossed, worried looks on their faces. Fleur closes the door as slowly and quietly as she can.

“She’s okay, they were sleeping.” There’s a shake in her voice, John can hear it.

“Did she say he claimed her?” Johnny asks. Fleur nods her head. 

“Did you check her neck?” Piper asks. 

“No, Si—” 

Your scream pierces the air. Goosebumps rise on the back of John’s neck, and something wakes inside him. He doesn’t even realise what’s happening, his body moving before he can stop himself. He needs to be with you. 

“John! John! Listen to me.” Cool hands find his face. His eyes flick from the door to Piper. He can smell you, hear your voice. He needs to get through that door no matter what. Something’s stopping him, hands gripping his arms pulling him back.

“She’s safe. Simon’s with her.” He can tell she’s being sincere. She looks worried but he believes her. Her hands are cold, and the smell of beta overwhelms him. “She’s okay John, Simon’s taking care of her.” 

He nods, the grip still strong on his arms as Piper's hands leave his face. 

“You need to rest, you’re exhausted.” She looks past him. His head swims, his senses dulled. Maybe he does need rest. He can still hear you and your moans from behind the door. He trusts Simon. You’re safe if you’re with Simon. 

“Take him to bed. Someone should stay with him, at least until the morning,” Piper says. 

“I got it,” Kyle says. The grip on his arms is loosened. An arm comes around his waist pulling him away from the door. “C’mon, she's okay, Simon’s taking good care of her.” 

“Alpha?” you whine as you’re scooped up out of the bed. You know it’s Simon because you don’t smell anything. Simon has always done such a good job at protecting his scent. You’re not sure how long it’s been. A few days you think. Maybe 4, maybe 5.

“Yeah. You’re going back to John,” he says. You’re too tired to argue with him. You’re naked but there’s a blanket wrapped around you. As soon as Simon leaves the room you feel goosebumps rise on your body. 

You shiver in his arms pressing your head into his chest. He hums, kissing the top of your head as you close your eyes again. The next thing you know a sharp knock wakes you, and a few seconds later a door opens. You turn your head opening your eyes to look, you think you see John. 

Your head is spinning, your vision blurry. You can smell John though, and it makes you smile. You’re moved from one person's arms to another. You let out a whine. Everything hurts.

“I was rough. I’m sorry,” Simon says. He was rough. You want to tell him it's okay. “I tried to stop her, I didn’t mean to hurt her.”

“It’s okay, get some rest, you’re going to need it,” John says. You nuzzle your nose into his neck, and he squeezes you tighter against him. Your eyes are starting to get heavy again. 

“John.” You breathe him in letting his scent fill your nose. 

“Yeah, I’m here.” His lips press against your forehead. 

“Can we go to bed now?” you whisper. You feel a hand come to your face tucking hair behind your ear. You hear Simon sigh then walk away.

“Yeah, we’re going to bed,” John says. You close your eyes, humming into his chest. You hear the door close and then you’re lowered into a bed, the sheet pulled off you. You automatically reach out for John whining until your hands land on his skin. 

“Easy, I’m coming,” he says, climbing into the bed and pulling the duvet over you.  

“Is Simon okay?” you ask as he pulls you up on his chest. 

“Simon’s fine,” he says, making sure the duvet is covering everything but your face. You let out a long breath, relaxing on his chest. 

“Are you okay?” he asks. 

“I’m sore. Simon’s rut was rough.” 

“Want me to get Piper?” he asks, kissing your forehead. His hand comes to brush your cheek.

“No, I want to sleep,” you say, pulling yourself closer to him. You’re still naked and he’s nice and warm. 

…

In the morning the true scale of your injuries come to light. The scratches and bite marks on the sensitive parts of your body will take longer to heal. You’re tired too and sore. Everything hurts. Even when John carried you to the bath in silence it hurt. You can barely keep yourself together in the bath, leaning against the tub as John washes you.

No matter how hot the water is, your body still shivers as John helps you clean your wounds. He’s as gentle as he can be but you still wince as he hits the particularly sensitive ones. You’ve never felt like this after a heat before. This time it feels different. John’s fingers brush over the mark Simon left just above your collarbone. It makes you shiver and he lets out a sigh.  

