#i just think the pacing was a bit of a nightmare at the beginning | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lucyandthepen · 1 year ago

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love on the floor | njm

exactly when does vice president na turn from the company’s worst nightmare into your favorite daydream?

pairing: chaebol!na jaemin x secretary fem!reader rating: vaguely M, but will very quickly escalate into a hard R in coming chapters genre: romance, fluff, (eventual) smut (in later chapters), chaebol!au warnings: jaemin isn’t really a total asshole but he isn’t great at the beginning either and i think that should be a warning, there’s probably some language use that deserves a bit of caution i GUESS, but tbh nothing much here because we want to pretend that this is a fic of chaste circumstances and not a lead-up to raunchy, depraved smut word count: 16.4k

author’s note: first of all, the development of this fic is absolute SHIT because i love context too much and refuse to shut up at the beginning only to get antsy for the ending so if the pace is a little stop and go … it’s because i’m a Fewl !! and i totally own up to that !! and second of all, this is actually just a set-up for about two more shorter (?? what’s shorter) works that i’ve already been wanting to write but felt like i would be remiss in doing so without some kind of build-up to the relationship so :^) here we are ! heavily unbeta'd and miss lucy is a bit rusty but we carry on for the sake of enjoying oneself (and practicing writing once again) muah enjoy!

At least this job gets you free medical.

Actually, all things considered, this is an excellent job with limitless benefits. You never have to worry about the three-level insurance, you have monthly paid-for visits to the dentist, and you sometimes get to use the company car for personal errands for as long as you meticulously check everyone else’s schedules and butter up the head secretary, Son Seungwan, just enough so that she feels mollified enough to let you have this favor (but not too much to the point that she catches on and gives you a ten minute lecture on the rising prices of gas post-the-turn-of-the-decade). Your rent’s well paid-for, and the apartment you’re staying at is comfortable, albeit a little smaller than most, although that’s just because you prefer spending your money on once-in-a-lifetime type things, like front row seats to a Paul Kim concert. You get 50% discounts at the company cafeteria, which boasts a pretty nice salad bar with more than just perilla leaves as the greens. The bathrooms even have luxury soap installed into the automatic hand dispensers, so you always come out clean and fancy smelling.

All in all, the job’s pretty perfect, to the point that you don’t think leaving will ever truly be in the cards — except for the fact that you barely see your boss, which, as nice as it sounds on paper, is actually the most stressful part of the position.

You’ve always been of the opinion that if Vice President Na Jaemin put his mind to something, he’d actually do it very well, but the running issue is that he hardly ever puts his mind to anything, especially when it comes to work. In fact, the only thing he ever seems to take seriously is having eleven hours of uninterrupted sleep, which you personally think is an extremely hard thing to achieve, leading you to the firm belief that if he channeled that energy into something less dead-to-the-world and a little more productive, things would be amazing.

And maybe things would also be a little less distressing if his family would just accept him for who he is instead of expecting too much (or, actually, anything) from him, but Vice President Na is the only son of the family that owns the largest telecom company in the country, so his parents have a ton of huge expectations for him. His father, in particular, is clearly trying to prepare him to take over the entire business, something that the Vice President clearly isn’t keen on doing, based on the many arguments you’ve had to sit through alongside Head Secretary Son. The result is a lot of tension that’s only exacerbated by the Vice President’s desire to avoid more conflict, which he does by suddenly disappearing from the office for hours — sometimes days — at a time.

So for as much medical, dental, and reasonably priced caesar salad as you’re getting from this job, you’re not entirely sure how worth it those things all are if they come with the task of you having to sit through twenty minutes of lecturing in place of Vice President Na Jaemin himself.

“This is the last time,” President Na roars — not necessarily at you, but at you, in your general direction, while you stand helplessly in front of his desk, your hands folded across your lap and your head hung low. You don’t really feel terrified or hurt — more than knowing that the President isn’t shouting at you for your incompetence, you’ve also gotten used to being on the receiving end of these weird, indirect lectures and have thus come to know the exact standard of ‘sorry’ that you have to look for it to be over as quickly as possible. Still, you’re kind of annoyed that this particular spiel is taking up precious minutes from your afternoon break. Then again, you don’t know what you’d expected to begin with when you’d come back from the cafeteria after lunch and found the Vice President’s chair abandoned, leather cold, indicating that he’d been gone for quite a while. It’s about four o’clock now, and he still hasn’t come back, and all your messages to him have gone unread, as you’ve also grown used to. “You tell my no-good son if he isn’t back within the hour, he can live the rest of his life without my last name.”

You’re not sure if the implications of that will really sink into the Vice President’s heart enough to trigger the guilt it’s clearly trying to elicit, but you know better than to voice your opinion. You nod once, then bow at a perfect ninety-degree angle. “Yes, sir. I’m sorry, sir.”

“Four years of this, and he hasn’t learned a single thing,” the President continues, completely ignoring your useless and vaguely insincere apology. “Where’d he run off to this time?”

You don’t know. You never really know. Since he actively tries to avoid all work-related things, he also actively tries to avoid you, something he does by never picking up the phone or telling you the details of his daily schedule anyway. You can only share what you do know, which is very little and, therefore, extremely useless, but you try to say it in a way that appears relatively helpful. “His schedule says he was supposed to have lunch with the foreign investors that are trying to connect Prime Video to the Korean market, but it seems he didn’t show up for that.”

Which essentially translates to: you have no clue. Again, all parties in the room — inclusive of Head Secretary Son, who constantly has to bear witness to the many threats Vice President Na receives via you — know this isn’t your fault, but it doesn’t make the vein that’s about to pop out of the President’s temple any less pronounced, nor does it stop you from bowing and apologizing again when he says “get him back in here before five o’clock or tell him he’ll never be able to step foot in this building again!” even though you know that the threat would probably sound more like a gift than anything else to Vice President Na.

“And you,” the President points a vaguely accusatory finger at you. Your eyes widen slightly in surprise. “If he isn’t back here at that time, you can kiss your job goodbye too. You go ahead and tell him that. Let’s see if Jaemin will finally get off his ass if he knows someone else is going to have to suffer for his behavior.”

The only person who sees your jaw fall open is Head Secretary Son, who’s now leading you away from the President’s desk and towards the door; the President has taken to staring at this huge family picture of himself, his wife, and the Vice President that’s hanging just behind his executive’s chair, all looking considerably happier than anyone in this situation feels. You hear him mutter something that sounds like “where did I go wrong with you, you punk?” before the door shuts close behind you.

“I’d say he doesn’t mean that, but we don’t actually know to what lengths he’ll go to get the Vice President on board.” Head Secretary Son admits, lifting two fingers to gently shut your mouth, still agape. “If I were you, I’d figure out how to keep him on a leash. The fact that he’s never around is probably ninety-percent of our current problems.”

“I can barely get him to respond to schedule reminders,” you groan; your fingers pinch the bridge of your nose like this will somehow stop the oncoming migraine. “Let alone get him to stay still. I was just about to put in a down payment for a car of my own, too.”

You’ve never really been considerably attached to this job, mostly because there isn’t much to actually attach yourself to, but if you think about it now, it really is better than most, and this economy isn’t really kind to people who get fired from their jobs. You feel like puking at the thought of losing the free unlimited coffee in the pantry and trading it in for a life behind a convenience store counter, which is probably where you’ll end up, pessimistically speaking.

You excuse yourself from Head Secretary Son, who has the heart to look a little pitying as you trudge towards the elevator. You don’t even know where you’d start looking for the Vice President, especially since he spends quite a lot of his efforts trying to avoid having to communicate with you. You don’t even know what his habits are, which means you can’t make educated guesses on where he might have run off to, so the only route to go is to look in the immediately surrounding area and widening your search diameter as time passes.

Until five o’clock, of course — a deadline that, if unmet, will likely mean you also won’t be returning to the office either.

You start off at the nearby bookstore, extremely skeptical that the Vice President would ever willingly go to a place that requires more effort even after you make a purchase. As expected, he isn’t there, but he isn’t in the nextdoor candle shop (also unlikely) either, nor do you find him in the hand-cut noodles shop next to that as well. You walk down the entire street for a good twenty minutes, pressing your face against the windows of stores shamelessly, to the ire of many startled and disgruntled staff, trying to look for a familiar head shape in the small crowds in them, but to no avail. Then, you think about calling him again, but when you pat the pockets of your jacket, you realize your phone is still on your desk, where you’d left it when you’d been summoned to see the President. With a loud groan and an annoyed clip clop of your heels as you stamp your feet on the pavement, you walk back to the office.

In your frenzy to find the Vice President, you’d gone quite a distance, and your shoes simply aren’t made for long, aggravated walks; they start hurting your feet halfway back, and you’re pretty sure you have a blister behind the strap of the left one. Pride would tell you to tough it out, but you’d thrown that out at the thought of losing your job at the expense of a single man, so you don’t even hesitate to take them off and run back to the building. The big digital clock above the elevators says you have ten minutes left to find your boss, and you start thinking about using that time for better things — like packing your stuff up neatly in a box for when you get sacked.

With the situation seemingly hopeless, you trudge to the first floor cafe, where the return counter has a pitcher of water and a stack of tiny paper cups. They’re tiny tiny, like the size of your thumb, so you have to keep refilling it just to start feeling a little more human.

You’re on your third refill when you hear a giggle come from across the space. The barista’s just finished laughing at what must have been an extremely hilarious joke, or she might be flirting with whoever’s leaning over the counter to talk to her. A whoever that seems to be the exact same height and build as the elusive Vice President of this company.

You accidentally toss the paper cup in the plastics bin in your desperation to get moving, worried that if you’re not fast enough, he’ll disappear into thin air again. Luckily, his attention’s completely focused on the barista, so he can’t go anywhere when you finally reach his side and huff, loud enough to interrupt what seems like an intimate-ish conversation between them.

“Sorry, I was just — oh, it’s you.” The Vice President’s smile fades when he sees it’s you, someone he can’t charm out of what they’re supposed to be doing. You don’t think you’ve ever seen the Vice President smile at you in any capacity, anyway, except for maybe one or two slightly sarcastic smiles that are probably more fit to be classified as grimaces. “What do you want?”

“I’ve been looking all over for you, sir,” you say, stiffly and a little quietly because you still don’t want to embarrass him in front of the slightly confused barista. “You haven’t answered my texts.”

You don’t have any way to check, but you’re pretty sure this is a safe enough assumption, which is corroborated by the Vice President bringing his phone out and checking the screen lazily before turning it back off.

“Sorry. I don’t answer unknown numbers.”

You guess it makes sense that he wouldn’t want to save your number when he hates hearing about work, which is all you really try to communicate with him about, but it still stings considering it’s been two years and you’ve been using the same number since high school. It’s fine, you think. You really can’t expect much from him.

“Well, your father’s been looking for you, too. He wants to meet you.”

“I’ll take a rain check, but thank you.”

“Sir,” your voice quivers with poorly quelled exasperation. “This isn’t an optional thing. This is very serious.”

“I can see that, Briar Rose,” his eyes are trained towards your shoes, still dangling from your grasp, with a level of unabashed amusement. “Did he summon me from deep within the woods, or is this a new casual Friday look I should get in on?”

When his words are met with a stony silence, he sighs, pushing himself off the counter. His half-finished Americano is collecting a small pool of condensation under it, and you offer him the little handful of tissues you had gotten from the return counter and had originally been planning to use to wipe your tears in case you cried after getting fired so that he doesn’t waste time looking for something to hold his cup. He takes them without even a word of thanks, opting to instead say ‘lead the way, miss.’ You don’t miss the fact that he meets the barista’s eye with a considerably more genuine grin, raising a hand in goodbye to her before he strides ahead — before you even get a chance to lead the way at all — towards the elevators with you, hobbling on one foot to slip your shoe back on, not far behind.

The President’s office must be sort of soundproof for instances like this. For the first time, you’ve been asked to wait outside with Head Secretary Son as the Vice President gets chewed. It doesn’t matter; you don’t really want to be in the middle of yet another round of shouting that has nothing to do with you in the same afternoon, plus you also know how the conversation usually goes: the President making very agitated threats and talking about his heart condition (even though the medical reports from their private doctor say he’s in perfect health) that the Vice President, who just spends the time looking boredly at his nails, will inevitably trigger. When you press your ear to the door for a minute, you actually hear something like ‘... strike you out of the will so that when you kill me, you won’t get a single won!’, and you can imagine Vice President Na’s exasperated sigh punctuating the statement.

Ten minutes later, the room has gone quiet, and you step aside just in time for the Vice President to open the door and step out. You don’t even understand how he can look so unaffected after being ripped apart, but you suppose he’s also heard the lecture as many times as you have and is pretty much immune to all the insults. He doesn’t really have to make a show out of not caring, though, with his hands in his pockets and his lips pursed to allow him to whistle idly as he strolls down the hall to his barely used office. He’s been in it so few times that after long, inexplicable vacations, he sometimes forgets how to get there. You’ve always had to walk behind him just in case he gets lost or, worse, tries to make a run for it. You’ve never had to tackle him to the ground reciting the Miranda warnings, or anything, but he has faked left a few times just to give you a mild heart attack for the fun of it all.

This time, he just walks, not bothering to joke you into trying to create a human wall he could just as easily push away. When he gets to his office, he lazily plops down onto his couch, extracting the Rubik’s cube he’d been working on for a few weeks now from underneath himself and spinning the top layer idly. He’s only ever finished the blue side.

You just stand there, kind of perplexed and unsure of how to start the conversation. He’s still whistling, and you’re not sure if talking over him will count as interrupting him, which isn’t something you’re supposed to do. Thankfully, he stops after about two minutes of fiddling with the yellow side of the cube, looking up at you with a slightly surprised expression that somehow makes you want to cry.

“Can I help you with something, Secretary ___________?”

“Well, I…” You stutter for a bit, unsure of how to politely point out that he should be asking you for help with his job instead of the whole other way around. “Because… I just thought…”

“You can always leave a message with my secretary if you need time to figure it out.” He grins. “Oh, wait a minute.”

“Sir, don’t you think you should… I don’t know. Figure out your schedule, or something? Prepare for… anything?”

“What’s that smell?” He lifts his nose to the air, suddenly curious, and because he looks so serious, you also start sniffing, but you can’t really smell anything out of the ordinary. “Smells… fresh. Very clean. A little like green tea.”

“Oh.” You awkwardly shift your weight from leg to leg. “I think that’s my perfume, but I don’t see w—”

“You smell very expensive, Secretary _____________.” He sounds genuinely surprised that you do, like he’s somehow saying he hadn’t expected you to have good taste. You have no idea where this conversation is coming from, so you chalk it up to him wanting to derail you from talking about work. “I like it. Very classy. Not too strong.”

“Sir, I don’t think now’s the time to be talking about perfume scents.”

“You’re actually quite pretty.” He sounds genuinely surprised again, but this time, it stings a little more. “I never noticed that before. How come?”

You want to say that it’s because he spends most of his time and energy playing long-term hide-and-seek with you, but there’s also no polite way of putting that into words; even if there were, with the way you’re now bristling under his gaze, you’re not really sure you’d go the courteous route, anyway. You just decide to ignore the comment and question entirely, which you almost get to do.

“Wouldn’t you like to take a look at some of our upcoming projects? For instance, we’re just about to start negotiating the terms of this new partnership with Huawei —”

“You’re pretty, but you’re also pretty tense.” He cuts you off again, now looking a little dejected at this newfound information. You can’t understand why this disappointment in you actually hurts your feelings a little. “I think the cafe downstairs serves some tea, if that kind of stuff helps you.”

“Sir,” the one syllable is laced with weariness, and you knot your fingers together in front of your lap. It probably looks polite, but it’s mostly so that you can feel like you have some semblance of control over anything, even if it’s just your own body fighting off the urge to grab him by the collar. “Please. If you could just take a look at your schedule — even just for tomorrow —”

“What’s the point?” His shrug is nonchalant, and he’s turning the cube over in his palm now, more interested in looking at it than witnessing your tired expression. “It’s almost six o’clock. I’ll deal with tomorrow tomorrow, you know what I mean? If my dad finally loses his marbles, I’ll deal with it all then. In fact, I might actually be okay with losing this department if it finally actually gets him off my back. I’ll also deal with that when it happens, probably.”

Another long, uncomfortable silence blooms as his words sink in; not for the first time today, President Na has threatened the existence of your job, now alongside a good twenty other people’s, all for the sake of snapping some sense into the Vice President. However, like everything else, it seems to just be backfiring; Vice President Na doesn’t seem to care about anyone else in this department, most likely because he’s barely interacted with anyone else. You’re surprised he even remembers your last name, considering he once called the department accountant ‘Heejin’ even though her nametag clearly spelled out ‘Jinhee.’

It makes sense that the threat of abolishment means absolutely nothing to him, but it doesn’t make the knowledge of that any less distressing. He watches you curiously as you tug back at your ponytail, like it’ll once again stop the crawling migraine.

“Sure a cup of chamomile tea isn’t in the cards today? I think I have the company card in here somewhere, although I can’t be sure that it hasn’t been cut off, based on my dad’s last threat—”

“I’m fine; thank you.” You mumble, checking the clock. He’s wasted what’s left of the hour anyway, and the lack of change in his position just means he’s not going to change his mind for the rest of the time. “At least let me give you tomorrow’s agenda.”

“Boring, but okay. Give it to me, then.” He yawns to make a point, and you offer him the tablet you tote around with you everywhere you go, just in case Vice President Na finally decides he wants to do his job. To clarify: that’s two whole years of you carrying that heavy thing around, with the Vice President only having touched it a handful of times. You’re mildly shocked that he actually opens it to check, because he barely does even that, but that all goes away when he yawns again, his expression glassy as he scrolls down aimlessly. “This is a lot. Can’t you just clear my schedules tomorrow? Actually, if I can make demands for real, I’d like to clear out my schedule for the rest of the year.”

He stretches when he stands, ignoring your slightly agog expression as he pats you on the back, smacking his lips sleepily. “Good day’s work, Secretary _____________. Want to grab a beer? Have ourselves a little intra-department party? I’m pretty sure ‘intra’ stands for ‘us two,’ or am I wrong?”

You sincerely hope he doesn’t mean a goodbye party, but with his attitude right now, that might very well be. You shake your head, and he shrugs, like he wasn’t really expecting you to agree in the first place. “No thank you, sir. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He’s already halfway out the door, waving dismissively with his back turned to you. When you peek out of the space he leaves by opening the door, you can see about half the entire department’s watching, not even bothering to pretend to scurry back to their seats as he saunters out of the office. He calls out to you, his voice ringing clear even though he’s already out of sight.

“We’ll see about that.”

You come up with a master plan, but not before you scope potential jobs.

You actually stayed an hour overtime at your desk looking for positions, but all of them pay lower than average or are about an hour’s commute away from where you live, so none of them seem worth it. The search ends when some people from the department come over to say goodbye and see your computer open to SaramIn, at which point they connect the dots and start to panic about their insurance. You shut your monitor off and spend another useless twenty minutes calming Jinhee, who’d started having a mild panic attack.

In that time, your resentment builds. Why can’t Vice President Na simply get his act together? You suppose that there’s some indescribable burden to being in his position, but between him, a rich heir who owns two sports cars and lives in a paid-for house, and you, a public-transport-using, pays-by-the-month nine-to-five worker, you can’t really understand why he would be having it worse than everyone else who works under him. If he worked even just half as hard as everyone else did here, he might scrape by.

You can’t know if President Na’s anger was only short-lived or if he actually meant to downsize the company by getting rid of your department entirely, but you also know that if he’s serious, then there’s nothing much you can do about it, short of terrorizing the Vice President into stepping into bigger shoes.

So, that becomes your master plan.

It isn’t very refined, mostly because you think about it on the bus home, but the heart and spirit are there, and those are probably the most important things anyway. It’s that heart and spirit that motivate you to get up an hour earlier than you usually do, dressing quickly for the day before taking the company car from your place to downtown Apgujeong. You usually don’t take it on days that Vice President Na doesn’t come into work, which is practically every other day, but this time, you’re determined to see him into the office. The ride with Hyunsung, his official company driver, is quiet, save for the question he asks when you roll up to the Vice President’s driveway.

“Are you sure about this?”

“No,” you admit. He’d probably seen you chewing down on your thumb, some of your confidence taking a hit when you belatedly realize you could be shot with a huge privacy lawsuit if this doesn’t go the way you plan. But you do know a lot of secretaries that do the morning calls for their superiors, so this should be fine. Not that you’ve ever heard from those secretaries ever again.

Vice President Na’s laziness seems to extend to all aspects of his life, including the fact that he doesn’t ever change his door’s passcode; it’s still the same numbers as it had been when he first bought the house a year ago and had you install his lock while he was missing in action from work, yakking it up with some farmers up in the Netherlands. He likes to do that — ‘see the world,’ or whatever, even though his wanderlust makes everyone else’s lives very difficult. At least it makes your life easy now, and you step through the door and walk quietly across his unnecessarily large living room.