“It’s not Simon’s fault,” you say when you look up at John. He looks sad, but there's something more on his face. Maybe he’s upset with Simon. It’s not his fault. He can’t control his rut. You’re lucky he didn’t rip you to shreds. 

“I’m going to get Piper. Stay here, okay?” he says, dropping the flannel in the water and leaving the room. You’re almost dozing off in the water letting the tap run trying to get the water to heat up.

…

The door opening snaps you out of the dozed state you were happily relaxing into. You look up to see Piper and John walk in. 

“I told you this was a bad idea,” she says quietly before bending down by the tub. You smile at her but you’re too tired to talk. Her and John help you out of the bath and back into bed. Your body shakes as you struggle to dry yourself. You just want to sleep. You’re so tired. 

…

She fusses around you taking your temperature and vitals. You feel the tightening of the blood pressure cuff around your arm as you blink up at her trying to stay awake. You can’t keep them open though. Your whole body is heavy. No one says anything. There are just sighs now and again from Piper, the noise of her searching through her bag.

The next thing you know, Piper's hands are stroking your face. “Hey hun, I need to do an internal exam.” 

You look round the room, someone is standing in the doorway but you can’t make out who it is. 

“Lay on your back, it won’t take long.” 

...

“What’s wrong?” you hear John ask. His voice jolts you awake. You didn't even know you fell asleep. He’s sitting on the bed, his hand on your leg. Piper stands in front of him with a stethoscope around her neck. Her arms are crossed and her sleeves are rolled up. 

“Heat exhaustion. Her body is exhausted, it needs time to recuperate. She won’t be able to do it herself. I’ll go get what I need,” she says. Heat exhaustion? You’ve never had that before. His hand rubs up and down your leg. He looks down at you, and he leans over to stroke your face. You don’t even have the energy to smile at him.  

“What does she need?” 

“Rest, observation, we need to keep an eye on her temperature, her breathing. Her body needs time to repair itself. The last thing we need is her having a heart attack.” 

“That could happen?” John asks.

“Her body is trying to compensate for the beating she’s just taken.” You can hear the hostility in her voice.

John sighs, his hand gripping your leg as he pushes himself up to his feet. You don’t want them to fight, not now, not ever.

“I warned you this was a bad Idea,” Piper snaps, gritting her teeth. 

“Alpha,” you whine, reaching out for him. You’ve missed him being around you. He turns to look at you for a second.

“Get Kyle and Johnny up here,” he says, sighing. You close your eyes. You don’t want them to fight. 

…

When you open your eyes again Piper is kneeled down by your face. She’s set up an IV. You’re surprised it didn’t wake you. You’re just so tired. You blink up at her and she smiles down at you, her cold fingers coming down to brush a strand of hair out your face. 

“I’m going to give you something for the pain. And some muscle relaxers. We need to keep fluids running through you,” she explains. You don’t even have the energy to nod at her.

“It’s not Simon’s fault,” you say. She sighs, pressing her lips together.

“I know. I told you it could be dangerous, now you’re injured,” she says. 

“I’m just tired,” you say. She strokes your hair. “Don’t fight with John.” 

“I’m not, I’m just worried. He is too.” 

You smile at her, closing your eyes.

“I’ll be fine.” 

“I know you will,” she says as she strokes your hair. “Just rest, you’ll feel better soon.” 

“How is she?” Johnny asks getting up off his feet as soon as Piper enters the room. Piper stands there rubbing her hands like she doesn’t want to say. 

“Nothing yet. She’s still sleeping.” Price squeezes his eyes closed and Johnny sits back down. 

“It’s been 48 hours. You said if things didn’t improve you would have to use more invasive treatment,” Kyle says. 

“We're not there yet,” Piper says. John can tell it's a lie his eyes flick over to Simon. He’s barely said a word since his rut ended. He’s been wearing his mask too. 

“Invasive how?” John asks without taking his eyes off Simon. 