You’ve never been in here exactly, and you only realize very belatedly that this house’s design would be very frustrating for a break-and-enter criminal because nothing seems to be where it’s supposed to be. You learn the owner’s suite is actually on the basement floor, so all the climbing of those slippery stairs was for nothing.

Vice President Na’s bedroom is bigger than your whole apartment, which also means he has a sizable bed and, thus, is completely out of sight under his gigantic covers. The only indication that he’s even still in there is that they’re rising and falling in a rhythmic pattern. You stand by the edge of the bed, on the side he’s closest to falling off of, clearing your throat at the tuft of hair peeking out from under the comforter.

“Vice President Na? It’s time to go to work.”

Your voice has been tempered down by years of this professional work, and this is easily the loudest and most demanding you’ve ever heard it. You’re not even sure you can do it again, but the muffled groan from under the covers is all the motivation you need to try.

“Sir, you have a ten o’clock meeting with Samsung’s representatives for Apple. President Na also asked that we contact Amazon right away to reschedule the Prime Video deal.”

“How,” his voice comes out first before he does, squinting up at you, completely disoriented. “The hell did you get in here?”

“Sir, I’m your secretary.” You sigh, skimming over the fact that you’d walked into his big kitchen twice through two different entryways before coming into his bedroom. “I’m supposed to be able to get in here.”

“Except this is a first.” You think he’s about to get up, but he just shifts his weight, rolling over so he can cocoon himself tighter into his blankets. “Goodnight. There are eggs in the fridge if you’re hungry.”

“I’ve already eaten, like a normal, functioning human being with a very important job that starts precisely at nine o’clock would.”

“This seems like a very targeted comment, Secretary ____________. I’m not sure I appreciate it.”

“Since we’re already having this conversation, I’m guessing you’re conscious enough to get dressed.”

To your relief, he actually does throw the covers off of him, leaning up on his elbows. You try not to balk at the fact that he’s shirtless, although you’re also not sure why this should surprise or bother you to begin with. He doesn’t even seem to mind; he just yawns, wide and unashamed, as he looks over at the clock.

“It’s seven-thirty. This is insanity.”

“No, this is a wake-up call.” You offer him a neatly folded towel that he eyes suspiciously. “We need to get you in the office on time.”

“There’s really no point,” he sighs, scratching his head idly. “It’ll just be another boring day of talking to people I don’t care about. Someone who cares about it should talk to them. You care about it, don’t you?”

“I won’t talk to them for you, sir.”

“Why not?”

“Because, frankly, I don’t get paid enough to be doing that.”

He once again stares at the towel like he’s trying to will it to evaporate, but in the end, he only sighs louder and takes it from you, kicking his blankets off completely. You look up at the ceiling, not in prayer but to avoid the more embarrassing fact that he’s only in his boxers after all. Well — it’s embarrassing for you. He doesn’t even seem to care.

“Something’s different.”

“Usually I don’t wake you up,” you offer the painfully obvious. “Or come here. Or talk to you.”

“Yeah, all that stuff,” he says dismissively, halfway through a yawn. “Did you have a life-changing experience recently?”

“Something like that.”

“Couldn’t it have been one where you decided to leave me alone for good instead?” He grumbles, more to himself instead of to you. It doesn’t matter, anyway; you already see he’s up and fishing socks out of his drawer, so you’re marching out of his room to avoid having to hear more of his complaints (and, quite frankly, to avoid looking at his broad back).

However, the day thereafter doesn’t go as planned. You thought that waking Vice President Na up for an early day of work might shock him into doing something with the knowledge that it was urgent, but you’re not sure why you didn’t anticipate a scenario in which he’d fall asleep in the car on the way to work and you’d have to shake him into waking in the stuffy parking lot. He spends the rest of the morning out of sorts, ignoring you point blank when you try to brief him on the meeting. The meeting in and of itself doesn’t go any better, with him excusing himself fifteen minutes in by saying the pitch doesn’t seem all too exciting and innovative. You didn’t even know he knew the word innovative and, by the shocked faces of the Samsung people, they were of the same mind.

By lunch time, you’re more exhausted than you’ve ever been, and a part of you is wondering why you wanted Vice President Na in the office in the first place when you’re already used to the much simpler routine of get up, work, eat lunch, get yelled at, work again. Sometimes, on slow days when Vice President Na is completely out of town for the week and President Na is out of things to yell at you about, you even get to just sit back at your desk and play old crossword puzzles.

Now, you’re basically handholding him, but the weight that keeps him down is so heavy that you’re being dragged down, too.

“You mean people do this every single day?” He shuts the folder with a contract that requires his signature that you’d given him just now, not even bothering to peruse the first page, much to your rapidly increasing ire. “This is ridiculous. Working makes no sense.”

“All employees come to work to do that, sir. It’s literally what makes up half their lives.”

“Except it shouldn’t,” he sighs, like this is a true global issue and not a problem of his own making. “Everyone needs to be able to do what they want and live life to the fullest.”

“Not everyone can,” you point out flatly. “Some people don’t have the luxury of time even for that.”

“Then, they should. The more I’m in this situation, the more it feels like it might be better for everyone to have a little work break for — I don’t know. The next year or so.”

Vice President Na has his arm outstretched, handing the folder back to you. You don’t know if it’s what he says that causes your blood pressure to rise, or if its the completely unconcerned look on his face, or if it’s the fact that he’s holding the folder so lazily that the papers are starting to slip out on your end, requiring you to use two hands to keep them all from falling apart and creating a mess you’ll end up having to clean up anyway. Whatever it is, you snatch the folder from him with a little more aggression than necessary (or that you’d even care to admit). Even though it’s out of place, you can’t help but feel a small sense of triumph at the slight surprise in his eyes.

“Did I say something wrong?”

“No, sir.” You pause, mostly because you can tell he doesn’t believe you — Vice President Na is nonchalant, not stupid — and you want to give yourself a little bit of time to grapple with your pride before you admit the truth. “Yes, sir. It isn’t fair to your entire department for you to talk that way.”

“I’m saying the entire department doesn’t have to work this hard. It’s senseless. How are you supposed to live a good life if all you’re doing is sitting behind a desk?”

“Like I said, not everyone has the luxury of living your life. If they want even a little bit of that comfort you enjoy, they have to work very hard for it first.”

“Then they should at least do something they enjoy. If this department goes down the drain —”

“If this department is abolished,” this is your first time interrupting a superior, and it already makes you want to throw up. “Then people will have a very difficult time finding a job in this market. More than that, a lot of people enjoy working for this company — quite genuinely, in fact. I don’t think it’s right to think that they’ll be happy while they’re jobless and floundering in this economy.”

“So you’re happy like this? You really want this job — this whole working under me situation?”

“Well…” you trail off, your voice taking on a slightly thoughtful tone. It’s been a relatively long time since you’d entered this job, but you do faintly remember the feeling of excitement at getting this position — the desire to want to learn from the best in this industry, the anticipation of being able to meet and network with interesting and important people. Your first few weeks of work had involved wanting to spend as much time in Vice President Na’s shadow, in case you could pick up some important business tidbits from an entrepreneurial master… until, of course, you realized there wasn’t much you could stand in the shadow of to begin with. “These days, it isn’t ideal. But this job is a really good thing for most of the people who work here.”

“Then it sounds like you have more to gain from me working hard than I do.”

You can’t contain your disapproving frown, and your voice comes out a little sharper than you intend. “Doesn’t it bother you at all, sir? Knowing almost twenty people could lose their jobs in the blink of an eye? Think about all the people who look up to you and rely on you — they’ll have to suffer because of this. They might never find a job that matches their needs, and a lot of them have families to take care of, too. If you can do something to make sure they have these good lives you keep talking about, why not do it? I know you’re capable of that. You’re capable of doing much more than what you’ve been doing thus far.”

Vice President Na is quiet for a moment before leans over on his desk, lacing his fingers into a loose combined fist and putting his weight on his forearms. One of his forefingers detangles itself from the pile of digits and curls inwards, beckoning you closer. Your grimace is probably obvious, and you lean in a little warily. He lifts himself off his chair slightly so he can whisper in a low voice, as if you two aren’t the only people in this wide office.

“If you care about it so much, then ask a little more nicely.”

Your light breakfast almost makes a reappearance, and you draw back in mild shock. He also leans back, significantly more relaxed than you, looking unperturbed as he settles back against his chair. You two engage in a very uneven staring match, until he gestures for you to proceed, looking expectant.

“You want me to beg for my job?”

“Not what I meant, but I could accept that,” he hums. “I just think you could throw in a please while you’re guilting your boss, at least.”

Gawking probably doesn’t suit you, but you do it anyway, wondering how you managed to find yourself in this position. This morning, you had been strictly guiding him through what to do, and now you’re paralyzed in front of the Vice President, feeling very foolish for saying so much out of turn. You couldn’t even get through a whole work day before seeing your grand master plan slip down the drain.

But there is, at least, some small comfort in what he said — the part about guilting, which, if you squint hard enough, seems to be implying that this conversation has left him with a small amount of guilt. You don’t think it’s that much, but it’s a miracle he feels it at all, so you take the horribly subtle win and inhale deeply.

“Please, sir.” The words are very thick and reluctant, unsticking from your throat. “This department really needs you.”

He stares, very unnervingly, without saying anything, but there’s something in his gaze that makes you vaguely certain he’s actually thinking about it. In fact, he actually looks a bit serious, which isn’t anything you’d ever think you’d be able to characterize him by. That impression easily falls apart when he claps his hands, once but very loudly, startling you into jumping a little.

“Ah, how could I turn down such a nice request?” Vice President Na is grinning from ear to ear, something you’ve never seen him do in the context of the office, much less a few feet away from you. His smile is actually kind of nice, if you don’t think about the fact that it seems to be smug at your expense. “Since you asked, I guess I’ll have to try my best, or whatever it is people do in this damn company. I guess that means you owe me now, Secretary ____________. You’re very welcome.”

The silence that once again blooms as you stand, motionless, in front of Vice President Na is suddenly interrupted by the sound of chairs scraping back all at once. The floor vibrates a little as the entire department troops out to the elevator area so they can go to lunch. You only watch stupidly as he also stands, shrugging off his jacket and flinging it over the back of his chair. “See you, then.”

“Where are you going, sir?”

He looks a little surprised that you even ask. “To lunch. Do I have to ask for your permission for that, too?”

“Are you… coming back?”

“You want to come along with me and make sure I don’t run away?” He smiles even wider, which you didn’t even think was possible. It makes you awkwardly uncomfortable to know he’s taking a lot of pleasure in joking around with you, mostly because you were kind of hoping you’d get him to take things seriously in a serious manner, not in a … whatever this is that’s making you feel like you’ve lost a game manner.

“A little bit.”

“Ask a little more nicely, then.”

“Never mind,” you mumble. “Have a good lunch, sir.��

He snaps his fingers a little comically before turning to the door, flinging it open so he can join the now thinning throng of people leaving the floor. “Thought I almost had you there. Well, if you need me, you know where to find me. Or not.”

In the end, to your utmost relief, Vice President Na does, in fact, stay inside the entire time he has lunch. You’re not sure if this is the product of you sitting two tables away, trying to will an imaginary chain to his wrist so he doesn’t bolt off or because he’s still feeling a little affected by everything you said earlier on, but whatever it is, it works. He just eats his club sandwich in peace, picking off the crust easily and double dipping the fries that come with it in his ketchup. At some point, he looks up and notices you burning holes into his torso, so you quickly have to avert your eyes in shame. You think he laughs at this, but you can only see out of your peripheral vision at this point, so you can’t be sure.

You’re supposed to have one hour for lunch, but he eats quickly and gets up before the whole hour is over, so you end up throwing your half-eaten wrap and following him. Again, you’re not sure what’s funny, but he’s chuckling to himself as he holds the elevator door open, waiting for you to run in next to him.

“Relax, miss secretary. I already said I was going to do my best.”

“No offense, sir, but I don’t know what that looks like, so I have to be careful.”

“Fair enough.” He hums, letting the door close on its own. “But you should still take it easy. You’re pretty t—”

“Tense. You said so yesterday, sir.”

“That’s two times you’ve cut me off in a single day.” He doesn’t sound very annoyed about it; in fact, he’s still got that amused, inside joke tone to everything he’s had all morning. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were gunning for an insubordination report.”

You don’t think that’s fair for him to say, especially since you haven’t really had much of an authority figure to be subordinate to for most of your career in this company, but you keep your mouth shut since saying so is exactly what would be on the first line of an insubordination report.

When you arrive back at his office, you take the time to discuss what you should be doing from now on. It’s an extremely messy exchange, with you two grappling between terms you can’t agree on. For instance, Vice President Na thinks that it seems only fair that he should really only be coming in after one o’clock, but you’re insistent on making sure he gets to work on time, since most important meetings happen within that time period (a fact he already seems to know but chooses to ignore anyway). You end up agreeing on bringing him in for the standard nine-to-six for as long as he never has to work overtime. You also find it necessary to iron out the fact that if he has lunch outside, he has to actually come back, a statement he once again finds very amusing for some reason, as if you’re the weird one in this conversation.

And to his credit, he tries to stick to his word. It isn’t exactly a walk in the park, especially not during the first couple of weeks, but you suppose that habits are very difficult to break when they’ve been so easy to acquire and nurture over many years. More than once, you’ve arrived late to meetings to the disapproving gazes of Head Secretary Son and President Na. However, the latter finds he has less to say these days because Vice President Na’s presence in said meetings had, before this time, been nothing but a pipe dream for everyone.

You also notice he starts taking the time to ask about things he doesn’t understand, as opposed to his initially brash or sometimes completely unresponsive approach, which has turned out better results when it comes to business lunches with investors and potential partners. Even the Samsung people, who are extremely wary of him during the callback meeting, come out of their next encounter with the Vice President looking vaguely more satisfied than they did the last time (the bar isn’t that high, considering they’d left shell-shocked previously, but you’ll still take the improvement).

Of course, with all the time you end up spending with, chasing after, and vaguely lecturing (only when the need truly arises) Vice President Na, you also learn some things about him that you hadn’t expected, like how he doesn’t really like milk in anything he drinks (but especially coffee) and that every third Sunday of the month, he meets his old high school friend Lee Jeno, the son of the guy that owns half the residential high rise condominiums on this side of the Han. Apparently, they play badminton together — he had told you that when he’d caught you wondering about the super out of place little kid’s karate trophy among other more adult, official ones in his living area. The trophy goes to whoever wins the match of the month, and according to the Vice President, he’s been ‘wiping the floor with that bastard’s handsome face for half a year straight.’ Although you can’t verify this by anything more than the slight blanket of dust on it, you think it takes nothing out of your pride to applaud him like this is an amazing thing. It also does you no harm to see him swell with misplaced pride about a kid’s karate trophy.

You also notice that despite how healthily he eats at the office, he has a bad habit of craving deep fried food in the afternoon, which is why, over the last few weeks, you’ve been accompanying him to the corndog street stall two blocks away, a few days a week. He’s even had to borrow loose change from you a few times to because he always forgets that no street vendor likes to receive crisp, fresh-out-of-the-bank fifty-thousand won bills, but you just let him have it; his heart’s in the right place when he orders an extra one for you without even asking. You realize that he has a fairly good memory for as long as he’s concentrating, and that he likes to spend late nights watching the shittiest horror movies ever known to man (his words, much to your bemusement), and that when he listens attentively to you telling him about the day’s agenda, his left ear twitches a little when your voice hits it.

Somewhere along the way, you realize that Vice President Na is a charming, outgoing, and fairly capable person, and in doing so, you also realize that he seems to be, for lack of a better word, your style.

You can’t really believe it either, and you’re not even sure when it started. In between sitting with him in the company car and handing him forty-page agreements he has to look over carefully (very carefully, as you’ve taken to reminding him, so often that he starts saying it before you do now, which has only somehow endeared him further to you and not annoyed you the way you were sort of hoping it would), the small non-work related part of your consciousness had decided that it needed a more complicated situation now that things were going relatively well.

To be fair to yourself, liking him isn’t a huge distraction; most of the time, you’re both so engrossed in something you desperately have to finish that you don’t even have time to think about it. Instead, it kind of catches you off-guard, like when he’s double dipping his french fries into his ketchup, or when he smiles at you (politely to him, probably, but overwhelmingly charmingly to you) before he leaves the office, or when his brow’s furrowed in (a total shocker) concentration as he reads.

Then again, everything about Vice President Na seems to be catching you off-guard these days. This much is proven by the fact that instead of the normal silence that you’ve grown accustomed to being greeted by when you enter his house, there’s a lot of noise coming from one area that can only mean either that someone had broken in to mug him or for some reason, he’s up before you need to wake him.

It’s nothing you have to call 911 for, but it still paralyzes you to see him, surrounded by opened jars and a particularly dirty bread knife as he stands in front of his fancy toaster, drumming his fingers on the counter impatiently.

“If you have a minute to spare, could you bring my laptop into the car?” He asks without turning around. His hand, still holding the bread knife, points towards the bar counter on the far end of the kitchen, where the laptop is still whirring away.

“Of course, sir. Um,” you gingerly shut the monitor, putting the laptop to sleep and tucking it under your arm. “Were you… working this morning?”

“No, I was playing a riveting game of bridge against the computer AI.” He turns to you, grinning. “Of course I was working, miss secretary. What do you think I’d be up this early for?”

You try to think of an answer, but nothing comes to mind — Vice President Na hasn’t ever woken up early for anything to your knowledge, anyway — so you just nod and bolt, unwilling to bear witness to his smile this early in the day. When you come back, particularly less red in the face, you find him topping one of two sandwiches with the last slice of bread to complete it. He takes one, as you expect he would, and you stand there, trying to look polite as you essentially observe him eat.

This isn’t something very unusual; ever since the first time you’d done it, you’ve been watching him out of habit. So far, only the motivation’s changed from you wanting to make sure he doesn’t bolt to you simply enjoying the view of his profile when he eats. Of course, he probably doesn’t know this, but he’s also just gotten used to you watching him and probably finds it funny — as suggested by his perpetually amused expression — that you still think, after all this time, that he’s going to make a run for it. You don’t actually mind it; you get to watch him for free, and he has something to laugh about, so everyone kind of wins.

He’s halfway through the sandwich when his expression turns quizzical. “Aren’t you going to eat?”

“Eat,” you echo hollowly. “Eat what, sir?”

“A delicious, handmade, gourmet peanut butter and strawberry jelly sandwich.” When you don’t move, he pushes the plate with the untouched sandwich forward towards you like he thinks you can’t understand anything he’s saying. “What? Are you allergic to something?”

“No, but…”

“But?”

There’s no but; you don’t have a good reason to decline other than the fact that accepting it feels weird, but refusing him when he’s looking at you this expectantly is just as awkward. You rub the back of your neck as you walk over, not missing the look of triumph that crosses his face as you pick up the sandwich and take a bite. It’s good, but you don’t really think that has anything to do with his culinary skills, based on what it is; still, he looks like he’s patting himself on the back for this feat.

“Thank you, sir.”

“Secretary ____________, I hope you can count this as a momentous occasion for the both of us.” He chuckles. “You get free breakfast made especially for you by your direct superior in the comfort of his own home, and I finally get to learn what all the settings on my toaster are for. Between you and me, I think mine’s the better achievement.”

You’re still in the middle of eating when you laugh, and you hastily raise a hand to cover it — only Vice President Na catches your wrist halfway through, so quickly you vaguely choke on the bread that’s only partially down your throat.

“I’ve never seen you laugh,” he looks as surprised as you feel, although probably for a different reason. “I don’t even think you’ve ever smiled at me, specifically.”

“Oh.” You need time to respond, mostly so you can swallow but also because you need to collect yourself from your shock. There seems to be a lot of that going around this morning. “Sorry. Should I do that more often?”

“I mean, if you ask like that, it’s kind of disingenuous,” he laughs. “But I like it. I like knowing you’re not just in a constant state of stress because of me. Feels even more momentous than the toaster thing.”

He loosens his hold, and you manage to take your hand back, now refusing to meet his eye. “I’m not… stressed by you.”

“Not anymore.”

“Not anymore,” you agree, and he looks particularly delighted when he sees the corners of your lips turn up again. “Not for a while. And not that my opinion matters, but you’ve been performing above expectations, sir.”

“You’re right,” he hums, taking the plate and putting it in the sink — a problem he seems to be saving for later. “It doesn't matter. But I like it, all the same.”

You’re willing to chalk the morning off as a wonderful anomaly, especially since the rest of it passes as it normally does, with a generally quiet car ride (you’ve also learned that Vice President Na likes to listen to rap music on days when he wants to avoid falling asleep in the backseat, which is equal parts amazing and amusing) and a fifteen minute briefing of what he has on his plate today. He disappears for the better part of the morning and even the whole lunch hour, but you expect this because he has a business lunch with the representatives for some Norwegian appliance company that’s looking to break into the Korean market. You can’t imagine many people want a state of the art rice cooker alongside their monthly internet bill, but it’s polite for him to go anyway, and the prospective partner seems very on edge about company secrets. It’s one of those meetings you aren’t allowed to come along to, which means that you’re missing out on a few hours of Vice President Na trying to iron details out with a couple of old guys.

While you eat, you’re once again struck with the random notion that it feels weird not to be around the Vice President. You’ve been working together regularly and in a very close capacity, which basically means that you’re always in his shadow. It’s the life you were kind of hoping to have at the beginning and were deprived of for a good two years. Now that you have it, it feels weirdly natural — so natural that it’s unnatural to not have his voice ordering you around in that easy tone or his aftershave lingering in the air directly above you.

You throw the tissue you used to wipe the oil from your egg toast off your mouth onto the table, crumpled and wilted.

You miss him, which is ridiculous considering you don’t even know what there is to miss. Your relationship, while admittedly lightyears ahead of the starting point it had been at back then (again, not a great standard, considering you didn’t even have a relationship before this period of time), is nothing close to the point of being what it should be for one to miss the other.

And yet, you look forward to seeing him, watching him do something from afar, helping him whenever he needs you. You like the fact that he still sometimes fakes left when you’re accompanying him back to his office, and you do this thing where you pretend to be annoyed even though it makes you happy to know he won’t go anywhere. You like the little sounds he makes when he eats his super unhealthy corndog as if he’s eating it for the first time every single time (see: very unnerving and slightly disturbing but altogether amusing mmmmmmmmmms). In fact, if you didn’t have a vivid memory of telling him off from way back then, you feel like you could easily convince yourself that things had always been like this — that you two had always been together, happily at work.

You’re not surprised that he isn’t back from his meeting even when you get back to your desk after lunch, but you do feel a pang of dejectedness that lasts for a few more hours — time which you spend lazily looking over a contract he’d signed yesterday that needs a fair amount of amending and re-signing. It’s hard to pretend to care today, for some reason, especially since your mind keeps going back to peanut butter sandwiches and some ridiculous vision of Vice President Na standing in the middle of your tiny studio apartment’s kitchen area.

Your reverie’s broken when an envelope falls onto your desk, covering the page of the contract you’d been glassily staring at for the last hour and a half. You’d drawn the same circle about twenty times already, and the paper’s all dented from your efforts. When you look up, Vice President Na is staring down at you, grinning from ear to ear.

“Miss me?” He drums the envelope, the paper muffling the noise of it all. “Oh? I was joking, but it looks like you actually did. That’s twice in a single day, Secretary ____________. You’re setting a very high record.”

You try to tamp down the smile on your face upon seeing him, clearing your throat so that you have an excuse to press your lips together. You guess it doesn’t work because he just keeps smiling, anyway, or maybe he’s just in a really good mood. “Did your meeting go well, sir?”

“Is Lotteria the national fastfood chain? Too bad I don’t work for anyone because it kind of feels like I deserve some kind of reward.”

“Could we say that this partnership is its own reward?”

“It doesn’t have the same ring to it,” he sighs. Once again, his forefinger taps the envelope, calling your attention a little more clearly to it. “I know we’re on a tight schedule for this, and I hate to ask this so late of you, but —”

“Of course, sir; I’ll have it in your hands first thing tomorrow.”

You’re already gathering it up along with your other (vaguely unfinished) paperwork when his whole palm comes down, trapping the envelope and everything else you’d been intending to carry under it. Your hands go up like you’re being held at gunpoint, your eyes wide.

“On second thought,” Vice President Na muses, a little too serene for someone who’d just scared the living daylights out of someone else. “How about I take care of the Samsung deal you’re looking over, and you can handle the Norwegian contract?”

“I haven’t… really made a lot of headway with it, if I’m being honest.” You’re hoping he doesn’t ask you why because you’re too embarrassed to come up with a lie on the spot and will inevitably have to confess your random attraction to him under these terrible circumstances if he does. Luckily, he just shrugs.

“All the more reason to split the work, then.”

The still mildly stern part of you is begging to point out that he’s giving you a whole new set of documents to look over anyway, so it’s not even like you’ll have less to do, but the larger, more endeared part of you tells it to shut up and mind its own business. “I thought the crux of our agreement was that you’d never have to work overtime.”

“Because I look like such a stickler for the rules, don’t I?” He snorts, waving you in with the same envelope, and you concede.

Working next to Vice President Na isn’t anything new to you; you’ve been doing it everyday for a while now, especially if he needs you to be quick on call. Ever since you’ve realized his presence makes your heart beat a little faster, you’ve promised yourself not to let that fact show at all when he’s around, something you’ve been quite careful about perfecting.

Something’s different, though, when it’s after official hours. Maybe it’s because the floor is quieter than it is during the day, so there’s nothing you can listen to but the sound of pen scratching on paper and Vice President Na’s steady breathing. The only real interruption is when Hyunsung knocks on the door to ask if the Vice President is going home; the look on his face is panicked and confused, like a puppy that’s just been dropped off at the mouth of a dumpster site, when he’s told that Vice President Na will drive himself home, so he can just leave the keys.

Maybe it’s also because it’s pretty dark outside, and while you’ve worked into the night a few times, it’s usually alone or with some other poor sap that has even more backlog than you do — it’s never been just you and the Vice President, who seems supremely unperturbed by the fact that he isn’t at home doing… whatever he does at home after work. You can only guess at it (or wish you knew).

That makes one of you that’s keeping busy, although you know it should be two. The fact that you’re distracted by his presence all of a sudden is only exacerbated by the mutually exclusive headache that the paperwork you’re looking over gives you. You don’t know why you had expected it to be in Korean, but you and your intermediate level English struggle to keep up with all the little things you have to look through. Sometimes, you can’t tell if the clauses are actually confusing or if you’re just the poor product of your middle school education. It strikes you more than once that Vice President Na had gone through this, somehow, himself — talked to people in a completely different language, probably with ease. You can at least be proud of yourself for being right: for as long as the Vice President puts his mind to something, he’s able to do it — perhaps even well.

What shocks you after an eternity of silence is the hand that extends towards you, forefinger lightly nudging your chin. You sit up straight like a bolt of lighting had gone through you, meeting Vice President Na’s thoroughly and inexplicably amused expression. Your jaw slackens in shock, but his finger just stays there, like it isn’t invading your personal space. Like it just belongs there.

“What are you doing?”

“What—” you splutter, bemused at the fact that you hadn’t asked the question first. “What are you doing?”

“You keep moving your mouth. What — are you praying or something?”

“No, I —-” You gesture at the contract page you’ve been trying to stumble through for the past twenty minutes. “No, I’m just… I’m reading?”

“You’re…” The start of a laugh escapes him, and you really don’t know what’s so funny. “You’re reading aloud?”

“I wasn’t making any noise, I think,” you grumble, sounding a little more defensive than you’d care to admit.

“You read silently aloud, then.” His eyes twinkle at this information, although why it should elicit this reaction also completely escapes you. “Why? Because it helps you memorize it or something?”

“My English isn’t that great,” you admit begrudgingly, suddenly feeling a little exposed. “Sometimes I need to mouth the words to understand it.”

And he does the most outrageous, inexplicable thing: he gently cups your chin, making sure you can’t turn your head to look away in embarrassment. Now you have to look at him, red in the face and close to exploding.

“Don’t you think that’s a little too much, miss secretary?”

You can’t ask what; your voice isn’t working. You just open and close your mouth around the syllable, and after a couple of attempts, he starts copying you, evidently having a better time than you are based on the grin stretched across his face.

“What? What? That you’re doing something this cute in front of me is what I mean. You’re obviously going overboard, and I don’t think it’s very nice.”

He retracts his hand as quickly as he’d used it to close the distance between you, and your hand immediately comes up in its place, almost cupping your jaw like he did. It definitely doesn’t give you the same tingly feeling, so that’s an obvious bust.

You and Vice President Na have a sudden staring contest with amended rules: you blink a hundred times a minute at him while he laughs quietly, leaning back on his chair like he doesn’t have a care in the world. It confuses you and kind of enrages you, but you also find your heart thumping away in your ears like it’s trying very hard to remind you that Na Jaemin makes you feel alive.

“I— I just—”

“Coffee? I could use some coffee. You look like you could use some too.” He stands, buttoning his blazer with one hand like he has someplace important to go. You’re still so shell-shocked that you don’t even try to stand up to help him, a fact which he notices very clearly. “Oh no, I’ll do you this favor. You sit tight and read your contract. I’ll be back. Keep doing that cute thing with your mouth.”

Vice President Na finds you exactly as he left you: still wondering if you should be offended at his teasing or enamored by his touch and, more importantly, what the hell his deal is. You have a million questions that need answering, but the only thing you blubber out when he comes back is “Why?”

“Because you’re amazingly fun to tease,” he responds simply. “And because it’s true. I find it extremely cute. I find you very cute, Secretary _____________, in a kind of good girl, cool girl kind of way. It’s a little confusing to me too, but I think this slightly stern but overall gentle aesthetic of yours is actually growing on me a little.”

“Sir, I—”

“While we’re taking a break,” he interrupts you. You guess it’s probably the right time for a break considering there’s no way you can work in peace now. “Do you constantly have to call me that?”

“What else would I call you?”

“My name,” he suggests, taking a sip of coffee. You ignore the shit, that’s hot that comes out of him as he puts the paper cup down gingerly on his desk, looking a little bit betrayed by his drink. “Jaemin. Many people call me that.”

“People who are close to you, you mean. Like your family or… your friends.”

“Are you saying you don’t think we’re close? Or that we aren’t friends?”

“Sir, I work for you.”

“So by that alone, we simply can’t be friends? Et al?I think you really are being too much now, Secretary ____________.” He folds his arms across his chest, tutting disapprovingly as he leans back on the edge of his desk. You try not to think too hard about the fact that he does it very close to you, at an angle optimal for viewing the leanness of his form. “After all those times you broke into my house—”

“To get you ready for work.”

“— walked into my bedroom—”

“Only whenever necessary—”

“— gone through my things while I’m half naked in bed like you’re trying to organize a charity drive—”

“Because you need to get dressed, not because I have some perverted agenda —”

“—eaten the food off my kitchen counter, too—”

“You told me to!” You get to your feet, the contract slipping from your lap in your enthusiasm to defend yourself. “You offered it to me!”

Whatever happens next is completely out of your control, and you know this because the room spins without you moving by your own will. Vice President Na must have been an expert dancer in his past life, or something, because after that one dizzying moment, you find yourself leaning against the edge of the table he had been just a second ago. Warm hands are on your waist, tucked under your cardigan, the heat bleeding through your shirt.

And the Vice President’s smile is inches away from your face, still mischievous but much gentler than any other time before.

You’re not sure if you’re paralyzed or if you just don’t want to move, but the reason doesn’t affect the outcome: all you can do is stare up at him, once again dumbfounded after a small outpouring of words that ends in some kind of forced defeat. Except this particular surrender doesn’t feel so sore, for some reason.

“Even when you’re angry, you’re still pretty, you know that?”

“I wasn’t… angry,” you mumble under your breath, afraid that talking louder will scare him off. You don’t even think he’s listening all that much to you, considering that all he does is tuck your hair behind your left ear and completely change the topic.

“So, tell me, Secretary ____________. Is this still a situation where we’re not close at all?” He pauses for a moment, probably to let you answer, but you don’t say anything. You’re pretty sure your swallowing nervously is the only true sound you make. He seems to be eager to do a lot of the talking anyway, which is absolutely fine by you. “Or have I completely misread all your cute little signals?”

“Well — no, but I didn’t send any signals.” Obvious ones, at least. You’d been pretty sure you had tried to keep it under wraps as much as possible, but you’re starting to realize it’s a little possible you’re not as great at pretending as you think you are.

“Not on purpose, probably. Although you really almost got me with the one-man show vibe you have during lunch hour.”

“I… didn’t think you knew, if I’m being honest.” Honesty is the only thing you have right now, anyway, especially since Vice President Na has pretty much confirmed, in his own way, that he knows about how you feel. Now you can only wonder if he’d noticed before you even came to terms with it yourself, and the thought of that being a real possibility urges you to grab the still-steaming cup of coffee and douse yourself with its contents.

“For a while, I was pretty sure you were messing with me. I would never,” he adds just as you say it too, mimicking your astounded tone up to the lilt. “Which is why I started thinking about why else you might be looking at me so intently. You weren’t sitting there objectifying me, were you, miss secretary?”

“Sir, I would never,” you repeat, and he mouths the same words again in his amusement, although silently this time.

“I think I would have been okay with it if you were. Or would be, even until now. For the record.”

“I wasn’t.”

“You sure? No shame in it. Totally fine. Not sure about anyone else, but I’m totally okay if someone else thinks I’m eye candy in the privacy of their own minds. I am, I think, a fine specimen of a human, if I do say so myself.”

“I really wasn’t, sir.”

“You should have, then. Lost opportunities.””

“I could argue that I was just worried you’d leave and not come back.”

“You know I wouldn’t do that to you,” he hums. “Not anymore, anyway.”

The ‘to you’ is what stumps you into another silent spell, but this time, Vice President Na doesn’t attempt to fill in the void. He just starts running his eyes over your face, like he’s trying to read something there or maybe memorize your features, or something. At some point, you start thinking about how this kind of silence isn’t exactly uncomfortable, contrary to your expectations and with interesting consideration of the fact that he’s still holding your hips. Apart from the idle skimming of his thumb over the curve of your pelvic bone, he doesn’t move — nearer or closer, which is probably for the best since you don’t know which one you really want more at this point.

Again, when you gather some part of your wits, the only thing you still know how to ask is “Why?”

“Because,” he replies immediately, simply, like the answer has always been very clear and you’ve just been too ignorant to figure it out. “You said that I could, not that I had to.”

It’s hot. Isn’t it hot? You don’t know what he’s talking about, but your body already reacts on principle, and you have to stand-half-lean there with your entire face burning and Vice President Na’s body heat washing over yours like an electric blanket.

“I don’t know what that means, sir.”

“It means I didn’t do this for my dad or just because you told me off in the comfort of my own office.” He bites down on his lower lip to keep himself from laughing (yet again) at you as he witnesses, from the best seat in the house, your face turning almost purple with the effort of keeping down your embarrassment. “Although that played a bit of a factor in it. I couldn’t tell if it was rude of you to say so much or kind of cute that you did despite knowing you were being rude. But that’s besides the point.”

Good, you think. If he manages to hit you with another cute in this timeframe, you may easily cease to exist.

“You know firsthand, anyway, what my dad always says. You must take on the responsibility you were born with. You have to do your job. You must remember that you owe your life to my achievements.” He mimics his father’s gruff, booming voice amusingly well, to the point that you can’t stop yourself from laughing. His facade breaks easily, and you think you hear him mumble cute under his breath again, although you choose to ignore it so your knees don’t buckle completely (something that you think would be very embarrassing with you so close to him). “I don’t think he’s ever once said an encouraging word to my face. And if there’s anything I can confidently say I won’t do, it’s doing what people only say I need to do. It’s my life, you know what I mean? I’ll do what I want.”

“You’re saying you suddenly wanted to work because I said you could?”

“More like I wanted to see if you were right.” He muses. “I was pretty sure I didn’t have the personality for it. Or the attention span. Or the skill, either.”

“I think a couple of those things are still up in the air, sir.”

“One compliment and you’re already gunning for another insubordination report.” Vice President Na’s voice is a low, casual hum, but you notice the grip around your waist tightens for a brief moment. “At first, I figured I’d just show up to get everyone off my back, but I realized along the way that I’m pretty good at this being at the helm business. I’m sure you’ll agree. Hopefully because you want to, not because you also have to.”

“I do agree.” Your reply is wholehearted, and the Vice President’s smile widens. Your chest swells so much that you think you might explode right in front of him. “Because I want to.”

“Please don’t misunderstand me, miss secretary. I’m not attributing all my successes to your impulsive words.” He teases, although his eyes stay gentle despite his tone. “The efforts were still all mine. However, I’m not too proud to admit I had a very responsible first mate by my side, for whom I am very grateful. Although I hope this doesn’t mean she’ll pluck up the courage to ask for a raise considering how well I pay her. I think. Does she get paid well? Maybe I should ask Park Jinhee from accounting.”

“She won’t,” you laugh softly, not missing the fact that he’s finally learned her name. “And she’s not really doing this for the salary, even if it is a nice bonus.”

“What’s she doing it for, then?”

As a job, this was really mostly about yourself — or it was, in the beginning. You’d terrorized Vice President Na to some degree because of the innate tendency towards self-preservation, and when that felt a little one-sided, you also considered everyone who might lose their jobs if the department got cut. It had been, for the most part, an act of pure desperation, so strong that you were willing to point fingers and raise your voice (only a few decibels, because you’re not a crazy person) at your boss. Now… that wasn’t really part of the equation. Maybe you had gotten used to the fact that the Vice President wouldn’t be going anywhere, so you’d stopped worrying about your and everyone else’s jobs, which all seem to be on a smooth path alongside the captain of the ship.

But if you had to be honest to yourself, part of the reason you’d grown a bit complacent about thinking about the fate of the department also had to do with the fact that you genuinely enjoyed being next to the Vice President. Mornings spent helping him prepare for work were regular highlights in your week, and the looks of approval you received from him every time you helped him finish a particularly difficult task were second to none. Always being close to him, always being the first and last to see him in the day, simply being able to look at him -– silly as that all sounds, they now play an undeniable factor in your desire to wake up and go to the office every single day.

“I did it for you.” You answer, and because the answer’s honest, it feels completely natural to say. A pause slowly lengthens between you two, though not nearly as tense or borderline uncomfortable as you thought it might be this time around. A slow smile stretches over the Vice President’s face, but his words don’t easily take the straightforward route this time, either.

“Should I take up with the human resources department the fact that you’re outright breaching the terms of our contractual workplace relationship? How am I?” He speaks over, with you again, your voices overlapping. You can’t help it — you laugh at the absurdity of how well he’s come to know your responses, from the word choice to the lilt in your voice that signals some level of affront. When, exactly, did Vice President Na start committing the things you said and did into memory? “You’re seducing me, miss secretary. Before you say you’re not — you are. You are, without even knowing it. You’re winning me over, telling me all these sweet nothings to tickle my heart — I believe in you, Jaemin. I love working with you, Jaemin. I did it all for you, Jaemin, because you’re obviously the best in the whole world, ho ho ho.”

“I never said it like that.”

“You might as well have.”

“Should I stop believing in you so that we can avoid a scene, then, or is the damage to your good standing too far gone?”

“Rather than stopping something already in full motion, I think it might be better to make certain amendments to our current agreement.” Vice President Na reaches for the pen tucked into his breast pocket — the gold clip catches the fluorescent light and momentarily blinds you as he brings it up between you. He brings it to one side, then to another, and your eyes follow it, amused but also admittedly a bit hypnotized.

“What kind of trance are you putting me under, sir?”

“The kind that gets you to stop calling me that,” he chuckles. “Among other, more important things on my agenda.”

You have an excellent view of Vice President Na’s stellar smile from the back of the meeting room.

The deal he closes three days later goes even better than expected; not only does he bring Amazon into the fold after weeks of (surprisingly consistent) hard work and no small amount of beguiling charm (owing to the fact that he’d offended said Amazon representatives earlier on in his still relatively short-lived career), but he also manages to snag Samsung Electronics’ participation. As an already existing subscriber to the company-provided phone plan, you’re pleased to find out that you’re entitled to twelve guilt-free months of Prime Video as part of a new promotional deal, which you can now enjoy on nights you aren’t working overtime — something you’ve racked up more of as you’ve found yourself striking more of a work-life balance, thanks in large part to the Vice President’s steadily active involvement in all things on the ‘work’ aspect of the scale. Your first goal is to finally get past the first episode of an animation everyone in the department is raving about (but that you haven’t seen more than five minutes of, in actuality, because the horrible subtitles and sluggish 144px stop motion-esque have, until recently, adamantly deterred you from enjoying anything about the story).

Standing a fair distance away from the executives, you wait for the flurry of handshakes and accompanying congratulatory statements to die down; it takes quite a while, considering the sheer volume of people, and the thickest throng has come to gather around Vice President Na. At one point, all you can see of him is the slightly unruly lick of hair that’s sticking out above the rest of the considerable crowd of balding men around him (the sole crow’s feather a mountain range of gray). All their voices overlap, and you’re only able to catch key phrases — brilliant young mind… knack for business! … just like the President… bright future ahead, you know?

Fifteen minutes of conversation and bellowing guffaws pass before Vice President Na emerges, adjusting the front of his blazer as a result of too much handshaking. Behind him, still speaking to one of the marketing executives, is President Na, who shoots his son a surreptitious look you’ve never seen him wear in your considerable number of years in the company’s employ — one of triumph and pride. The Vice President, however, is intently loosening his tie and scanning the room, stretching himself just a fraction taller above everyone else to get a better view throughout.