“She needs nutrients. Fluids will only do so much if her body can’t repair itself she might need—” 

“Need what?” Kyle asks.

“Worst case scenario, we need to start thinking about feeding tubes. Long term care.” 

Simon looks up, his eyes meeting John’s then past him to Piper. 

“Christ,” Johnny says. There’s pain in Simon’s eyes, there's guilt. He gets up off the sofa and heads to the room exit. Johnny moves to get up and follow him. 

“I got this,” John says, pressing his hand on Johnny's chest and stopping him as he gets up. He pauses when he reaches Piper.

“How much longer before we have to start thinking about that?” he asks, his voice low.

“24 hours max,” she says. He nods and heads out the room. He sees the light coming out of the door to the gym. He lets a breath out before going in.

Simon’s fist smacks into the punching bag. John walks over to a shelf picking up a roll of tape. “Wrap your hands. Don’t need you spraining anything.” 

Simon turns to see him holding out the wrapping. 

“I tried to stop her. I told her to stop.” He takes the tape out of John's hand. 

“I told her to help you. She wanted to help you.” 

“Yeah then I beat her to a pulp.” His fist slams back into the bag. 

“You weren't in control.” 

“Bullshit,” Simon scoffs. “She’s in control. You were in control.” 

“She’s not in control, she’s barely there. Her body is telling her to do one thing no matter what.” 

Simon huffs. The tape rips and he starts to wrap his hand.

“I wasn’t in control. Christ, I could barely keep it together. That smell of honey, the slick. She’s different when she’s in heat.” A vibration travels up John’s spine as he thinks about you. Saliva fills in his mouth, and he swallows it down. 

“She’s going to recover Simon,” he huffs. 

“She’s in the state she’s in now because of me. You can tell me she’ll recover as much as you want but I did that to her.” His fist hits the bag again. John moves around to the other side of the bag so he can look in Simon's eyes. 

“What are you thinking?” John demands. He can’t let Simon spiral like this. Simon tuts shaking his head. “C’mon. I know you’re thinking say it. No use to anyone if you bottle it all up.” 

“We’re supposed to protect her,” he snaps. “We let her down, again and again. First with Dr. Anderson, now with this.” 

John nods, stepping back and gesturing for him to hit the punching bag again. Simon hesitates for a second then punches it. 

“She was tortured, assaulted all her life. I just added to her pain. Another alpha hurting her.” He throws another punch, John lets him talk. He needs to get this out. “Fuck’s sake. We’re supposed to be a pack. I should--” 

“She doesn’t blame you.” 

“She is suffering because of me.” He slams his fist again, harder. John puts his hand out to stop the bag from swinging. Simon doesn’t stop though, his fists repeatedly slamming into the bag. John watches as his eyes widen, and the scent of his alpha fills the room. 

“Simon,” John calls. It goes ignored. Simon’s breathing picks up, his attacks speeding up. 

“Simon!” John calls again. Still nothing. He’s in a world of his own.

“Lieutenant Riley!” John says using as much authority he can muster right now. Simon stops, panting as he presses his forehead on the bag. 

“I love her,” he says after a second. 

“I know,” John says, reaching out and squeezing his shoulder. 

“I hurt someone I love. I never thought—” His voice catches in his throat. There’s a sob there that he tries to hide, even standing up straight and clenching his hands into fists. 

John grabs Simon's face pulling him to look in his eyes. “You are not a monster Simon Riley.” Simon sighs but holds eye contact. It’s better than nothing 

“Do you want to see her?” John asks. There’s silence. John runs his hand down Simon's arm, and his other hand holds his face not letting him turn away.

“She’s sleeping. I don’t think I can see her in that state,” Simon says eventually.

“You claimed her. You have a strong bond with her. Her being in pain, it hurts you too,” John says. He moves his hand slowly, up to the top of Simon’s head gently pulling on his mask. 

“You don’t seem to struggle,” Simon says. John smiles and pulls the mask off his face. His puffy eyes are hidden by the dark paint that's smeared down his face. 

“Maybe I just hide it better. I lay there at night watching her breathing making sure she’s alive. Even the little changes in her scent make the hairs stand up on the back of my neck.” 