You wait, wondering if he’s looking to speak to someone, lost in that host of black and gray suits — the Amazon media director, perhaps, or the in-house designer that also seems to be trying to catch his eye, for some reason (you sense the needy greed for a sudden promotion that seems highly unlikely in such a setting), but even though his vision passes over them, however briefly, Vice President Na doesn’t seem satisfied.

That is, until his eyes land on the corner of the room you and Secretary Son have backed yourselves into to allow the higher-ups room to mingle.

One beat later, and the corners of his mouth are pulled up — a soft, knowing smile directed in your general direction. You glance at Secretary Son, maybe out of instinct, maybe somehow out of panic — as though you worry she’ll somehow come to chastise you, but she’s too busy trying to re-buckle her thin coat belt with rapid-fire tsks. She seems acceptably preoccupied, so your eyes flit back to the Vice President, whose eyebrows are now slightly raised, the telltale signs of a growing grin now playing on his lips as the front of his teeth begin to peek out from the seam. Another cock of his eyebrows, lifting them higher, tells you he’s waiting for some kind of message — an indication that you see him too, maybe, or… perhaps, oddly, any sign that you’re as proud of him as everyone else in the room is.

You can’t help it — you laugh, louder than you’d have originally liked to, a hand coming up over your mouth as Secretary Son’s head snaps up from her waist, bamboozled at your quick but sudden outburst. She throws you a look that suggests she firmly believes your mind has snapped, quite like a stale breadstick in a derelict Italian restaurant, but it’s worth it; Vice President Na looks satisfied at this — though, why he would be, you haven’t a true clue.

As the managers and members of the board file out of the room, both you and Secretary Son inch closer to your respective direct superiors; you both stand a few steps away as the last of the executives drag their feet, still hoping to share one last handshake with either of the two, until an elderly Mrs. Kwon’s surprisingly firm grip is finally shaken off by a sheepish President Na. He turns to his son, who’s still hosting the remnants of a genial smile on his lips, clearly poised to say something. For some reason, you expect the senior to berate the former, simply out of sheer habit, but he does nothing of the sort.

“Jaemin-ah,” his voice is gruff but not at all begrudging; it’s a low rumble of triumph. “Who’d’ve thought? My boy… you brat…”

“Don’t tell me you’re getting sentimental now, dad,” the Vice President teases, to which the President chortles heartily.

“Old men like me have the right, much more than anyone else.” You’ve never seen the President wear an expression even remotely close to softness, but you see it in his gaze now; it strikes you, then, that although you’ve always known the two to be related, this is the first time you can confidently say they resemble each other to the cores of their being — a view of happiness, somewhat mirrored in each of them. “I’m proud of you, son. You did everything I hoped you would — no, no… more than that, even.”

“I’ll take most of the praise, thanks,” Vice President Na replies with his characteristic cheek. For a moment, so quickly you think you may have missed it, his eyes flicker to you. “But I can’t say I could’ve done it alone.”

“Punk,” President Na snorts, yanking on his son’s earlobe; you and Secretary Son have to avert your eyes with expert speed to avoid being caught snickering at the slightly juvenile “ow, dammit,” that the Vice President groans out. “One big closed deal, and your head’s this big? I better not catch you floating away to a Las Vegas casino after all this.”

“Give me some credit; I’d at least visit the desert first.” This time, when the Vice President glances at you, his father’s head turns too, and you stand up straighter at the unprecedented onslaught of attention. “Besides, I’ve got someone here to keep me anchored now.”

“Good work, Secretary ____________,” President Na offers you a rare smile that truly has you feeling like the world has turned upside down: the President in an agreeable (almost ecstatic, though you’d never say that out loud) mood, the Vice President doing his job not just in general but actually commendably well, and not a single strand of baby hair sticking up from out of your ponytail. Inconceivable.

You bow, murmuring a thank you, and Secretary Son quickly follows suit for the formality of it all before she strides over to the President, who’s leaving his son with one last thunder-like clap on the back before he’s leaving the meeting room, still jovial when he catches up with the suspiciously lagging figure of Mrs. Kwon by the door.

Vice President Na starts to follow suit, walking towards the other end of the meeting room; you quickly scurry behind him, still clutching your tablet, blinking a low battery warning, to your chest. You’ve come to grow accustomed to the ‘secretary’s pace’ over the last few weeks as well — always close enough to help, never too close enough to step on a superior’s toes.

But in the moment you fumble to silence your device, you end up stepping into someone’s shadow; glancing up at the Vice President, you find yourself looking at not the familiar view of his back but that of his side profile (one you’re actually also familiar with, though you refuse to admit to the level of familiarity). He’s slowed his pace considerably, allowing you to naturally fall into step with him, and even this, he expects a response from you somehow — he asks for it with yet another wiggle of his eyebrows. You laugh again, shaking your head, and yet, inexplicably, it seems to be exactly the reaction he hopes to see.

The department floor erupts into applause when the two of you pass through the glass doors; a flash of mollification crosses the Vice President’s features before he’s back to his signature light humor, raising a palm up in receipt of praise. Park Jinhee is clapping with only her left hand smacking the side of her mug, a few drops of coffee streaming down the handle side on impact. One of the team managers rushes forward, eager to shake Vice President Na’s hand, and, riding his high, also yours, pumping it up and down with so much vigor that you mumble a quiet ow behind a strained smile. Only the Vice President’s hand on your shoulder, steering you away, saves you from what feels like possible dislocation.

He’s still waving at them like this is a pageant and not his day job, even as he guides you towards his office door; you have to use your elbows to push it open and effectively help you both avoid ramming into frosted glass. The applause dies down as your somewhat conjoined figures disappear through the doorway — you first, albeit convolutedly, your heel still holding strong in the job of keeping the door wide open enough for Vice President Na to saunter through before you let it swing shut to a now relatively silent office floor.

His hold on your shoulder doesn’t let up, though; it’s still urging you forward, towards his desk, and you open your mouth to say something along the lines of I’m gonna break my hip if we keep going this way, but just as your throat conjures up the first syllable, he turns you around, letting you rest light against the edge of the table.

In a pattern reminiscent of three days prior, Vice President Na’s hand finds its way to your waist, utterly comfortable in a way that mystifies you; he acts like it belongs there, as natural as the smile that’s still playing on his lips.

“Sir, you realize it’s the middle of the day?”

“You realize that we had a deal,” he corrects you, brow furrowing in feigned sternness. “Hold up your end of it, miss secretary.”

“Only if you stop calling me that.”

“Now, that absolutely was not part of the contract.”

When you laugh this time, he chimes in; there’s a harmony in your voices that has your posture softening. You feel airier, your heart much lighter, and when you look up at him, you can’t help but flush at his expectant gaze.

“You realize it’s the middle of the day,” you repeat, carefully, the words suddenly somewhat unfamiliar on your tongue — the next two syllables, most of all. “Jae… min.”

Odd as it is, you’re rewarded with the pleased look that takes over his features; he takes a moment to exaggeratedly revel in this new occurrence.

“Better. Much better. You could still be a bit more comfortable with it, I’d say, but… baby steps?”

“Please re-prioritize your day, si— Jaemin.” The terse tone you’re going for is brutally marred by your blunder, which has his shoulders shaking from laughter. “Someone could very easily walk in.”

“Who’s going to fire me?”

“I can think of one person.”

“You heard him. I’m proud of you, Jaemin. You’ve completely exceeded my expectations, Jaemin. You are the light of my life — my favorite son, Jaemin, ho, ho, ho.”

“Sir,” you sigh. “You’re his only son.”

“We had a deal,” he repeats, letting the return to habits slide, and there’s a laughably childish air to his words. “I’ll… file an insubordination report. Breach of contract as well. Tsk, tsk, miss secretary. Not on such a momentous occasion.”

“Some might classify this as threatening behavior.” Your eyes are soft, though, when they meet his humored gaze. “If you want a reward… ask a little more nicely.”

A soft snort — his fingers dig lightly into your waist, and the next second, he’s lifting you off your feet and settling you lightly atop his desk. his palms never leave you, even after you’ve been placed; they’re increasingly warm beyond the fabric of your top.

“____________,” he murmurs, saying your name so naturally that you could almost believe he’s referred to you as nothing else for as long as you’ve known him. “Kiss me.”

Your own hands find their way behind his neck, but he does most of the work in closing the gap anyway; you’re not even sure who, between the two of you, gave that first sigh of longing, of relief. Perhaps it was both of you, all at once.

Jaemin still tastes like the coffee you’d given him this morning — not a trace of richness, but a bittersweet and earthy twang that’s signature post-Americano. There’s even a hint of mintiness from the nervous handful of Tic Tacs he’d had just before the meeting started; you find that out the moment his tongue swipes against yours, leaving behind the invisible bite of menthol. And then there’s you, a clean taste that settles against his teeth, subtle first but growing stronger until you’re satisfied with the notion that you may linger there for some time — even after you pull away, slightly breathless.

“Congratulations to me,” he breathes out, trademark grin flashing bright again. “So what happens if I close next month’s Disney Plus deal?”

He doesn’t wait for an answer; his hand’s already skimming down, over your hips, following the path of your thigh. Your hand reaches out on instinct to stop him, but he’s oddly more aware of his surroundings than you give him credit for (or maybe, you’re just that predictable to him). He meets your palm, fingers lacing into yours and allowing him to lift your wrist to his lips. There, you feel the warmth of his kiss again, and he uses his hold to bring himself even closer, until he’s able to press his face into your neck.

“Sir—”

“Jaemin. You call me Jaemin from now on, remember?”

“Sir.” You’re adamant. “It’s work hours.”

“You’re not tense.”

He doesn’t move his head; in fact, you feel him burying his face further into your shoulder. In this position, there’s no real way for you to pull away — there’s also no real desire for you to do so, anyway.

“No, I’m not.”

“Good.” Warmth again on your skin — his lips leave an invisible mark just above your collarbone. “I like you best like this.”

“What? Not tense?”

“Happy,” he corrects for accuracy. “Happy that you’re with me.”

You fall silent, not because you’re not sure of what to say, but because you don’t need to tell him that he’s right.

Moments later, his fingers find their way into your ponytail; the index hooks into the elastic, bringing your hair down. You feel his shoulders rise and fall with a deep breath, he’s inhaling your perfume again.

“Green tea. Something floral. Jasmine? Maybe a little bit of citrus.” He lifts his head but stays close, warm breath washing over you. “It’s so you. Fresh. Pure. Beautiful.”

The gap between the two of you doesn’t last for too long thereafter; he kisses you again, and your heart lifts to find that your taste still lingers somewhere there. It’s longer because it’s slower — less playful and more exploratory, until he pulls away to a much more breathless you. How he finds the air to talk even after is miraculous to you.

“Be mine, miss secretary.”

You blink — once, twice, at his serious expression, wondering if it will break and give way to more humor. But he waits, unwavering, until the last piece of resistance you’ve clung onto is washed away — the last thing that made you, for a second, deny that you were in love with him.

His smile slowly mirrors yours as it grows.

“Like you could ever get rid of me, Na Jaemin.”

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steddiehyperfixation · 1 year ago

Text

don't you forget about me (part three)

(part one)(part two)

Everyone’s left to “let him get some rest,” but Eddie doesn’t rest, not really. Although he does drift off the second he closes his eyes, his sleep is not restful and his dreams are plagued:

Chrissy Cunningham stood in his trailer, small blonde girl in her cheerleader uniform. If Eddie hadn’t only just come out of his room with an unopened baggie of ketamine, he might’ve thought she’d already overdosed. Her eyes were rolled back, body frozen stiff like she was having some sort of seizure. Eddie shouted at her, shook her shoulders, waved his hands and snapped his fingers in front of her face, but Chrissy didn’t respond. He feared she might collapse, but then she did something much, much worse: she began to levitate.

Eddie immediately let go of her shoulders and scrambled back as some invisible force slammed the girl into the ceiling. Her bones snapped; one at a time, her arms and legs twisted in unnatural angles. Her jaw unhinged and cracked out of place, her mouth now stuck in a horrible, soundless scream. Her eyes bled, dripping red down her cheeks, and then they exploded, popped with a sickening squelching sound, and her eyelids caved in to empty, bloody sockets.

Eddie wakes up screaming. His heart pounds frantically, the monitor beeping like crazy, and all his muscles are tense like he’s ready to run.

Someone is at his side immediately; a gentle hand slips into his own, a soothing voice asks if he’s alright and tells him it’s okay, he’s safe now, it was just a nightmare. Eddie recognizes that hand, that voice, that shape in the dark. When did Harrington come back?

Eddie’s gasping, struggling to inhale a proper breath into his fear-frozen lungs. His wild eyes dart over the figure sitting beside him before landing on the hand that’s curled around his. Harrington must misread something in his expression then, because he mutters, “Sorry,” and starts to pull his hand away.

“No,” Eddie manages, instantly grabbing the other’s hand again and gripping it tight. “Keep- keep holding onto me.”

“Always,” Harrington whispers, the word an exhale under his breath, so soft Eddie thinks he may have imagined it.

Harrington rubs his thumb over the back of Eddie’s hand. His touch is calming, grounding. Eddie’s breath begins to even out and his heart returns to a normal pace as his residual panic slowly dissipates.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he sighs heavily once he’s recovered a bit. He presses his free hand to his chest. “That was the most terrifying dream I’ve ever had in my life.”

“It’s over now,” Harrington says, still soft, still tracing circles across Eddie’s skin. “Whatever it was, it can’t hurt you anymore.”

But it can, because Eddie can still see those horrible images behind his eyelids every time he blinks. He says so, shakily, “Think it's burned into my brain now, though. It was so real, man, I’m not sure I’ll ever get her disfigured face and mangled body out of my head.”

Harrington pauses. “Wait a second, did you dream about Chrissy?”

“Yeah, how did you-?” Eddie starts to ask, then stops as he remembers what Harrington had said yesterday about Chrissy being murdered in his trailer. The realization sets in with a cold chill. He shakes his head in horror, tightening his hold on Harrington’s hand like it's a lifeline. “No. Oh no, please don't tell me that actually happened.”

“It did. I’m sorry, it did.” Harrington clasps Eddie’s hand in both of his now. “That wasn’t just a nightmare, Ed, that was a memory. You’re starting to remember.”

“Well, shit,” Eddie mutters. If that’s what his lost memories are like, he thinks he’d very much rather them stay forgotten. “I’m starting to see why my brain blocked it all out in the first place, then. Was the whole rest of the last 11 months that awful too?”

“No…” Harrington frowns and that kicked puppy look flashes across his face, darkening the spark of hope that had just flickered in it before. “Well, maybe, I don’t know. I hope not.”

“Great,” Eddie sighs, tired and sarcastic. He stares up at the ceiling where the gnarled ghost of Chrissy’s corpse still haunts his vision. “Can’t wait to remember more.”

“I’m sorry,” Harrington says quietly. A heavy sadness runs thick in his voice again, same way he’d spoken when he first learned of Eddie’s amnesia. He squeezes Eddie’s hand once and then lets go.

So much for always, Eddie thinks dimly. His hand feels cold now, naked and untethered without the solid pressure of Steve’s fingers curled around it.

“You should try to go back to sleep,” Harrington tells him. The mattress shifts, the springs creak, as he rises from where he’d been perched at the edge of the bed. In the empty space he leaves behind, Eddie only feels even more untethered.

A sharp rush of panic grips him at the thought of being left here alone in the dark with the twisting shadows and afterimages of his nightmare. “Wait, Steve,” Eddie calls out immediately, before Harrington can even begin to turn away from him. “Will you stay?”

“Yeah.” Harrington nods, murmurs, “I’ll stay.”

So Steve stays. He stays and he sits in the stiff chair by Eddie’s bed, and he spirals. Of course he spirals, in the silence, in the dark. He can’t seem to do anything else in Eddie’s presence lately but let his mind spin around in circles ‘til it breaks.

Was the whole rest of the last 11 months that awful too? Eddie’s previous question is the catalyst of his spiral this time, the words that are currently echoing in the whirlpool of Steve’s consciousness, because he hadn’t thought of that before. He has already wallowed in the idea that he was something so unimportant he was easy to erase, but Steve hadn’t yet considered the possibility that he was something so horrible he needed to be erased. It makes sense, though, doesn’t it? The nurse did say Eddie’s amnesia was in part due to psychological trauma, and his memories do end just before he and Steve properly met. Was being with Steve so awful Eddie’s mind lumped it in with all the other recent traumas and just had to wipe it away?

An ugly guilt twists beneath his skin, like a deep rot running black in his veins. Steve curls his hand into a fist in his lap, digs his fingernails into his palm as if the sharp bites of pain will help release what is dark and decayed inside of him. As if it will choke the voice in the hollow behind his heart that now tells him he deserved to lose Eddie’s love, or that maybe he never truly had it in the first place.

And, see, Steve knows he’s spiraling. He knows his brain has just tripped down some bullshit rabbit hole of self-deprecation and that really his despairing conclusions are not in any way rooted in reality. He knows Eddie loved him. He knows Eddie’s amnesia is not his own fault nor is it a reflection on him. He knows it’s got nothing to fucking do with him. Yet nonetheless, his mind continues to tumble downwards on a quest to prove the opposite. The rot still festers; the hollow still whispers.

“Hey, Steve?” Eddie’s soft-spoken words eventually cut through the quiet and shake Steve from his lamenting thoughts.

He sits forward. “Yeah?”

“I can’t sleep,” Eddie says. “Do you, uh- sorry, could you…maybe hold my hand again?” His voice is small like he’s asking for something embarrassing, and his hesitancy kind of breaks Steve’s heart. “Just until I fall back asleep. It just- it makes me feel safer.”

“Yeah, of course.” Steve scoots his chair closer to the bed and gently takes hold of Eddie’s hand again.

Eddie sighs, a heavy exhale of relief, his body beginning to relax almost immediately. He squeezes Steve’s hand. “Thanks,” he mumbles.

“Anytime,” Steve whispers in response. Always, forever, anything; because I love you, want you, need you, miss you. He swallows down the emotion that rises in his chest. Another spiral threatens to drown his mind again and he fights that off too, tries not to think about everything that fucking hurts.

He focuses on the familiar feeling of Eddie’s hand in his (it’s bittersweet; he’s not thinking about it), on watching the steady rise and fall of Eddie’s chest as he slips back into a more peaceful sleep (he wants to kiss his forehead, tuck him in like a child; he’s not thinking about it).

Steve leaves first thing in the morning. The second Wayne walks in and Eddie now has someone else there to watch over him, Steve tells the older man briefly about Eddie’s nightmare and then he’s out the door before Eddie even wakes up, and he doesn’t return that day.

He can convince himself, illogically, that it’s better for Eddie if he stays away - that Steve’s spiral was right and he’d only make Eddie uncomfortable in the daylight; the less he’s around, the less the rot inside of him can poison Eddie too. But also it’s selfish. Mostly it’s selfish. Because as much as Steve craves to be near him, it hurts far more to be around him and not be seen, not be known, not be loved. The ache of missing him when they’re apart is so much easier to bear than the ache of missing him when he’s right in front of him.

Still, Steve does come back that night. He doesn’t want Eddie to be alone, and with Wayne working graveyard shifts and everyone else having parents to answer to, Steve is the only one left who’s both willing and able to sit with him through the night. He has a feeling, just a feeling, same as he’d had the night before, that Eddie might need him again. Well- maybe not him specifically, but just someone, anyone, to comfort him in the dark, and Steve can be that someone. And maybe that’s selfish too, because it feels good, eases the ache a bit, to be the one to help Eddie, to take care of him. If Steve cannot be loved then he will settle for being needed.

Good for them both, then, that Eddie does end up needing Steve that night. Eddie jolts awake from another nightmare memory - this one about being chased onto the lake by Jason Carver and watching another body float above the water and be crumpled and killed by Vecna - and Steve is there once more to hold his hand and soothe him back to sleep.

And then, again, Steve is gone the next morning, back the next night. Such is the pattern he’s fallen into, the selfish, stupid pattern: gone when he cannot feel loved, back when he can feel needed.

Tonight is the worst nightmare yet. Steve can tell it’s bad even before Eddie wakes. The heart monitor begins to beep more rapidly, Eddie whimpers and twitches in his sleep. Steve grabs Eddie’s hand and tries to ease the nightmare before it worsens, though to no avail.

Eddie doesn’t wake up screaming this time, but choking and crying, rasping through hyperventilating breaths fragmented nonsense about bats and pain and death. He doesn’t seem to be completely aware or lucid right now, still stuck in his nightmare where he’s dying and he’s scared, so scared.

“Shh, Eddie, it’s okay. You’re okay.” Steve can’t stand to see him like this. Holding his hand isn’t enough. “C’mere,” he murmurs. “You’re alright.” He doesn’t even think, just climbs onto the bed with him and very very carefully, very very gently, sits them both up and pulls Eddie onto his chest, wrapping his arms around him and holding him close. “You’re alright,” Steve continues to whisper softly, lips brushing against Eddie’s hair. “Just breathe, baby, it’s okay.” (The pet name just slips out; neither of them notice.)

Eddie clutches Steve’s arms, leans back against his chest and tucks his face into the curve of Steve’s neck. He’s trembling, breath still rapid and panicked, not yet free of the waking dream he’s trapped in. “I died- I’m dead- I was dead,” Eddie keeps babbling in shaky, sobbing gasps. “It hurts- and I died. I don’t- I don’t wanna die- I don’t-”

“You’re not dying, Eddie, you’re not. You’re okay,” Steve reassures him. “You’re alive.” He gently pries one of Eddie’s hands off his arm and guides it to the boy’s chest, covering his hand with his own as he presses it over Eddie’s heart to give proof to his words. “Do you feel that? You’re alive, you’re so alive.”

Eddie sucks in a deep breath, lets out a tremulous exhale. “I’m alive,” he repeats, his voice wavering like he’s trying to convince himself of something he doesn’t quite believe.

“Yeah,” Steve confirms, still holding his hand over Eddie’s slowly steadying heartbeat. “You’re alive.”

Eddie repeats it again, a little more solidly this time. “Okay,” he breathes out. “Okay, I’m okay.” His hyperventilating has finally begun to ease, his tremors gradually dissipating. He seems to wake up a bit more now, settles back into reality. He rolls his face out of the crook of Steve’s neck and tilts his head up to rest it against his shoulder instead as he looks at him. “Steve,” Eddie says, not like a question or the beginning of a sentence, but more like he’s only just now becoming aware of who’s holding him.

Steve gives a small hum of confirmation in response. He doesn’t know if Eddie is going to want him to move now, if the way they’re situated is uncomfortable for him or if Eddie is even okay with this situation at all. Steve can’t tell. He should’ve thought of that first. Holding his hand is one thing, but pulling Eddie half on top of him and holding him there is another thing entirely. And Eddie doesn’t know him anymore. Steve wouldn’t blame the guy if he freaked out at coming out of a panic attack to find himself in some strange man’s arms.

But Eddie just closes his eyes, goes quiet and still for a few long moments, and so Steve stays where he is, assumes Eddie’s trying to go back to sleep. Steve will keep holding him until then.

“Why are you always here at night?” Eddie asks suddenly, opening his eyes again. So he’s not trying to go back to sleep.

The question catches Steve off guard, and not just because he hadn’t expected Eddie to speak again. “I, uh, I don’t want you to be alone- you know, with your nightmares.”

“No, yeah, I know, and I-I’m grateful for that, but,” Eddie clarifies, “I meant, why are you always only here at night? I know you’re around during the day, dropping off one of the kids or Robin or whatever, you just don’t come in. Like- you’ll hold me through a nightmare, but you won’t actually hang out with me and just, like, eat shitty hospital food and watch shitty hospital TV with me. What’s up with that?” Eddie looks up at him. His tone is light enough, but there’s a genuine curiosity in his eyes, and a confusion that borders on hurt. “Thought we were supposed to be friends, Harrington.”

“We are,” Steve says immediately. “We are friends. I just- I didn’t want to force that on you or-or make you uncomfortable or awkward or anything. I know you don’t know me anymore.”

“Well, you haven’t given me much of a chance to get to know you again,” Eddie states plainly, and that catches Steve off guard too.

“I didn’t know you wanted to.”

“Of course I want to,” Eddie mutters. “You’re a decent guy, Stevie. Not how I thought you’d be. Maybe I want you to keep surprising me.”

The way one corner of his mouth quirks up then, popping a dimple in his cheek, makes Steve’s heart stutter, chest warm with a rush of affection. He can’t help but smile a little too. “Okay.”

“Okay,” Eddie echoes, smirk stretching into a proper grin now. He taps his fingers where they rest on Steve’s arm. “You better hang out with me tomorrow.”

“I will,” Steve agrees, because how can he say no to a smile like that? “Promise.”

Satisfied, Eddie closes his eyes and settles back to try and fall asleep again. A lingering fear still runs like an undercurrent beneath his veins though, scared of sleep and dreading the possibility of another nightmare, another memory. He shifts, pulls Steve’s arms a little tighter around him. Eddie never seems to have bad dreams once Steve is holding onto him.

(part four) taglist: @romanticdestruction @daydreamsandcrashingwaves @paintsplatteredandimperfect @hallucinatedjosten @mugloversonly @estrellami-1 @alongcomesaspider @thatonebadideapanda @tell-me-a-secret-a-nice-one @dragonmama76 @wxrmland @nuggies4life @sirsnacksalot @myguiltyartpleasure @lolawonsstuff @marklee-blackmore @vinteraltus @sebastiansstanswhore @0happyeverafter0 @scarlet-malfoy @hotluncheddie @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @emsgoodthinkin @alyelf @warlordess @stevesbipanic @lil-gremlin-things @rockandrolodex @badcaseofcasey @bat-outta-hel @fandomcartographer @manda-panda-monium @littlewildflowerkitten @giopandaonice @mightbeasleep @queenie-ofthe-void @krazyperson @worldofshea @marvel-ous-m @tartarusknight @a-little-unsteddie @xenon-demon @goodolefashionedloverboi @xxsky-shockxx @mc-i-r @bookbinderbitch @aspenshade88 @slowandsteddie @thedragonsaunt @daydreaming-mood @space-invading-pigeon @irregular-child @a-lovely-craziness (i have hit my limit on amount of people i can tag in one post; taglist will be continued in replies. please lmk if you'd like to be removed from this list. no longer accepting any more additions atm!! also, thank you guys so much for all the support on this so far omg??? this is insane for me and i'm so glad y'all are enjoying my writing <3)

#progress progress progress #steddie #steddie angst #steddie fic #steddie fanfiction #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #fanfic #mine #dyfamsteddiefic #<- specific tag for this fic

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pombeom · 4 months ago

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you’ve been a very bad girl | huening kai fic (nsfw)

nsfw, mdni!

pairings: mean!dom kai x sub!reader, idol! kai x non!idol reader,

warnings: namecalling (slut, whore), toys used (dildo and vibrator), mutual masturbation, marking, dirty talk, cumming on tits, manhandling if you squint, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms

a/n: the hyuka brain rot i’m going through rn isn’t even a joke atp…after watching their latest vlog i’m questioning my loyalty to beomgyu 😩

also requests are open! please feel free to leave any requests/ comments or just anything!

He didn’t like you playing with yourself. The thought of you coming over your own fingers instead of his was his biggest nightmare. Even though you knew this, you couldn’t help but grow your collection of dildos and vibrators for you to use whenever he wasn’t there. When he was away on tour for months at a time, you failed to heed to his explicit instructions and stuff yourself with your pink, silicon dildo time and time again. You were lucky so far for not getting caught but he’d found them today. You had shoved them in your underwear drawer and when he was searching through it to steal your panties for him to jerk off on while on tour, his rage was visible on his face when you walked out of your shower.

“You’ve been a very bad girl haven’t you? Such a slut that she can’t even wait 2 months for an orgasm?”

“Kai…I can explain…”

“Shut that mouth, slut! You don’t deserve to speak.” He holds up your favourite dildo and purple vibration, both looking small in his hands. “Is this what you’ve been cumming on?”

Even though he was yelling, his anger was evident in his tone. Unable to respond, you clutch the towel around your body a little bit tighter, not knowing what he was going to do to you.”

“Answer me you whore! Is this what you’ve been cumming on?”

You nod frantically, “Yes….”

“Wanna show me how you use it? I know you want to.” He inches closer, waving your toys in front of your eyes. The ridges of the dildo instantly turning you on as your cunt recreates the familiar sensations, pulsing hopelessly over nothing.

“Is this turning you on slut?” He scoffs, “Unbelievable.”

He had such a good read of you that he knew instantly that the minute your lips part and the gaze of your eyes shift, you were getting wet.

Pushing you onto the edge of the bed, he locks his hands with yours, your vibrator being the only thing that separates the contact between both your palms. He removes his hands away from yours and starts pulls of his t-shirt in one swift move and sits on the leather armchair opposite you.

“Fuck yourself just like you’ve always done. I wanna see how much of a whore you are.”

The towel had already come undone at this point, leaving you bare and exposed in front of him. Even if he’s already seen you in this state multiple times before, you felt the presence of the butterflies in your stomach and your muscles were tight. You begin by sticking two fingers in your mouth gathering saliva which leaks out onto your firm, perky breasts upon removal. You use the wetness in your hand to rub up and down your dildo, preparing it before teasing your entrance with the tip.

“Kai, just put it- !” You yell, out of habit before controlling your thoughts as your eyes are now shut.

“You still think of me, do you? Dreaming of my cock pounding into you when I’m away?” His slew of words only turned you on more as you open your eyes to see him palming himself through his jeans.

You slowly increase the pace and grab ahold of your vibrator in the other hand, turning it on with ease. Switching it on to the lowest setting, you place it onto your clit a wave of ecstasy washing over you, immediately reaching your first orgasm of the night.

“Fuck! Kai! I ne- need you deeper!” You moan pathetically, continuing to display your usual masturbation routine whilst Kai is now sliding his hand up and down his hard cock.

“So horny for me aren’t you babe? Bet it doesn’t feel as good as the real thing though,” he smirks, both getting off on the thought of your actions but also slightly jealous that you came over the dildo instead of his dick.

“Kai give…give me!”

“Give you what? Tell me exactly what you want,” he says in between his harsh grunts.

“I want you to fuck me Kai. For real.”

“Such a slut aren’t you. Using a fucking dildo to get off and you still want my cock?”

He stands up from the chair and he picks you up, pushing you further up the bed. On all fours, he traps you in between his arms as his lips crash onto yours filled with nothing but lust and eagerness. His palms kneed your left boob, your breath hitching as he chuckles into the kiss. His lips then move to your jaw leaving a trail of bites and kisses along your neck, collarbone until it reaches the valley between your tits. He kisses each boob, slightly sucking on your delicate skin, leaving reddish purple marks on either side. Not stopping there he contributes further down until your stomach, marking up the plush of your lower stomach as if it were a constellation.

Your mind goes blank when he removes all contact form your body and slams his length into you with no warning as your left gasping for air. Your throat tightens as you feel the intensity of his pounding rise along your spine until it reaches your brain which is numb from the overwhelming sensation. His dick was much longer and girthier than your dildo, stretching out your pussy much more. His fingers also circles around your clit acting as a vibrator, as you squirm under him.

“You like that don’t you? Like using me like your toys?”

He pushes in deeper and harder going at a brutally rough pace, ramming against your cervix over and over. Your moans bleed out with every single slam, your eyes rolling back. The familiar knot build up again and Kai knows it’s. Your moans are a lot sharper and quicker, signifying that you’re close.

“Cum for me slut. Be a good girl and cum.”

As instructed, you release over his cock as your orgasm leaves your feeling dizzy.

“Where do you want me to cum?”

“Cum on my tits Kai.”

He pulls out and pumps his dick over your chest and within seconds spurts of white cum coat your perfectly round boobs. Kai swipes his finger over your nipple before shoving it into your mouth and you’re left sucking his finger dry, tasting his sweet cum.

“What a cumslut. Now I know what you’ve been up to when I’m away.”

“I’m sorry babe. I just miss you and need to feel you. I won’t do it again I promise. I’ll even throw out my toys.”

“No need. Next time you touch yourself and use your toys just call me or FaceTime me. I wanna see your face when you cum over that dildo as you’re thinking of me.”

#mean dom #huening kai smut #kai smut #dom huening kai #txt smut #huening kai hard thoughts #hueningkai ff #txt ff #txt hard hours #txt #huening kai

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soursturniolo · 3 months ago

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𝚑𝚒𝚍𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚎𝚎𝚔, 𝚌𝚑. 𝚘𝚗𝚎

- a wizarding world!au ft the sturniolo triplets

- intro post here

main pairing: unspeakable!slytherin!nick x tea shop owner! hufflepufflex-quidditch player!oc

A biting late autumn breeze felt as if it cut down to Nick’s bones as he hustled down the dark winding street. It had been a long work day, he had clocked in promptly at eight in the morning for his shift. Due to some mysterious circumstances that puzzled even his superiors, he had been forced to work overtime. The time was now nearing eleven at night, but he was walking at a brisk pace to get to the one thing he’d been craving all day: his favorite latte from a quaint little coffee shop he had visited a couple times since they opened. After a few more quick steps, he finally arrived in front of Teetering Teas & Apothecary; an unassuming little place that Nick firmly believed to be a small slice of heaven on earth.

As he pulled the shop door open, he was greeted by a warm golden glow of light and the heady smell of cinnamon, coffee grounds, and herbs. A rare soft smile painted his features as he stepped inside, a sigh of relief leaving his lips from making it to the shop before they closed.

“Hey, made it just before I locked the door to close,” an unfamiliar but warm and deep voice called out from the counter, “what can I get you?” the stranger asked.

Nick found himself frowning in confusion, where was the young girl who usually was working at this hour, he wondered to himself. But as he looked up at the sound of the voice, he was struck by the beautiful person in front of him. Short and curly hair, warm and tan skin, tall and strong with obvious muscles under the warm yellow sweater the man was wearing. He was gorgeous. He looked oddly familiar in a way, but Nick knew they had never met before.

“Hi, um, sorry im stopping in right before you close, work was a nightmare today,” Nick stuttered a bit, “where’s the girl who normally is here? I think her name is Quinn?”

“Quinn had to take tonight off, she’s not feeling well. Are you one of her regulars?” The taller man asked as he finished wiping down the counter with a damp cloth.

“Yeah,” Nick found himself chuckling lightly, “I guess you could say I am.”

“Well, what’s your usual? I’ll give it my best shot,” he said with a smile.

“I usually get a caramel macchiato,” Nick said, “are you new here?”

“No,” the man chuckled as he turned towards the coffee machines to begin making the drink requested, “I’m actually the owner of this place,” he said with a smile, hands working over the coffee machinery with an ease and skill showing he had plenty of experience.

Nick felt himself flush a bit in embarrassment at unknowingly asking the owner of one of his favorite shops if they were a new employee. He looked down at his loafers, dull and black like the rest of his work attire. He was a stark contrast from the bright and warm shop, full of color and life. There were plants all over, various herbs in different states of growth. There were cozy seating options, a few tables with comfy chairs on either side, and a few large booths along the left wall. Along the back wall was Nick’s favorite aspect of the shop, all the various homegrown and sustainably sourced potion ingredients.

“Hey, I remember you said work was a nightmare,” the kind owner remarked as he watched the espresso brew out into the small glass, “what do you do?”

Hearing this question, Nick had to stop himself from rolling his eyes. There it was, the question he dreaded most in life.

“I cant say, I work as an Unspeakable,” Nick explained, somewhat dryly. Usually, this brought on a gamut of questions, all of which Nick was clearly forbidden to answer. It was always irritating, not only because he was unable to answer, but also due to the sheer fact that even if he wanted to talk about his work, he cannot.

“Oh,” the shop owner responded, sounding thoughtful, “that must be a hard thing, not being able to talk about work and having to keep everything secret,” the owner sympathized as he poured Nick’s drink into a to-go cup before offering it to him.

“Yeah,” Nick responded, stunned by the owners thoughtfulness towards him, as he reached into his pocket under his work robes to pay.

“Oh, no, its on me tonight, no worries,” he says, placing the warm to-go cup into Nicks hand with a beaming smile.

“Are you sure? I’ve got it,” Nick questions, surprised by the generosity.

“Yeah, take it as a gift. All I ask is that you come back soon,” the owner smiled.

Nick found himself softly smiling again for the second time of the night, this time at the owner instead of the ground.

“Sure, I can do that. By the way, I never got your name?” Nick inquired softly.

“Thomas,” he says with a bright smile once again, brown eyes twinkling in the candescent light of the homey shop.

“I’m Nick, its really nice to meet you,” he responds, “hey, would you happen to be working again tomorrow sometime? I had some potion ingredient shopping to do, my list is at home but I wanted to ask some questions about some of your inventory, if that's alright?”

“I’ll be working from ten to two in the afternoon tomorrow, feel free to stop in any time, I’ll be glad to help,” Thomas cheerfully responds.

“Okay, I’ll see you then, have a good night,” Nick responds as he turns to head out.

“Have a good night! Be safe out there!” Thomas gleams with another infectious smile, giving a small wave.

As he stepped back out into the cold and unforgiving night, Nick found himself grinning to himself as he walked back to his apartment down the block. He took a small sips of his coffee as he walked, the warm and sweet drink seemingly warming him from the inside out even in the biting cold air. After a few minutes of walking, Nick arrived back at the large apartment which he, along with his two triplet brothers, called home. As he stepped inside, he was greeted by the laughter of his two brothers coming from down the hall, along with the comforting smell of laundry that was doing itself magically down the hall.

Shutting the door behind himself, Nick took off his robe and hung it up next to Chris’s Auror robe. The two were a stark contrast from each other; warm, scarlet red next to the dull and sharp black that Nick wore. Walking down the hall past the laundry room, Nick entered his brothers bedroom, leaning up against the doorway as he watched his two brothers sit at Matt’s desk, playing a muggle video game. Nick quickly found himself laughing as he watched Chris step the wrong way in the game, causing their characters on the game to fall to their deaths.

“CHRIS SERIOUSLY” Matt bellowed, angrily slamming the controller down on the desk.

“IM SORRY I GOT CONFUSED” Chris hollered back, just then noticing Nick in the doorway.

“Hey, how was work?” Chris asked, causing Matt to turn and look at Nick too.

“Must've been a good day, look how smiley he looks, usually he looks ready to kill someone” Matt commented with a slight smirk, which caused Nick to roll his eyes and turn to walk up the stairs to his own bedroom.

“Goodnight guys,” Nick called as he reached his bedroom door.

“Goodnight!” his two brothers chorused back, as they quickly engrossed themselves back into their video game.

Nick sighed softly and contently to himself as he shut his bedroom door, moving to quickly get ready for bed. He quickly jumped in the shower before bed, his thoughts drifting a few times to the sweet shop owner he had met, and the prospect of talking to him again tomorrow. As he finished his shower, changed into pjs, and got into bed, Nick found himself almost giddy at the thought of what tomorrow might bring.

thank you for reading! likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated 🖤

#sturniolo triplets #nick sturniolo #matt sturniolo #chris sturniolo #the sturniolo triplets #nicolas sturniolo #sturniolo triplets fanfiction #christopher sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #nick sturniolo x male oc #nicolas antonio sturniolo #nick sturniolo fluff #nick sturniolo angst #nick sturniolo fanfic

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0oolookitsme · 10 months ago

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Such an Opportunist

This one was going be a rather sad and angsty one, but it quickly took a turn ...and hopefully, it was for the better. I'll surely write another fic for what I wanted this one to be, but nonetheless – I hope you enjoy this one!

Verse - Singer!Harry x Ceo!Y/n

Word Count - 1.7k

Warnings - Some new-parental-stress in the beginning.

Harry really needs to sleep, and Y/n is very shocked to learn that he's written songs she'd yet to hear. Also, Harry falls on some Lego bits and what better opportunity to ask for a back massage?

Please rb to share! | Masterlist

Harry was in the kitchen, making himself another cup of tea while chewing on some raisins. He could hear Amore playing with her toys around him somewhere and Y/n's humming voice was the only other sound travelling through the house -- apart from the whirring of the washing machine as well that Harry had thought he had broken on his first try.

Andre's wailing had quieted down, some sniffles being the only indication that he was still recovering from the fall. He had fallen from the couch onto the pillow that Y/n had laid on the floor just in case that very thing would happen -- and Harry and her both suspected that the little boy was just shocked.

"Hm, make me one too?" Y/n meekly requested on entering the kitchen, her fingers weaving through her hair to make a braid.

Harry turned back and automatically his first glance landed on Andre, feeling relief when he saw him playing with Amore on the carpeted floor -- and then, snaked his arms around Y/n's waist.

"Feelin' very sleepy today, thought another bedtime tea would surely be helpful" he chuckled hoarsely, before pecking her lips. "Don't know what I was thinking when I put the kettle on the stove," resting his head in the curve of her neck, he admitted.

Y/n only sighed in response, swaying the both of them as she wrapped her arms around his slouched frame. She could tell that the sleep deprivation was beginning to mess with him. "Been craving a lot of Earl Grey, recently, haven't you?" She huffed out a laugh, pressing a kiss somewhere on his ear lobe.

He hadn't gotten much sleep last night, considering that the pair of twins were teething at the same time, and he was on duty. He and Y/n did all that they could -- from gum massaging to freezing milk popsicles. The silicone teethers and other toys were great help, but only during the day. It was the nighttime, during which Harry and Y/n lived the actual nightmare.

On the night prior to the last one, it was Y/n's turn to look after the babies, and it was one of the worst nights ever. So much so, that Harry was unable to go to sleep because of the loud wails and the fact that his babies were helplessly hurting. So, he was up along with her, although he remained in bed and held onto Amore who had been whimpering with her head nuzzled in his chest – all while looking at Y/n pace around the nursery they'd built out of the room right next to theirs, with a sobbing Andre clung to her chest, bouncing herself in different motions to somehow get him to relax, in the baby monitor

So, it only made sense for him to be tired and sleepy out of his mind.