“It’s like love turned up to the max. It’s like she’s a part of me, a part I could never live without,” Simon says continuing. 

John smiles nodding. 

“Let's go see her. Just sit with her, talk to her, you need it.” John lets his arm go, handing him back his mask. He assumes he’ll pull it back on but he doesn’t. He puts it in his back pocket and starts picking at the tape on his hands. 

John waits at the door for him. Watching as he wipes the paint off his cheeks before throwing the tape in the bin. 

When you wake, it’s light out. Your body is stiff and you desperately need to use the bathroom. You swing your legs out of the bed which takes more effort than you thought. When you stand up it feels like the first time you’ve moved in days. Your legs ache as you make your way into the bathroom. You’re still connected to an IV bag but it’s almost empty. 

You unplug the tube. You have socks on that go all the way up to your knees. How long were you asleep for? You don’t care and head into the bathroom. When you’re finished and washing your hands you look in the mirror. Your face looks fine, neck too. You pull the shirt off over one of your shoulders. There’s his mark, just above your collarbone. The rest of the wounds seemed to have healed well though. 

You want to get in the bath and soak your muscles. You run the bath while you strip looking around your body. There are still faint scratch marks on your back. Most other things seem to have healed. Your fingers run over the mark Simon left. His mark. You trace the indents on your skin. You shiver, the hairs standing up on the back of your neck. Your other hand goes to John’s mark. 

They both claimed you. You didn’t think that was possible. You’ll need to talk to Piper about it. First you want a bath. Your body aches and you need to relax. You’re not sure how long it actually takes for the bath to fill up but it feels like an eternity. You sit on the side running your hand in the water to check the temperature. 

You can’t wait any longer. You slip into the bath letting out a groan as the water burns your skin. You lay back, closing your eyes. The heat feels good. You hear the door open, turning your head to see Kyle kneeling down next to the bath. 

“Hey, how’re you feeling?” he asks. You smile at him reaching out to grab his hand. 

“I’m okay,” you say. He looks concerned. His fingers are coming to brush your cheek. 

“You’ve been asleep for 3 days,” he says. You sit up in the bath frowning. 

“3 days?” 

He nods. You sigh leaning against the tub. 

“I’m supposed to get John and Piper if you wake,” he says, stroking your hand.

“Let me finish my bath first,” you say, leaning back until the water reaches your chin. He smiles letting your hand go so it can fall under the water. He lets you soak in the bath for a long while, longer than you can tell he’s comfortable with. 

“Let’s go back to bed,” he encourages you. You nod letting him help you out the bath even though you feel fine. He helps you change into fresh pajamas and then into bed. You’re cold, pulling the duvet over your head. 

“Just get John,” you say. It’s quieter than you expect. You hear the door open and you close your eyes.

…

When you open your eyes again John is kneeled down by your face, his hand stroking your hair. 

“Hey.” You smile at him. He smiles back. 

“How do you feel?” he asks. There’s someone else in the room. You look over to see Piper putting a bag down. John moves out of the way slightly. 

“Good. How’s Simon?” 

“He’s fine,” John says as Piper comes down to press something into your ear. You keep your eyes on John as he strokes your cheek. “We’ve missed you. It’s been quiet while you’ve been recovering.” 

“I’ve missed you too,” you say. The thing in your ear beeps and she removes it. 

“How do you feel?” Piper asks. 

“I feel okay.” 

“Tired? Any pain anywhere?” 

“I’m tired, but no pain.” You don’t know how to describe it. 

“Good.” She kneels down pulling your gaze to her. “Simon was rough—”

“He can’t control his rut,” you say stopping her.

“I know but your injuries will take longer to heal due to the heat exhaustion. You need to take it easy for the next few days,” Piper says. You nod at her looking over at John. 

“We’ll be here, we’ll take it slow,” John says, his thumb rubbing your cheek. 

“Let's start by getting some solid food into you. I’ll get Kyle to bring something up, then I'll do a more thorough exam.”

“I’m tired,” you say. 