"I'm glad you came home early tonight. Was hoping you'd sleep in early," Y/n mumbled as she scratched his scalp, something that never failed to soothe him. "I'll take care of tonight. Got to peel some peas, too, you know?" Chuckling, she continued -- "It's been a while."

Harry hummed back, taking a deep breath before rising back to his height. He pressed a chaste kiss on her upper lip, and placed his hands on her love handles, already missing the warmth of her neck and Andre's baby scent that lingered there.

"Only had to do some composing today," he told her. "Pretty happy with the way the song's turning out," he smiled before he moved over to take the kettle off the stove.

It made Y/n smile, that they were finally talking about something that wasn't in regards to their children or about how tired they were. Because those two topics seemed to be the only thing that they ever talked about these past few days, and she was beginning to anticipate a fight brewing somewhere in a dark corner, away from sight.

Sliding her bottom on the kitchen island, she sat cross legged on it and -- "Oh really? I'm so happy!" She chirped. "Tell me more!"

She heard him laugh lightly, and she felt as if she were glowing because of how happy she'd gotten. "C'mon! I wanna know!" She urged him to hurry as he waited for the tea to leave its flavour in their cups.

Harry laughed again, as if her happiness was contagious.

"You know the song I told you about, the day before yesterday? The one which I described as silently and shyly explicit?" He asked her, turning around with a cup in each hand. He was holding the body of her cup so that she could hook her fingers through its handle and wouldn't burn herself with how hot the cup was, and Y/n's heart felt like it was merely a puddle in her chest cavity.

She hummed in response, motioning him to sit and giving him a look when he only leaned his bottom on the kitchen counter, and crossed his feet at the ankles in front of her.

"Well, I named it 'Keep Diving'," he gleamed. "I can't wait for you to hear it! I think we just have to give it some touch-ups tomorrow," slurping on his tea just to annoy her, he grinned proudly.

"So... am I going to hear it tomorrow, or when the whole album is ready?" She asked him with narrowed eyes, pointing a finger gun at him.

Harry laughed out loud and immediately held his cup a little farther from his chest so he wouldn't spill the tea on himself. "You've heard every song I've made so far! Music For A Sushi Restaurant, Late Night Talking, Satellite, As It Was, and Grapejuice," he recapped the song titles for her.

"And, Keep Driving, of course," he said. "Which I think I'll let you hear once the album is ready, along with a few other ones," a smirk pulled one corner of his lips upside and dug a dimple in his cheek. He was growing a stubble.

Y/n gasped loudly; mouth wide open and eyes stilled at him in shock. "There are multiple songs you're hiding from me?" She exclaimed, placing her cup beside her before she could drop it.

Harry pretended to run, looking anywhere but in her eyes. "You are the first person to listen to anything I write! I'm just planning to surprise you with ...a few," he accepted sheepishly.

Her eyes had now fallen in suspicious slits that glared at him. "How many?" She asked, swinging her legs off of the island.

"I mean, there are songs I still need to write but... I've got 3, I think, that you don't know about," he emphasised as if that'd save him from her hands that seemed to be ready to attack him with pinches and tickles. So, he quickly chugged the last few sips of his tea that had gone cold by now, and slid the cup on the counter before taking off from the kitchen.

He ran carefully so he wouldn't slip in his socks, but that wasn't helping because she was running after him without a care in the world. Although, it was when she began laughing and shrieking behind him that Harry couldn't help but turn to see what had caught her attention that was funnier to her than them being grown-up adults, running after each other like they were kids again.

And the sight amused Harry to the level that he had to stop to laugh at it, which caused Y/n to slam into him because she was looking behind her instead of looking ahead.

Hary went tumbling down on the Lego bits the kids had built and he cried out loudly in pain, the pieces digging into his back as Y/n fell over him. She was laughing at him but her eyes showed concern for him, and before she would've gotten up to help him, the two little bodies that were running behind her came and halted at her feet.

She sighed in relief, slightly proud that they already held that certain maturity but then Andre bent his knees, and made a big jump on her back as if she were playing horses with him and Amore followed soon behind him, crawling up Y/n's leg and stopping once she was sitting behind Andre.

"Oh my -- god," Harry gritted through his teeth, wrapping his arms around Y/n so the kids atop of her wouldn't fall in case his groaning body tilted to the side in pain.

"Oh my god," Y/n also hissed, mainly for Harry but also because of the attack on her poor back. Her face still showed amusement as she tried to reach for the kids' hands above her and get them off of her. "Get up, Andre, Amore – get up," she urged them and sighed when they did.

She exhaled in relief on her back, but then Harry groaned again beneath her.

"Get up, Y/n," Harry gritted once more and Y/n stilled in realisation before rolling over, onto the floor on her back, spewing apologies.

His eyes were tightly shut when Y/n got up and offered him her hand. “H, give me your hand,” she asked of him, feeling warm inside that the kids were each on his sides and pressing their little hands on his biceps, shaking him thinking he was asleep.

Harry took in a ragged breath before opening his eyes, wincing when the kids shouted in delightment that they had woken him up. But, nevertheless, he set a pointed look on Y/n at once.

“I’m not letting you get away with this so easily, woman.” He said in a strained voice. “You better get you oils ready to rub ‘em in my back.”

That made Y/n gasp once again and she placed her hand on her hip while pointing a finger at him with the other one. “You’re such an opportunist! Taking advantage of the situation!” She called him out with an accusatory tone to her voice, and only shook her head when he shrugged with a menacing smile on his mouth, grasping at her withheld hand.

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animelovelover123 · 2 months ago

Text

Devil May Cry Characters During Threesomes Extra

Parings: Sparda, Urizen, Nelo Angelo, Credo, Kat, Dante, Reboot Dante, Vergil, Reboot Vergil, Nero, and V x Reader

Synopsis: The awaited sequel to my DMC 3way story. I ended up putting off the girls for the future because writing this was really draining. The only exception is the reboot characters as, due to a lack of them, it is one of the twins, Kat, and you. I don’t intend to do the boy-girl pairings because that would be like 120 scenes (if I did the math right) and I think that would kill me.

Trigger Warnings: Spardacest and selfcest warning, the focus is on you but there are moments where characters pleasure each other and references to family ties.

Also some non-con elements (pretty much just with Urizen and Nelo Angelo), bondage, public foreplay and sex, spoilers for DMC1&4&5, oviposition (aka freaky egg stuff), emotional distress, tentacles, exhibitionism, being an experiment subject, size difference, some pain, lack of control, Macrophilia (giants), BDSM, horse crops, Shibari/Kinbaku, blood, double penetration, edging, orgasm denial, and face sitting.

Dante & Sparda

"Just relax my dear, take in the sights and scents around you." Sparda encouraged you as he helped you lay down on the luxurious bed he had moved to the garden. Around the four-poster bed were tall flower plants, painting your eye line with soft greens and colourful petals.

"You really went all out, didn't you?" Dante said, barely restraining the scoff in his voice. He could admit it was a sweet arrangement, but it seemed overkill. "We were just late coming home." Dante hopped up onto the mattress, which was specially made to fit multiple people.

"That is where you are misguided my boy," Sparda corrected as he leaned over the bed to lovingly stroke your hair and cheek. "To us, it may not seem like much, but to someone waiting at home for their partners to return, uncertainty and worry for their loved ones occupying their mind, it can be extremely stressful." Sparda cupped your cheek and lifted your chin a bit to face him, taking a moment to gaze into your eyes. "We must make up for our mistakes and soothe our love’s troubled heart and mind." He then slowly lowers himself to place a feather-light kiss onto your lips, giving you the room to turn away if you were not quite ready to forgive his and Dante's misdeed.

Dante let out a sigh that started amused but ended as being one of genuine regret. He was still not used to having someone waiting for him at home, but it was clear how upset you were when he and Sparda returned 4 days late from the supposed 1-week long mission. But now at least you looked calmer, with your red cheeks no longer covered in tears and your chest raising and lowering at a normal pace. And when he laid down beside you and started to stroke your stomach, hips, and thighs, you didn’t push him away, something that actually soothed his own troubled heart.

“I guess the old lady was right,” Dante mumbled as he watched Sparda start to kiss from your lips to your chin to your neck. “you are better at dealing with ladies.”

==+==+==

This whole idea was based on the fact that in the DMC5 prequel novel Before the Nightmare, Matier (the old lady from DMC2 that fought alongside Sparda long ago) said that “his father was better at dealing with ladies, as well as better at making excuses”, or so says https://devilmaycry.fandom.com/wiki/Sparda which can’t always be trusted but it's not like I can read the Japanese only book myself to check.

Vergil & Sparda

“Slow down my boy.” Warned Sparda in that gentle, ‘not actually angry’, parental tone as he placed a hand on Vergil’s back to help break through his son’s lustful haze and listen. “You are going a bit too fast, especially here at the beginning. You want her to feel and enjoy every little movement and sensation rather than it blazing past as a numb blur.” It takes a moment, but Vergil does slow down.

“I understand father.” Vergil huffed out, still in a bit of a daze. The rough and quick slamming of his cock into you slowed to a smooth drag, finally giving your body a chance to relax a bit as your trembling arms held you up so you weren’t face down in the mattress.

Sparda, despite being bigger and stronger, had been so very gentle and considerate of you when he did his “demonstration”, only ramping up the intensity to help push you both over the edge. But Vergil, blinded by the desire to prove himself to Sparda and the lust that had built up in him while watching you be fucked by someone else, had dived forward. He had forced himself into your still-seizing core, not even letting you finish your first orgasm before ravaging you. Thankfully Sparda was there to help and guide Vergil.

“She seems a bit overwhelmed Vergil. Look her over, ask her how she is, and care for her. It is your responsibility as the dominant one to take care of your partner. To make sure they are safe, happy, and satisfied.” Sparda instructs, though he had been watching you closely to make sure you were enjoying yourself so knew you were okay, just a bit overwhelmed.

“Right, of course.” This reminder of your pleasure snapped Vergil out of it, at least for the most part. “My darling, how are you holding up?” Vergil ran his hands up and down your back, using just enough pressure to act as a message.

“Lay her on her side for now,” Sparda said, leading Vergil to gently shift your bodies so that you were both lying on your sides facing Sparda. Vergil did not remove himself from you, his primal lust still holding on too strong to truly give you a break. At least it was more of a cockwarming situation now, for the time being at least. “There we are.” Sparda laid down as well, making it so that Vergil was pressed up against your back, giving your neck apologetic kisses, and Sparda was in front of you running his large hands over your body in a soothing pet. From up into your hair to down your sides and even your legs which he messaged a bit since they had worked so hard to keep you up as Vergil had tried to take you while you were still recovering. “Remember my boy, she is not merely a vessel to let out your lust, but a person to be cherished and, when she gives her trust over to you like this, taken care of. Do you understand?”

Vergil is only able to nod in response as he finds himself struggling to stay calm. He did agree with his father completely, but you felt so good, not just wrapped around his member but also in his arms and his heart. But he would listen to Sparda for you, out of respect for his father, and because deep down inside him Vergil wanted to surpass Sparda and his power to pleasure you.

==+==+==

I thought this scenario would be a fun callback to the Nero & Vergil part since Vergil taught his son a lesson on “how to treat a woman”. Here though you can see how different Sparda and Vergil are in the way they teach and their opinions on how you should be pleasured.

Also, last time I tried to avoid references to characters by their relationships, like calling them brothers or father and son, since it makes some people uncomfortable. But this time I completely gave up. I have so many to write and I feel like the familial bonds could make an interesting dynamic. Besides, even when I blatantly point out that there was, in a way, Spardacest in the last one and tried avoiding bringing attention to it, someone still complained so what the fuck ever. Some people are gonna bitch no matter what so I’ll just ignore them and have fun making what I want without restrictions.

Nero & Sparda

It was quite the strange proposition you received from the great Lord Sparda, which is apparently rather normal in demon high society, though there it is not so much a proposition as a forced encounter. Nevertheless, here you were, having both Lord Sparda and his grandson Nero performing a practice bonding ritual on you meant as a way for a demon (or part demon in Nero’s case) to mark their partners. When Sparda had first explained this to you both, he talked of the benefits of a bond. How, even if one was monogamous, this way they could leave their scent on their partner to ward off predator demons. What he did not tell you is how intense it would be.

“That’s it, get as deep as you can.” Sparda encouraged, though it probably did not register for Nero who was bent over you rutting into you like a wild beast. Nero was at your front while Sparda was behind you. Or, to be most specific, you were practically lying on top of Sparda who was holding you in place while also thrusting up into you. The two men were sharing the same whole, stretching you beyond what you have felt before. Thankfully you were given plenty of prep. Still, it was a shock to the senses as Nero’s cock jammed in as far as it could, practically kissing your womb with his tip, while Sparda’s thrusts were more shallow as he aimed for your g-spot. “And then, right at the peak, you need to bite down where her neck and shoulder meet.” Sparda did not intend to do this, but hearing your cries of pleasure, feeling your body against his, and smelling your scent, led him to give a demonstration. He was still conscious enough to not actually create a bonding mark without your consent, but his teeth still bore down on you, leaving a mark of lust as he spilled his seed into the condom he was wearing.

Nero watched intently. He was coated in a sheen of sweat, his eyes were misty, his fangs were out, and his tongue went between, lolled out and licking his lips as he looked at you.

“Wanna do it, wanna mark, please.” He begged both you and Sparda. His thrusts got more uneven as he chased his own peak, one that could only be quenched by the demonic tradition of marking and bonding. “Please, please, please.”

“I understand Nero, but we must not pressure her into making that decision in the throws of passion.” Sparda pointed out. With his own lust satisfied, at least for the moment, he let go of your hips and instead wrapped his large hands around your neck. He did not put any pressure on your neck and he let you move and bend freely. He was not restraining you but protecting you, acting as a shield so that wherever Nero did bite, he would not bind you to an unbreakable vow. You can decide if and when that happens when you are a little more sane. Right now Nero was looking down at you like you were a delicious treat and he was starving.

“Yes, need it, need you… forever~”

==+==+==

This didn’t turn out quite the way I intended it to but oh well. Also, I almost switched this to being the Dante & Sparda story but then I switched it back to Nero.

V & Sparda

Tonight was supposed to be your chance to witness the most regal side of society. A ball where everyone was dressed in exuberant gowns and suits, a live orchestra was playing the music, and everything shimmered in the extravagant marble scenery and jewels adorning everything and everyone. However, your dance partners were making it hard to focus.

“You’re losing the tempo my songbird.” Says V in his silky smooth, deep voice as he dips you low. “Though I suppose it is hard to keep a beat when your heart is fluttering like the wings of a hummingbird.” One of V’s hands glides up from your side to your chest so he can feel your heartbeat, but with the squeeze he gave you it was clear what his true goals were. Before you can respond V pulls you upright again and sends you towards your other dance partner who is quick to press up against your back and wrap his arms around you to stop anyone from interrupting the sensual dance between you three.

“I do hope you are not overwhelmed, my dear,” Sparda says, his voice a bit deeper than V’s but with a more gentlemanly cadence to it. Sparda was much taller than you, standing at 7 feet tall, so when he grasped your chin with his gloved hands and made you look at him, your head had to be tilted up and pressed against his chest. “Your face is red and your breathing…” He gently runs his thumb over your lips, making the sensitive skin tingle, “it is heavy.” His other hand glides down your torso and stops just above your sex, his fingertips just barely brushing over where your clit would be, and he pulls you tighter against him.

“Ah, you must be overheating.” V comments, drawing so close that he is on the cusp between it being appropriate and inappropriately close. “Let us step outside for some fresh, cool night air.”

You are swept away from the crowd of attendees towards a large balcony on the side of the building that does not face any garden or place where people could mill about alone. It faced out into a seemingly endless ocean sparkling in the moonlight. As you walk both men keep their hands on you, one resting on, and slowly groping your bottom while the other flicks at your bra strap over your clothes, as if threatening to undo it. Just before stepping out, Sparda made a motion towards the guards who quickly went to work closing the curtains and lining up at the door so no one could disturb you three.

“There, now we are free from that stuffy, stifling atmosphere.” V’s choice of words and tone indicated that it was not simply the obsessive heat he was glad to get away from.

“And yet our darling still seems a bit dazed,” Sparda says as he, along with V, leads you to the marble railing. Swiftly they turn you to face them, press your backside to the railing, and trap you there by each placing a hand on the railing on either side of you. “I fear it is the weight of your extravagant and voluminous gown that is the cause.”

“I agree. We must strip you of some of your layers songbird. I will start with your bodice.”

“And I with begin with your garters.”

==+==+==

This started with Sparda and V just using their voices, since V had a sexy voice and I like to imagine Sparda as a gentlemanly, slightly British, voice also on the deep side. Then I started to think of what scenario could facilitate this and somehow got to dancing. Then it evolved into this. Fancy boys pretending to be fancy while they do naughty things.

Dante & Nelo Angelo

Things had developed in such a strange way that it was hard to wrap your brain around. One moment Dante and you were preparing to fight the armored being that appeared from the mirror in the castellan's private bedroom. The next you were desperately trying to jog the memory of the man inside that was clearly brainwashed. He still seemed to recognize you though as he had zeroed in on you right away and removed his helmet for you. And when he had suddenly grabbed your side and used his absurd strength to lift you like a doll and force his lips upon you, Dante knew what he had to do to save his brother.

“Come on Vergil, you remember this, right?” Dante said as he held your legs open by locking his own legs atop yours. One of his hands was holding up your top to show your breasts still sitting in your bra while his other hand, having already pulled off your underwear, was stoking and holding open your lower lips. “You’ve been in this pussy before. Remember how warm and tight it was? You used to love it.”

Nelo Angelo, as was his new name, was focused on your core. The way your slick glistened on Dante’s fingers and your body, and how your entrance flexed in nervous anticipation. He strode closer and climbed onto the bed you and Dante were on, his size and weight caused the bed to dip. He knelt there for a moment, then, like his helmet before, another part of his armour disappeared in a flash of flames, causing his cock to spring free. Nelo Angelo was larger than the man you had known before, about 1½ times larger, and that has applied to his manhood which was now as thick as your wrist and as long as your forearm.

“Oh shit.” Dante murmured, though because he was pressed up against your back you could hear his shock loud and clear. “Alright sweetie, you ready to take one for the team?”

The initial penetration was tough, with your body twitching and the wind getting knocked out of you. And when Nelo Angelo started moving the sound of his deep grunts was drowned out by your own voice crying out in pleasure and pain. Dante had to hold you in place while Nelo Angelo lost himself in the familiar feeling of your inner walls clamping down around him. In the meantime, Dante whispered words of encouragement to you and stroked your clit to heighten your own pleasure. And for all this work, you were rewarded with your insides being coated in Nelo Angelo’s hot seed, and a wavering voice calling you by a familiar pet name.

“Darling?”

==+==+==

Your pussy has saved Nelo Angelo, congrats! lol

Vergil & Nelo Angelo

You were sandwiched between two men that, though from different periods of Vergil’s life, were the same man and still similar in most ways. And yet by having them both embracing the person they love the most made one act vastly different. Nelo Angelo treated you in the usual way, thrusting into you with quick precision, using his strength to hold you in place with just enough force to make it sting a little and not speaking as he was confident in his skills to please you, though that last bit was also due to the fact that he could not speak words. Vergil though…

Vergil was treating this like a competition, which in it of itself was not that surprising. The strange part was with how unsure he seemed. Perhaps it was due to being faced with himself at his weakest, or the fact that you, the one person whose opinion he cares most for, are seeing him in the weak state. Whatever the reason, he was acting more desperate. His usually strong grip was instead a gentle embrace, which, when paired with Nelo’s strong thrust, caused both Vergil and you to bounce rhythmically. His usual tight lip, open only to steal kisses and mark you with his teeth, were now split between peppering your face, neck, and chest with kisses, and saying things that were demanding, yet bordering on pathetic due to the tone.

“Darling, look at me,” Vergil said, trying to sound like his usual demanding self but instead sounding like a plea. You barely open your eyes before Nelo Angelo, going off of pure instinct, grabs your chin, forces you to turn your head, and kisses you with a strong, almost suffocating passion. “Darling.” Vergil breathed, barely subduing the tremor in his voice. His own lips dart forward, kissing your cheek then trailing down your jaw, and neck, and finally landing on the middle of your chest where your heart was. His hips also picked up the pace, though they weren’t as strong as Nelo Angelo’s. Between each kiss, Vergil demanded your attention. “Here darling. Look at me. Listen to me. Hear me. Focus on the man who drives you crazy with lust and love, body, mind, and soul. The one that has claimed you. The one you love… right?”

==+==+==

I kind of lost track of what I was doing on this one TBH. Since Vergil has trauma about his time as Nelo Angelo I wanted to utilize that but I did not want to make it too intense. I originally had Vergil break down more to the point of crying, but that seemed out of character.

Nero & Nelo Angelo

Both you and Nero were frazzled but that did not stop Nelo Angelo from picking you both up. Nero instinctually started clawing and cussing but did nothing to impact Nelo Angilo’s mostly armoured body. Nero was dropped down onto the large desk and before he could reorient himself and his new position, his legs were pushed open and you were shoved down on top of him. Now you and Nero were chest to chest, laying on the table, with your legs between his. Nelo Angelo made a grunting sound as his hand, thankfully not covered in armour, grabbed Nero’s semi-hard cock and pulls it out from between you two so he can rub the tip against your still-loose entrance.

“Ya, ya, I get it.” Nero grumbles. He was having a great time but this Nelo Angelo guy was so demanding. “Yo, babe, can you lift your hips real quick?” Nero asks you as he wraps one arm around you, his hand landing on your ass to give it a good few gropes, while his other drifts down between you two. When you do as asked he quickly positions himself so that when you go back down you will take him in. However instead of slowly, teasingly grinding down, Nelo Angelo places his hand on your lower back and shoves down, forcing Nero to impale you in one go. Thankfully you have been stretched beforehand, but that jolt of pleasure and lingering pain still shot through you, making your arms and legs weak. All of your weight falls down on Nero for a moment who uses his now free hand to hold your back. “Jesus christ, you okay?” he asks you despite also having been shot with sensation as you suddenly engulfed his manhood.

Nelo Angelo makes a pleased groaning sound before he grabs Nero’s leg and pulls on them, making it so both you and Nero were hanging off the table below the belt. Your body was properly bent over the table, your torso and face safeguarded from the wooden platform by Nero’s body, with your legs hanging down but not quite touching the floor. Nero was lying face up, his upper body supported by the table while his lower body only held aloft by Nelo Angelo’s grip on his legs. Nelo Steps forward a bit and, without warning, shoved his fingers into your back door to start stretching it.

With Nelo Angelo’s fingers now exploring, stroking, and scissoring open your insides, your body instinctively reacted accordingly. It was like you were his puppet that he could make twist, jerk, raise, lower, and buck with the simplest movements of his fingers. And with each movement made a domino effect to Nero, due to his position and lack of energy after the previous couple rounds, could only hold your body as it moved against and around him. Even his legs were rendered pretty useless to him as Nelo Angelo held them aloft and used them almost like leashes to hold you two in place. It was a very pleasurable break for him, allowing him to gather the energy for when it was his turn next to be on top.

==+==+==

I thought about how a bunch of these focus a lot on the setup and decided I wanted a few more that were PWP.

V & Nelo Angelo

With all the thrashing and grunts of rage Nelo Angelo had been doing when first pinned down by the familiars Shadow and Nightmare, it seemed like he would not accept the next step of the process. Yet the moment you lowered your crotch onto his lips he calmed down. It was as if your warmth and scent had pacified him to an extent. It still took some time to get him to start moving though.

“That’s it songbird, keep going.” V encouraged, giving your hands a squeeze. “Let him taste your nectar. Let your love flow into him and break the chains Mundus has over his heart and mind.” V stood before you, above Nelo Angelo’s head, holding either of your hands. You were palm-to-palm with him as he did his best to keep you steady and focused. However, it was his mind that was drifting from the task at hand. In making sure things were going as intended, V had to look down at where you and Nelo Angelo were connected. Watching the way Nelo Angelo’s lips moulded to your form, how his tongue varied from long strokes to quick flicks, it was tantalizing and stirred jealousy in the pit of his stomach. “Songbird.” V breathed, his words short and vague but his tone spoke of his desires, as did the growing in his pants. With you sitting on Nelo Angelo’s face, you were at the perfect hight.

When witnessing the extent of V’s desire, Nelo Angelo seemed to recognize the spark of excitement and confidence in you. As V rushed to push his pants down enough to free his manhood with one hand, since he refused to fully let go of you, Nelo Angelo’s mouth became more aggressive and his arms lifted and wrap around your legs so he could pull you down harder onto him. The moment your lips touched V’s sensitive skin, a jolt went through him and he let out a low groan.

“That’s it, my love, let me show you love as you do for your poor knight.” With one hand still holding yours, V’s other combed through your hair, pulling you close as a subtle attempt to make you take more of him it. This chain of pleasure continued as such with Nelo Angelo holding you in place no matter how you trembled, cried out, or came.

==+==+==

I’m losing steam and I am not even halfway done 🙃 .

Dante & Credo

“How dare you!” Credo snapped as he glared at you through the bars of solitary confinement. This barely slowed Dante down though.

“Just having some fun,” Dante said, flashing Credo a sly grin before focusing on you again. He gripped your hips a bit tighter and changed his angle so that the next time he thrust into you the slap of skin hitting skin and the squelching of liquids was lewd to an almost obnoxious level just to bother Credo more. Your upper body was bent forward, your hands gripping the cell bars to hold yourself up as Dante showed little mercy.

“Do you two have any shame?” Credo argued, yet he could not look away from the display in front of him. “You are prisoners for attacking His Holiness, this is not some broth- HEY!” Credo was cut off when you reached through the bars, slipped your hand under his uniform coat, and grabbed the belt holding his pants up. Credo grabbed your wrist to stop you, yet did not pry your hand off. You could feel his hand shaking a bit.

Dante let out an impressed whistle. “Feelin’ frisky today, hu baby? Alright, I’ll play along.” Dante, using his impressive height, reached over you and also between the cell bars. He grabs the flap of Credo’s uniform jacket that was covering his crotch and lifts it. He also used that to pull Credo closer, making Credo release your wrist so he could brace himself on the cell bars.

“What is the matter with you both? Cease this at once!” Credo threatened, yet did not truly fight back. There were ways he could break free, he had a weapon and his angelic form. He could easily fight you off enough to get free. Instead, he watched as you undid his belt and pulled down his pants enough to let his semi-hard cock free. The grip he had on the bars tightened to the point that his knuckles turned white and started to burn when your hand stroked his cock, your thumb brushing over the tip to encourage precum to come out. And when you finally took him into your warm mouth he failed to stifle a guttural groan of pleasure.

“That’s it baby.” Dante praised, smirking as if you and he had just won a battle. He let go of Credo, correctly guessing that Credo would no longer pull away now that your tongue was dragging along the underside of his shaft and returned his hands to your hips. Dante started his hip movements again with vigour, spurred on by your muffled moans, gasps, and gagging sounds. Each thrust of Dante’s hips bounced you forward, making you take Credo in deeper.

Credo’s mind was a battlefield between his alliance to The Order of the Sword and the burning pleasure he was feeling. But when he realized that he had unconsciously started bucking his hips forward into your mouth, he knew he had lost. He just prayed that no one would catch him down here like this or find it suspicious when he would return daily to check in on the prisoners.

==+==+==

Credo is honestly the hardest for me to write, so coming up with ideas for him is hard for me. Hopefully, this is okay. I wanted to play with how outgoing Dante is with sex and affection while Credo is less open, or at least that is the assumption since we never see him react to sexual things in DMC4. Maybe in the novel, there is a moment where he is faced with things of sexual nature, but I doubt it.

Vergil & Credo

When you looked down you could see your chest clear as day due to the low cut, loose neckline of the silky dress you had been gifted and ordered to be put on. If you try to adjust it though, your hand will get a sharp whip.

“Hands down.” Came Credo’s order as he used the end of his crop to push your hand down. “You are to stand straight and hold your head high. Stand your ground with pride and confidence.”

“And if you don’t, you know what will happen.” Added Vergil as he stalked around you in a circle. He was rhythmically smacking his upturned palm hard enough to make a sound that was both tantalizing and threatening. “So raise your head and eyes.” Vergil tucked the tip of his crop under your chin and used it to push your head up. “Focus on your masters. Thank us for our wonderful gift.” He said, referring to the wrap dress you were in that was held together by ribbon. It was silky and cool, a great contrast and soothing element to how heated your skin gets when being struck. But it was also weak, as Credo demonstrates by easily pushing it aside to slide his crop tip in through the part.

“If not, then we may just take it back.” Credo pressed the leathery tip against your lower abdomen, just below your underwear waistband. A clear indication of where you would next be receiving punishment.

==+==+==

I originally had this weird idea of setting this back in time when Vergil visited Fortuna and have this thing where you were dating Credo and Vergil was like a god and gifting you and Credo with the next child of the Sparda bloodline. It was weird and the timeline definitely would not match up and Credo would be Nero’s adoptive/half dad, and it was a mess. Thankfully I switched to this idea where I showcase and utilize the men’s dominating, commanding personalities.

Nero & Credo

Once the anger and adrenalin had faded from their battles and survived Sanctus Diabolica’s crazed destruction for godlike power, only fear remained in Nero and Credo: the fear of you. They knew you would be upset and hurt at the two men you love most in the world nearly killing each other and getting killed by a man with power Credo helped him obtain. And to add salt to the wound, they were both stuck in hospital beds barely able to move. They would recover in time, but for now, they were at the mercy of you. They expected tears, accusations, shouting, or, worst case scenario, a breakup. What they were not expecting was the punishment.

“Fuck, please, you're killing me.” Nero panted, using what little strength and movement ability to desperately jerk his hips up in hopes of penetrating your entrance that you so cruelly pressed and rubbed against the tip of his hard-on. However, due to not having the use of his hands so not being able to properly aim and hold steady as he pushes through your entrance, his cock slip and slides along your skin. “Let me in babe, please.” His pleas were ignored though.

“You’ve done enough, we understand our faults.” Credo tried to reason with you through gritted teeth. He had enough control to not fruitlessly thrust up as he knew you would not let his cock slip betwixt your beautiful lips. You would kiss, lick, and tease his shaft at an agonizingly slow pace until you deemed that they had sufficiently suffered. “Cease this ridiculous tantrum-” With a simple pull, the belt around the base of Credo’s dick stopping him from cuming tightened, silencing him in an instant. His back arched off the bed and the gasp he let out sounded suspiciously like a moan. The torture for him was twofold as he both hated being denied release yet also was further aroused by your harsh treatment.

“God damn it.” Nero cussed as you use your lower body to stroke his cock but did not give him the satisfaction of being pulled into your warmth. “I’m sorry babe, I’m fuckin’ sorry okay? I was stupid and rash. I shot first and asked questions later, that was wrong.” Nero finally broke down.

“Y-yes, I need to apologize.” Credo panted, his face turned away in shame at admitting his wrongdoing and defeat. “I was blinded by my faith, putting everyone in danger and hurting you. I’m sorry.”

There was a suspenseful pause, Credo and Nero’s bodies and minds still buzzing, hoping that by giving in they would be rewarded.

“H-hey, where the hell are you going?” Nero stammered as you pulled away from them.

“You can’t leave us here like this,” Credo argued as you began to walk away, only bothering to throw a blanket over each of them to cover their still sensitive manhoods.

“You can’t just blueball us like this!”

“I order you to come back… HEY!”

Their shouts and then disgruntled grumbles could be heard all through the house, a victory tune of sorts and something that will be burned into Nero and Credo’s minds from now on so they know never to do such a thing to you again.

==+==+==

I was trying a new dynamic/kink with this one. Not sure if I did it well but I’ll get better with more practice.

V & Credo

Credo’s breathing was long and deep to take in enough air despite the bindings around his bare chest, neck, and arms and his eyes glanced up at the statue of the saviour in the opera house. In his mind, he prayed for forgiveness and understanding, but when you gave the order to kneel, his heart and body did so without hesitation.

V, on the other hand, had no shame or hint of doubt. He knelt for you, the being more precious and sacred to him than any deity. The red jute rope you have used to tie up his body, the way it twisted and folded over itself in intricate patterns, how it restrained his movements, the way your hands had glided over his painted body, it was all a sinful bliss that was more pleasurable and beautiful than any work of art he has encountered before.

And then there was you, sitting atop the stage with more rope in your hands. You could wrap a piece around their heads to gag them, tie their thighs to their calves so they couldn’t stand, hell you could use the ropes to suspend them in the air if you so desired. No matter what you chose to do though, the men before you, with faces as red as the ropes that bound them and eyes hazy with lust, would do anything you asked of them. Even if you ask them to stay still as the heel of your shoe presses down on the bulge of their pants.

V lets out a long, deep moan as his eyes fully closed and his back arches. Credo grits his teeth and turns his head away, as if he could mask the pleasure he felt at submitting to you like this. His hips gave away his inner desires though as they lifted up, forcing more pressure between your foot and his prick.

These two are at your mercy, like two followers desperate for their saviour to bless them. However, unlike Sparda, your sinful gifts were actually given and are enough to drive these men wild. Even when the gift came with some pain, as it did now with you grinding your feet down, both men thanked you.

“Oh dear songbird, our mistress.” V moans, his legs twitching like an all too pleased mut while Credo leans forward to kiss your legs as thanks, his teeth occasionally nipping at your clothes as a hint that he wishes to pull them from your delicious skin. “Thank you for this gift. Please, allow us to pay back your kindness. Let us shower you in the pleasure you deserve. Let us worship you.”

==+==+==

Initially, the only idea I had was the general theme of was religious or sacrilegious since Credo is a devout follower of The Order of the Sword and V has a poetic, old-fashioned, intelligent personality. However, I struggled to build an actual scene around that aside from “fuck in religious building”. Then I started thinking about Kinbaku-bi and added some religious themes and I had it. That’s how a lot of these go, I think of a very loose concept or theme based on the personalities of the two characters and then try to create a scene from it.

Dante & Urizen

You were not privy to what Dante had been planning when he told you he had a “sweet idea”, or what his twin brother Vergil had to do with it. The twins spoke, Vergil got mad, Dante laughed, Vergil huffed and gave in, then walked off “to prepare”, or so Dante had told you when he joined you on the couch again. No amount of questions or tricks gets Dante to spill the beans of his plan. He just gives you a toothy grin and tells you to “buckle up for the ride of your life”. This ride ends up being Urizen sitting on a self-made throne in an abandoned building halfway to being taken over by the forest it resides in.

“Come on baby, don’t be scared, he won’t hurt ya. And he already knows the safe words so don’t worry, just have as much fun as you can. He owes me quite a few so have your fill.” Dante shoots you a wink. Urizen lets out a groan that is more like a growl and he rolls his many eyes.

To help you relax and get into the mood, Dante starts by touching and stripping you while Urizen just observes. And when you still instinctually tense up when one of Urizen’s tentacles approaches you, the self-proclaimed demon king switches tracks.

“Woah there, getting impatient Mr. High and Mighty?” Dante teased, a rare blush painting his cheeks as a slick tentacle slid between his lower set of cheeks.

“The Ms. seems frightened of my touch. Once she sees the pleasure it can bring she will relax and enjoy herself more.” Urizen stated with as much enthusiasm as a man giving a presentation at work. But then it takes on a snide, superior tone. “Is that not what you want Dante?” It was a direct jab meant to strongarm Dante into giving in despite Urizen doing this to pay back a debt. A small way for the demon king to assert power.

“You’re not wrong,” Dante admitted, trying to keep up a confident, unbothered demeanour. “Hope you enjoy the show baby girl.”

Dante’s focus stuck to you, but between his kisses and remarks were gasps, hisses, and moans as the tentacles explored. You could feel his body jolt when Urizen first shot him with a spray of lubricant. Then, as he finally entered you, you could see the strain in his expression and how his body tensed as a tentacle also entered him. His thrusts were uneven, but not out of choice. Sometimes Urizen thrust in time with Dante, and other times he would suddenly slam into Dante, forcing him forward and into you. And when Urizen also entered your backend, he pretty much took control of the pace.

“You both fell in line so quickly.” Urizen comments as he looks down at you and Dante, both lying on your sides, surrounded by tentacles that wrap, slither, vibrate, and stroke your naked bodies in the nest of pleasure. Dante, lost in lust due to still fucking you while also being fucked, couldn’t stay still. His lips wouldn’t leave yours, giving you barely the space to breathe with his tongue, partially triggered to be longer, ravaged you. One of his hands was holding the back of your neck in a possessive gesture while his other arm was holding one of your legs up, making it easier for both him and Urizen to thrust into you. “You creatures are slaves to lust.”

==+==+==

This one I started with a vague idea of Dante starting the threesome for fun and also being fucked by tentacles. I began writing and was like “I’ll figure it out as I go”. I then proceeded to create a story progression as wiggling as one of Urizen’s tentacles that has not the best structure. Oh well, hope you like the mental images.

Vergil & Urizen

As your consciousness drifts back to the waking world, you are met with the chatter of many creatures speaking in their own ways yet are somehow communicating. None were speaking to you, not out of malice or disrespect though. They simply did not realize their queen was awake. They were addressing their rulers, one of which you were snuggled up against while he was snug inside you.

“And have you delivered the message to the Fire Hell that their days are numbered if they don’t comply?” Asked Vergil to whatever demon servant was present. His warm breath glided over your hair when he spoke, tickling the nerves ever so slightly. Both his arms were down on the armrests of his thrown as if you being in his lap came as naturally to him as wearing clothes.

To be fair, you spent more time in one of their laps than in your seat. You had your own place, but your husbands both preferred you use them as your thrown, draped in sheer cloth and jewels like a living sculpture that is to be witnessed, marveled, and longed for by all, but not approached as only Urizen and Vergil has the right to touch you.

When your brain processed the limp cock still buried inside of you, your insides unconsciously clench down. The sensation of your inner walls constricting around him made Vergil groan, one hand clenching his armrest while the other snapped up to grasp your already stained and torn clothes.

“Our queen has awakened.” Came Urizen’s gravelly voice, the mere tone being enough to silence everyone else in the room. His head turns towards you, as do most of his eyes. A few keep watching to make sure no one dares approach you. “Leave us.” He makes a sweeping arm motion over the crowd of people who all tense up, sensing the threat in his command. Despite the impending pain if they disregard his orders, all eyes turn to you for the final decision. It isn’t until you give the okay that all your underlings scatter. Within the minute everyone but you and your pair of kings had left. Now alone, Urizen’s stance, tone, and movements became more relaxed and softer. He reached a hand out toward you slowly so as not to startle you and ran his pointed fingers through your hair, smoothing it down and giving a pleasant scratch. He leaned on one arm of his thrown, towering over you and Vergil, though Vergil was not intimidated by him at all. “How are you? Not too overworked I hope.”

“Definitely still tight enough.” Vergil jumps in, his lips twisted up into an all too pleased grin.

“Being shaped to fit your lovers perfectly is quite the feat.” Urizen compliments as his hand drags down your back. One finger curled under you to poke at where Vergil and you were still connected.

“There is still a lack of energy and strength though.” Vergil becomes a bit more serious as he tucks a finger under your chin and lifts your head, only for it to flop down as soon as he lets go. “I little pick-me-up is needed.”

Urizen gives a nod then pulls his hand away. With his hand as a baton, he controls the roots and branches of the Qliphoth tree, which is what makes up your home and most of the furniture in it. From the ceiling descends a branch with but one fruit on it. One is more than enough for you though. In fact you aren’t even fed the whole thing since it is so hard to grow one. Instead, Urizen uses his claw-like fingers to penetrate the apple-like fruit and cut out a chunk. As soon as the skin is broken, a small fountain of liquid, the colour and power of human blood but with the ripe taste, somewhat like both a sweet apple and a peach, comes pouring out. Urizen and Vergil both make sure said liquid splashes onto you.

“Eat my queen,” Urizen says not as an order, but a request, which is a privilege only you are gifted. “you need your strength for the next round.”

Vergil gently lifts your head towards the fruit piece, leaving you to open your mouth and chew at your own pace. Once you start regaining some energy, with you now being able to sit up on your own, Vergil and Urizen’s attentions shift. Vergil leans in and starts licking up the rivets of juice flowing down from your lips and where you had been sprayed. Urizen, using his powers to lift Vergil’s thrown so you could all be at eye level, does the same. Vergil uses his smaller form to clean harder-to-reach places like your neck, face, and ears. Urizen, on the other hand, takes long sweeping licks along your back, chest, stomach, and lower. With the mixture of intimacy and the power gained from the fruit of the Qliphoth tree, your energy not only refilled but began to overflow. All this energy would be needed though as you could feel Vergil’s cock growing stiff inside of you and Urizen’s tongue starting to lap at your sensitive spots despite having already cleaned off the juice from there.

It was going to be another long day for you all.

==+==+==

I wanted to go for a regal, supervillain overlord kind of thing without being too gross about it. Hopefully, that came across. Also, though I can’t actually decide how the reader feels or reacts to things or that would take people out of it, I also tried to at least imply that the reader here willingly chose to be the Queen for these two Kings, not a kidnapping victim or forced marriage or anything like that. I hope that also got across without taking anyone out of the story too much.

Nero & Urizen

Nero had charged in with good intentions, but his blind rage at seeing you at the mercy of the self-proclaimed Demon King had made his fighting sloppy and left him open. Within minutes Nero was in the same predicament as you, held aloft by tentacles that slithered under his clothes. He thrashed and cursed, but he was outmatched in strength and limbs as he was pulled closer to Urizen sat atop his thrown.