“I know but you need to eat, get some of your energy back then you’ll feel better.” She heads over to the door. John stands up to follow her. Now you feel sad. You want him to stay. Your mind goes to Simon. You haven’t seen him since his rut, and you want to see him. You miss him. Your hand comes up to feel your collar bone. His mark is still there, the indents of his teeth on the soft skin. 

You look at the doorway, John is whispering, keeping his voice low so you can’t hear him. It makes you worried for some reason. Maybe something is wrong. You shuffle in bed moving so you’re sat up more instead of behind laid flat. 

John comes over and keeps you company, pulling the chair over from his desk to sit next to you. It’s not long before Kyle comes in with a sandwich and a bottle of water. You don’t feel hungry but with gentle encouragement from John you manage to eat most of it. Piper was right. After you’ve eaten, you do feel better. 

She comes back a little later and John leaves even though you ask him to stay. The routine feels more familiar now. Piper checking you over in silence, the rip of the blood pressure cuff, the feel of her cold hands as she asks you if it hurts while she presses around your body. 

She saves the worst till last. You’re rolled on your back with your knees pulled up as she checks you internally. Tearing and bruising, but it's healing apparently. It doesn’t feel like it’s healing. It's the only part of you that still hurts, a pulsing pain deep inside you. 

“Things are healing, slow but it already looks better.” She takes her gloves off, throwing them in the bin. 

“What about the mark?” you ask pulling your shorts back up and sitting up in bed. 

“It won’t heal. Just like John’s.” 

Your hand goes up to feel it. 

“How is that possible? Are things going to change now?” you ask. 

“I don’t know. I think we just have to wait and see how things go,” Piper says, sighing

“I don’t feel different. It feels the same way it felt with John,” you say.  She comes down to sit down on the bed. 

“I’ll keep giving you pain relief. You should be feeling better in a few days. Until then you really do have to take it easy, bed rest, minimal activity until you get your strength back.” Her hand comes to brush your face. You smile at her. 

“Get some sleep, it’s late,” she says standing back up and picking her bag up. You smile at her and lay down in the bed. She leaves, closing the door behind her. You expect John to come back in but he doesn’t.

The next day you’re already sick of lying in bed. You want to be anywhere but John’s room. It’s dark out but you’re not sure if it’s early morning or late evening. The whole building is silent. You woke in bed alone, no one on watch, no one keeping you warm in the bed. 

Your body is sore. Goosebumps rise on your skin. You reach over pulling a jacket off the end of the bed. You pull it on. It's too big for you, it must be one of John’s since it smells like him. You love his scent, and Simon’s too. They smell almost the same but you can tell the difference. Simon smells more smokey. You leave the room and you can see that Simon’s door is open. 

You cross over to the stairs looking into his room. He’s not there. The place looks clean and orderly. You make your way down. You want to lay down again already. You want to make it to the living room at least. The place is empty. It’s definitely morning. You can see the dew on the grass, looking like frost with the sun hitting it. You pull one of the blankets off and flop down on the sofa, pulling it over you. 

You’re already tired again, but at least you’re not in much pain anymore. Now you’re just exhausted all the time. You watch the trees flow in the wind, the sun peeking through them and lighting up the room.

You don’t remember falling asleep, but the opening of the door jolts you awake. You look up to see Simon standing in the doorway with a mug in his hands. 

“I can come back later,” he says. He looks sad, dark circles around his eyes. Or maybe it’s paint. You can’t tell from this distance. 

“No, stay, please,” you say, sitting up. He hesitates for a few seconds then moves in, closing the door behind him. He sits down on the other sofa almost like he wants to be as far away as possible from you. You want to jump on his lap, wrap your arms around him, tell him it’s all okay. You’re okay. 

Your hand goes to your collarbone, running your fingers over his mark.

“I’m sorry I hurt you,” he says after a few seconds of silence.

“You didn’t hurt me,” you say. You smile at him still rubbing his mark. 

“I did. I have to apologise.” 

You chuckle moving the blanket and patting at the spot next to you. He looks at you for a few seconds, not moving. He reaches over to put his mug down on the coffee table then comes over. He sits down next to you. You move your shirt to expose the bite mark on your collar. 

“It won’t heal. Just like John’s.” He looks at it, shifts almost like he wants to touch it. Instead his fingers land on a bruise on your arm turning so you can see it. You smile looking up at him. 

“It’s not your fault. You can’t control your rut,” you say, putting your other hand on his. He sighs. You look up at him, and he looks back at you. Those are dark circles under his eyes, not paint. His knuckles feel rough, his hands not as soft as you remember. 

“I heard you, while I was sleeping. At first I thought it was a dream but I could feel you, holding my hand stroking my hair. I was so scared you were going to run away thinking you’d done something wrong. I love you Simon.” You drop your hand and lean over to kiss him. It takes him a second but eventually he sinks into the kiss, his tongue pressing into your mouth. You feel him relax. His hand falls from your arm to rub your thigh. 

“Can I lay on your lap?” you ask when you break from the kiss. He nods, leaning back on the sofa. You smile and lay down, your head resting on his thighs. You project your scent for him. It doesn’t take long before he starts to relax. His hands stroke your hair, and you smile as his hand moves down your head. You crane your neck for him, exposing his mark on your collarbone. 

“You can touch it. You should touch it. It’s your mark.” 

His hand hesitates. His fingers brush down over your shoulder then map out the indents on your skin. You close your eyes hearing a hum leave his throat. His hand eventually rests on it, his thumb brushing over your collar bone.

You close your eyes letting your scent fill the room. You can smell him too.

…

John places his hand on Simon’s shoulder. He looks down at you now sleeping on Simon’s thigh. “Don’t let her do that for too long. It tires her out, projecting her scent so much.”  

“She’s done it for you then?” he asks, his hand still brushing your hair. 

“Yeah, Piper said it’s good for her, for bonding with her.” 

“I didn’t know I was going to claim her.” His thumb brushes over his mark. John hums and walks round Simon to sit next to him. 

“I think it's good, for you both,” John says as he gently picks your legs up pulling them on him. You murmur, pulling the blanket over you more. Simon shushes you, stroking your hair. 

“How’s this going to work now we’re both her alpha?” Simon asks quietly. John shrugs.

“I don’t even think Piper has any idea. I think we’ll find out as we go along,” John says stroking your leg. Your scent fills the room, sweet strawberries. You always smell so sweet. Even when you’re stressed or worried, even when you were mad at him, as long as you still smell sweet he knows you’re okay. He looks up at Simon, his shoulders relaxed as he strokes your hair. 

John’s already seen the mark. Piper said it won’t heal. She didn’t go into too much detail about how it worked but he didn’t care. He was worried he would be jealous but he wasn't. Fleur wanted to study you, them. Not until you were back on your feet, Piper had done a good job keeping her busy and away. 

“You look relaxed,” John says. Simon looks over at him. 

“It’s her scent.” John smiles. 

“She was always your omega too. We’re a pack, now it’s just solidified with a mark,” John says, watching Simon's expression closely. He watches as his hand goes down to touch the mark just above your shoulder blade. You move your body for him so he can get better access. Even in your sleep you know when an alpha is touching you. 

“I was always scared I would hurt her. She’s so...” He lets out a sigh, his hand moving to cup your face and brush your cheek. “Precious.” 

“She’s stronger than she looks,” John says, rubbing your leg. 

“Yeah she is,” Simon says looking down at you. John reaches over and puts his hand on Simon’s shoulder. 

“You’re a good man, don’t forget that,” John says. “She’s your omega, we’re in this together. As a pack and as a team, whatever comes we’ll work it out.” 

“Thank you,” Simon says. John smiles at him. There’s still something though, something in his eyes, in his touch. It’s like he’s hesitating. “What are you thinking?” 

“She’s our omega,” he sighs. “When we have a cure. When we’re normal again, things will change. They’ll go back to normal. A life without her.”

“Not without her,” John says, shuffling closer. “I think we both know there’s no life without her.” 

“We can’t be there for her forever,” Simon says bluntly. 

“No. Of course not,” John replies. He reaches over to put his hand on top of Simon’s. “She’ll be safe though, forever. When this is over she’ll never have to worry again.” 

“Promise?” Simon asks, turning to him.

“I promise.” 

next bonus

Beta reader and editor - rememberwren Dividers by gild-ui & plum98

[heartfullofleeches]

Pretty Crooked Teeth

Fem Creep Yan + Creepy Reader

Warnings: Mentions of death and gore. 

-

She'd be numb to it by now if anyone else said it. Those four haunting words. 

“You should smile more.” 

She was only six years old when she first caught ear of the phrase. A permanent stain on her self image before she could even button her sweater properly. The holes were aligned correspondingly to their clasps yet her small, tear eyes were useless to guide her through the thickened wool of her sweater. Her hands weren't of much use either, bandaged thumbs mistaking splits in the fibers as their true goal. 

After that day she questioned whether people saw her the same. A pretty sweater with too many holes. 

“I heard your parents left work early to see you perform in the play today, Callie. Why don't you show them a big smile to show how happy you are to see them?” 

The worst part was she was already smiling. A tight lipped fraction of the cheesy grin common for girls her age,but a smile nonetheless. 

It was her teeth they wanted to see. It was her teeth that ruined any chance of finding her place in a new world. 

“Oh… Calliope. Maybe it's better if you showed a little less teeth.” 

And the cycle began. 

When her permanent set grew in she thought she had second hope. Away from the neglect and abandonment of her birth family, she had the proper resources and the firm, yet patient hand of her new parents to start her on the right path. If there's one thing that people will do, it's pointing out flaws you never knew you had. 

“They're a bit crooked don't you think?” 

“What happened to your front tooth? You'd look so much prettier if you got that fixed.” 

And the list went on. She was used to it by the time she began high school, made new friends, met you. To call herself your friend felt like misjudgment of whatever was going on between you, but when you spoke she clung onto every word. It was a relief to know she wasn't the only freak there. It was comforting to have someone listen to her even if they never replied to a word of her suffering. 

Then why…. 

“Because you want to.”

Does she?...

“I saw it. Back when that guy who spilled cola all over me tripped and broke his nose. You were laughing along with everyone else- until you saw me staring at you. You always hide your smile when I look at you.” 

After hearing the same crap for the bulk of her life, her mouth has become her biggest insecurity. So much so her happiness is an afterthought in the presence of the person she cares for most in the world.

“Smile more, or don't. Are you even living if you allow people to dictate every action you make for the rest of your life? If I acted on my impulses, I'd likely be in a padded cell somewhere, but if one of us can have what they want then take it.... If it helps, I think your teeth are cute. They'd leave an interesting bite wound.”

Smile more, huh….

Calliope shifts anxiously on her feet, knees burning with anguish and the fading rush of adrenaline. Her nose crinkles as she levels herself with the potent stench of her sweat, fusing with the aroma of death. 

Hooking her arms beneath the body's armpits, Calliope props their limp weight against her chest - grabbing a fistful of what remains of their hair as she positions her phone on the window above her. Slicked fingers tamper her progress. The woman cleans her blood drenched fingers on the front her first, before finally setting the timer on her phone. 

Calliope yanks back on their hair, angling the mangled head so that its shattered jaw welds itself close. This is her time. Though there aren't many teeth left, their pearly shine might take away from her moment. Had she brought pliers it would've been another story. Bashing their skull in any future might leave you stumped as to who this person was. And she doesn't want that. 

Posing two fingers up with her thumb and remaining thumbs clumsily gripping her prized possession, brain matter drips from the head of the hammer like butter off a hot knife.

“C-cheese!” 

-

It's after midnight when you receive her text. Crimson blooms along the back wall of your darkened bedroom as the photo loads in full. Your single word reply gives Calliope the key to the shackles that have chained her to an existence filled with misery and torment.

“Cute. ♡” 

[chipjrwibignaturals]

my touy…… :’(

i somehow broke off an eyehook and now the screw bit is just Stuck in there and i cant GRAB ITTTTTTTT hell and suffering on planet earth