Urizen, for his part, had been oddly interested in you, watching you squirm, pant, and moan as his tentacles explored your body. He could feel you through the tentacles, your warmth, your softness, even your scent. It was captivating to him, stirring something within him other than a lust for power that he had never felt in his short existence. When Nero had entered the equation, he saw such a pitiful creature as nothing but a nuisance and distraction, so pined him down just to stop him. The tentacles did the same exploration to Nero purely because Urizen was so focused on feeling and revealing your body that the other tentacles, with no real orders, did the same to their captives. Nero was of no interest to him, that is until you moaned out Nero’s name. Your body, though already sensitive to the tentacles, reacted differently when you bore witness to Nero’s begrudging pleasure.

“You mean something to this woman,” Urizen said, some of his eyes turning to look at Nero, his voice the usual gruff gravitas but with an underlining sense of intrigue and jealousy.

“Fuck you.” Was Nero’s response to this, his breath heavy as he tried to repress the waves of pleasure he received from the tentacles flicking at his nipples and coiling around his painfully hard cock. Urizen did not grace Nero with further words, instead turning his attention back to you and the way your pussy clenched and dripped not just from the tentacle massaging your clit but from watching Nero’s penis be stroked and his chiseled chest being revealed as a tentacle ripped the fabric of his shirt open. This rush in you… it was beautiful to Urizen. It ignited feelings and sensations in Urizen that he could not understand yet but knew that he needed more.

The tentacles brought you and Nero closer together and worked to find what ways they could touch you to heighten the desire between you two. The experimentation grew more intense and brought you closer together until the preverbal pieces fit together.

“The hell do you think you're doing jackass?” Nero asked as you were twisted into a horizontal position and your legs were pulled open. When Nero was brought closer, nestled between your legs, realization hinted Nero. “No, fuck off, what is wrong with you!?” Nero cursed, thrashed, and fought harder than before, but was ignored by Urizen who was wholly focused on how your body reacted to Nero’s body being put between your legs. The tentacle coiled around Nero’s cock pulled away but stayed close enough to aim the prick towards your core. There was no stopping what was about to happen. “I’m sorry,” Nero said in a mix of a moan and a whimper. He felt he had to, not only for what was about to happen, but also because of how excited he was for it, how much he wanted you from the moment he stepped into the room and saw you being pleasured. His jealous anger was going to be satisfied, and he hated how quickly he gave in.

==+==+==

Just like the Nero & Vergil part last time, the base idea of being forced to fuck by a giant has been in my brain for years. Now I get to use it. Thank you Nero for letting me get all these weird thoughts out of my head, lol.

V & Urizen

“It’s alright my love.” V coos affectionately as he stroked your hair and held your head to his chest. “There is no need to panic, you know I would never let anything harm you. Thrashing around like that will only make things harder on you. So just relax and let it happen.” He grabs one of your legs and gently moves it to spread your legs, giving more room for the tentacles to move, prod, and release onto your core.

“You are far too tight,” Urizen said trying to sound intimidating though it teetered on sounding like a disgruntled grumble, which was more accurate to what he was feeling. He could feel through the tentacles. It was as if his own finger was sliding betwixt your folds, spreading the lubricant both he and you were creating around, and gently pressing against your entrance, desperate to be let in. “Is this not enough slick? Do you require more?” Suddenly the tentacle pulled back and released a large spray of slickness that covered not just your core, but also splashed onto your stomach, chest, and onto V as well. At least it smelled sweet, like fruit.

“So impatient.” V chuckled as he whipped off the slick that had hit him with his long, thin fingers. “My apologies love, my other half did not inherit any of my grace or understanding of anticipation.” V lifted his fingers to your mouth, motioning for you to lick him clean. The slick also tasted of fruits and had a healing and energizing quality to it. Clearly V wanted you to keep up your energy for the long haul. As you accepted his offering, he looked up at Urizen. “Our precious darling is used to the manhood of us when we are one. This is a new experience for them and it will take a lot of gentle coaxing.” Once you finish cleaning off his fingers, V uses his hand to grab one of yours and bring it to his cock, making you wrap your fingers around the already hard shaft and start stroking. “Just take things slow my dear and focus on me.”

For a while you did, getting into a rhythmic pattern. Sadly it was harshly shattered when one of Urizen’s tentacles slammed into you, forcing itself through your now-relaxed muscles before they could clench up again. Urizen had gotten impatient, and honestly rather jealous of his other half, so took matters into his own hands. Thankfully the penetration did not hurt all that much and was more so shocking. Still, V shot Urizen a glare.

“Clearly you lack the ability to listen as well.” V held you a little closer to his chest as if he would shield you from the feeling of the tentacle twisting, sliding, and exploring your insides like a snake looking for a place to borrow.

“Silence,” Urizen spoke in defiance, a somewhat satisfied smile coming to his lips as he watched your reaction and felt your moist heat wrapped tightly around him through the tentacle. “They are fine. Besides, going so slow and delicate will never prepare her for the real test.” Urizen sat back a bit and started stroking his own cock which was the size of your whole arm.

“Alright.” V sighed, his free hand moving down to stroke your stomach soothingly. “I suppose he is right my love. I apologize for the rough treatment. Although, we did warn you when you requested to have all of Vergil, the good, the bad, the romantic, the animalistic, the rough, and the gentle.”

==+==+==

I wrote this instead of going to sleep on time for work the next day. I make good, healthy decisions.

Urizen & Nelo Angelo

The impact of Nelo Angelo being thrown to the ground shook the room along with your eardrums due to the thud and shout of pain from the fallen dark knight.

“Is this truly what you crave?” Urizen asked with unprecedented rage. The sight of him at his weakest is an insult as is, but to see your desire to help this insignificant weakling has set him spiralling. “You wish to waste your time saving this pathetic creature? Fine then, prove for yourself how inferior it is.” You, being held in Urizen’s hand, were shoved down onto Nelo Angelo.

Thankfully Urizen had already forcefully ripped most of Nelo Angelo’s armour off so you weren’t pressing your chest against hot demonic metal. On the other hand, Nelo Angelo had spent so long in the armour that feeling your skin on his cold, pale skin sent a jolt through him. He took in a heavy gasp that turned into a moan as the breath was released. Feeling anyone was more intimate than he had felt in a decade, but the fact that it was you was enough to get him hard.

You had been told by V, who was the one that suddenly appeared with Nelo Angelo in tow, that making love to him would bring him back to his senses. Urizen had caught you at the beginning of this process and his reaction was visceral. Still, the chance of saving Nelo Angelo was there and it wasn’t like Urizen was going to let you two go, so the process continued.

Nelo Angelo, battered, bruised, and confused, struggled to participate in the lovemaking, but at least he reciprocated. When you kissed him he kissed back. When you wrapped your arms around him as best you could, his arms would snake around you as well. And once you two have joined and your hips start rolling, Nelo Angelo moves in the same rhythm so his cock can be buried as deep inside you as possible. This, however, ends up being both your undoing.

Urizen watches as you two grow closer, more intimate, and it infuriates him further. Suddenly, just as you were about you reach your peak, Urizen’s fingers wrap around your body and rips you away from Nelo Angelo.

“Your essence will not to be wasted on scum like that.” Urizen uses his other hand to press one of his fingers against your needy hole desperate to be filled back up. One of Urizen’s fingers, though thinner than Nelo Angelo’s hardened cock, greedily took the job. He did not give you time to adjust to the change in size and shape though as his finger fucked you quickly and roughly. “You are not to waste your body on trash like that. You belong to someone superior. You belong to me.” Urizen growled.

And as you are practically dragged to the peak of ecstasy, you look down at Nelo Angelo still splayed out on the floor, his cock hard and but a sliver of recognition in his eyes that was fading without your embrace.

==+==+==

I was going for a mean, sad, angry sex kind of feeling which I think I did get across, but does that make it not sexy anymore? I’m kind of just sad now.

Nelo Angelo & Credo

Credo knew of Nelo Angelo before he appeared on the island, having been subject to Agnus’ rantings and raving, so was prepared to test his combat skills with him. But fate had a different idea. Nelo Angelo had no interest in fighting, only throwing aside any creature or thing that got in his way as he marched towards his goal, the one thing his heart and broken mind were still clinging to, you. The Order of the Sword, seeing this as an opportunity to gain more knowledge and power, used you as bait and trapped you in a room with Nelo Angelo with a wall made of glass so your interaction could be observed. The one saving grace you were given, if only to make sure you survive long enough for data to be collected, was Credo. Unbeknownst to everyone but yourself, you were now trapped in a room with your past and current loves, both feeding off of each other’s aggression and desire to dominate and win you over.

“You damned demon, you’re hurting her!” Credo said, his voice distorted from being in his angelic form, as he used his shield arm to force a wedge between you and Nelo Angelo.

The sudden intrusion caused Nelo Angelo to halt his movements and release your legs from the spread eagle he had put you in. His cock slid out of you, but with how long you have been ravaged your core did not tighten and close right away. It stayed open a bit, framed by red, raw skin from Nelo Angelo’s armour, leaving it so very empty and sore. This was something Credo could not bear to see.

Without a word, Credo replaced Nelo Angelo in front of you and between your legs like it was his right and duty to care for you. It was not aftercare he provided though. Instead, his own manhood, lengthened and hardened more than usual due to his angelic form, filled up your empty hole. Though his penis was harder than Nelo Angelo’s, the rest of him was softer. The feathers surrounding his thighs and lining either side of his crotch were silky and pillowy, providing relief like a cool water-soaked cloth on the forehead. The forced spread eagle Nelo Angelo had put you in was also dropped, letting your muscles relax as they were made to encircle Credo’s feather-covered waist. Credo’s movements were slow and precise, trained to please you in the perfect way without overexerting you. It was a break from Nelo Angelo’s rougher treatment, though it did not last forever.

Soon Nelo Angelo became impatient. He grabbed you by the shoulders and pulled you to lay down on your back over the table in the room, your head hanging upside-down off it. You get a glimpse of the glass wall where The Order of the Sword’s scientists are watching the scene unfold before Nelo Angelo blocks your view, his arousal hanging in front of your mouth waiting to be let in.

As you are about to be taken at both ends, an uncertainty hangs in the air. How long will this testing go on for?

==+==+==

I had an initial idea but then I thought about a fanfiction I read on Tumblr where the reader and Leon Kennedy, infected with the Las Plagas, are put in a room to be studied as Leon ravages reader and tries to impregnate her. I forgot who wrote it and I can’t find it! :< But if I find it again or if someone recognizes it and can send it to me, I will link it here. I really liked that story and decided that that kind of scenario would fit best with Credo and Nelo Angelo so I switched it. I’ll use the original idea for a different pair.

Credo & Urizen

Urizen is sitting on his throne. In front of him stood Credo in his angelic form. Credo’s legs shook and his hands flexed, itching to pounce on you. You were kneeling on the floor panting and shaking, drenched in the slick from Urizen’s tentacles. The substance soaked into the shreds that were once your clothes, making them somewhat transparent and cling to your dirty skin, but thankfully smelt pleasant to you. To Credo though, along with your own scent, was a pheromone, an intense aphrodisiac that was infecting his mind and body, demanding him to step closer.

“Go my general,” Urizen urges, though with his natural voice, it sounds like an order. “Look into the eyes of the person whom you have desired for so long but contradictory human beliefs told you you could not have and unleash onto them all of the lust they have caused in you.” This was a gift, or so Urizen claimed. In reality, this was more of a bribe. Urizen had heard tales of how exceptional Credo, captain of the Holly Knights, was and strived to recruit him to his army. It had been a challenge though as Credo had clung to the idea that he was a righteous angel. What luck though that the person that Urizen had already intended to take as his own also happened to be Credo’s weakness. “Let the desire flow through you and revel in the power you now hold.”

Credo hesitated, transfixed by the way the tentacles continued to pour the liquid onto you, a waterfall of slickness that made it impossible for your hair to stay in one place but kept you on the floor in a puddle so slippery that you had no friction to stand or crawl. Urizen guides him forward using his tendrils all while continuing to encourage him to make use of this opportunity, to assert his dominance, and to relieve himself of the bottled-up desire. You look up at him, perhaps pleading for more or glaring up at him, calling him the monster you always thought he was. No matter what, all three of you… you know that no matter what you do or say, Urizen will not be letting you leave, even after you pass out from pleasure.

When Credo does finally give in, stepping forward and enacting the countless scenarios he has imagined of you while living in Fortuna, Urizen will praise him, feeling satisfied in, as he believes, how this moment has grown the bond between you all and brought you closer to accepting your role as the future queen of the demons and humans.

==+==+==

Hmm… I’m not sure about this one. I like it, but it also seems messy…

Urizen & Sparda

You have been hand-chosen by the rulers of both the underworld and the human world to aid them in a mission of the utmost importance. You were found by Lord Sparda, the man who took down the old king of the underworld, Mundus. Sparda took you to Urizen, the demon that started conquering the human world and who Sparda made truths with rather than an enemy. Both these creatures had agreed that you were perfect to carry out this critical mission. You are to be the vessel for which their heirs would be born.

“To think,” Came Urizen’s thunderous, rumbling voice as he gazed down at you cradled in his tentacles. His breath was still heavy, though, for pride's sake, he tried to hide how heart-pounding the moment had been for him. “that seeing you like this, swollen with my seed, would be so satisfying and beautiful.” He reached out a finger and gently caressed your abdomen which was now enlarged due to the egg nestled inside you.

“Well done my friend,” Sparda said both as a compliment and to gain Urizen’s attention. “Now it is my turn.” There was a bit of impatience in his tone. Urizen hesitated for a moment, reluctant to let you go so soon after, but he had made a deal. Plus, Sparda’s hunger was starting to transcend into dominating anger. You were lowered down into Sparda’s awaiting arms who cradled you to his chest in the bridal position. “There you are, my dear.” Sparda’s voice was affectionate and still held a regal edge to it. He carried you towards a platform made of soft leaves and flowers which Sparda had requested be made for this event. “You have been doing so well for us, accepting Urizen’s seed. And now…” You are laid down on the plush, natural bed and Sparda quickly slots himself between your legs. He had a fire in his eyes and his body was tense with anticipation as he reached down and started undoing his belt. “It is time for me to fertilize you.”

==+==+==

Surprisingly enough, coming up with the base idea for this was not that hard, it popped into my head really fast. What I struggled with was deciding who would give you the egg and who would fertilize it since Sparda is a demon with bug features, which lays eggs for the most part. However, he also has other animal parts like hooves and an upside-down fish mouth. Urizen has tree features. Trees do make goopy sticky things, but they reproduce with seeds, which is another form of egg. Thankfully my editor helped me choose and when I apologized for asking them weird questions about my weird stories they said “Not weird, imaginative.”. Ahhh, I love them so much!

Sparda & Credo

All you could see right now was Credo staring at you as you did both the most worshipful and sinful thing imaginable. You were a lady of the church and you had been left to start a task while Credo momentarily stepped out to grab something. However, with the express knowledge that he would soon be returning, your devotion to Sparda was being rewarded by the saviour himself. And Credo was able to fully bear witness to this giving of the gift as Sparda had a hold on your thighs, holding them open and using them as leverage to lift and lower you onto his cock. A cock, which needs to be said, was buried in your ass. Sparda’s pace was rather fast, but when he noticed Credo, he slowed to address the captain.

“Come, kneel before me,” Sparda ordered. His lips curled up into a pleased smile when Credo did as told with little hesitation. “Good. Now aid me in my mission.” Sparda pulls open your legs a bit wider to draw Credo’s attention to your currently dripping cunt which glistened with unused slick. “Let go of formalities, put aside inhibition, and embrace the natural desire within you.”

“Yes, my lord.”

The task was left purposely vague, allowing Credo to proceed as he wished. And what he wished was to taste the sweet nectar unjustly being neglected. Credo moved forward, keeping his hands on his thighs to keep his posture more polite and structured, and brought his face closer to your core. “Thank you for this gift,” he breathed just before his tongue stretched out so the tip could drag along your skin. From your lips to your inner thighs, and even down to your perineum. It was as if he was teasing himself, holding back to make the final dive between your folds all the sweeter.

“Look, my dearest,” Sparda said, his soft tone making it an encouragement rather than an order. Though his solid thrusts up into you muddled your perception of the intensity. He pressed his head up against the side of yours, nuzzling you in an affectionate, almost animalistic way. “See how he adores you. Feel what it is like to be worshiped, as you deserve.”

==+==+==

I am quickly realizing that I keep putting Credo in a similar submissive position of doing as ordered. It fits his character since he followed The Order of the Sword and Sanctus way past where a reasonable person would. And for Sparda, he does not really have a set-in-stone personality, so I just keep messing with it, lol.

Nelo Angelo & Sparda

You are surrounded by lush, silky fabrics and cushions. Your body is sunk into the bed the perfect amount and the countless pillows cushioning and circling your head is like a nest of comfort and luxury. The room is quiet, the gentle light of the morning casting through the windows but not directly on you. The distant, gentle sound of the fountain outside and birds singing can barely be heard along with the soft breaths and mouth sounds of the men showering you with affection. Nelo Angelo, free from his armour so you can see his pale skin and striking blue veins, is to your right pressing featherlight kisses along your chest while one of his hands caresses the opposite side of your chest and your side. His eyes stay closed for the most part as he focuses on bringing you soft, calm pleasure. They rarely flutter open so you can see his red orbs. Sparda lay between your legs peppering kisses along them, paying special attention to your inner thighs. His eyes remain focused on you, watching the way your body flexes and twitches in response to their combined touch and gauging your emotions to make sure you are enjoying yourself and changing tactics if you aren’t.

Everything is so soft, gentle, quiet, and smooth… it is almost enough to make you forget that you had been plucked from your normal life and locked up in the tower of the rulers of the underworld’s castle like a princess from a fairytale.

“Don’t be afraid my dear,” Sparda whispers as his kisses draw closer and closer to your sex. “Let us wash away all your concerns, fears, and responsibilities.”

Nelo Angelo shifts closer, laying lengthwise beside you so you can feel most of his body and how much bigger he is than you.

“We can do everything for you and give you anything you desire. We can drown you in luxury and passion, let you be free from any work and just enjoy the pleasures of life. All you have to do is agree to be our queen.”

==+==+==

I also wrote this one while slowly falling asleep. I had a good nap though. This is based off of this vague memory I have which I am 60% sure I imagined of the protagonist of a female-oriented show getting kidnapped by a bad guy that loved them. They chained her to the bed and tried to convince her to join him, but no NSFW stuff happened. My head tells me it was from Sailor Moon but my head also says I made that shit up. IDK, maybe someone else remembers it too.

Kat & Reboot Dante

“Are you sure about this?” Kat asked as she moved above Dante’s head. You were already impaled on his cock so Kat was the only one not yet in place.

“Fuck ya.” Dante practically panted as he looked up at Kat’s glistening cunt like a hungry dog waiting for its next meal. “Come on Kat, put all your weight on me, you know I can take it. I wanna drown in you.” One of his hands left your rolling hips to grab the space between Kat’s leg and torso, then pulled on her to encourage her to take the final plunge.

With a gulp and a deep breath, Kat lowers herself and instantly jolts when Dante’s tongue darts out to meet her. With you and her facing each other, you could see how tense her body was and how she instinctually tried to jerk away from Dante’s mouth who was not going easy on her. Her face was bright red and her eyes closed, a sign that she was still embarrassed as this was her first time being intimate with you both. As if begging for comfort, she lifted her shaky arms out to you. As you embrace, her arms wrap around your neck and she pulls you in for gentle kisses, a contrast to how intense Dante was moving beneath you both. His aggressive motions made both of you bounce, you a fair bit and her a little but she matched your movements, her chest jiggled as it pressed against yours, and even through the soft mounds, you could still feel how hard and fast her heart was pumping. You were her rock while Dante was her wave.

As for Dante? Well, he was in heaven. He had two of the smokin’ hottest people he had ever seen smothering him. In this position he had the perfect concoction of being in control and submissive, and of being the center of attention and voyeuristic viewing, or listening in his case. Kat’s and your primary pleasure was coming from him, his cock and tongue. The way you and Kat bounced and grinded against him gave him that masculine pride based in sexual prowess. He could manipulate you both, making you both stutter in your movements and let out sharp gasps and moans by suddenly slamming up into you or taking Kat’s clit between his lips and sucking harshly. At the same time, he is under you both, making his movements limited. He could move his mouth and buck his hips a bit, but if you two really wanted to you could put all your weight on him, stopping his movements, or pull away from him, leaving him needy and cold. You both were largely relying on him, yet he knew you two were satisfying each other. If he slowed his movements he could listen to the sloppy sounds of lips and tongues moving against each other desperately. He could feel from where your weight lay who was leaning in. Though it was a little frustrating that he did not actually get to see Kat groping your chest or you sucking on her tit. But he was stuck like this, unable to escape this pleasure. That was more of a blessing than a curse though, especially when you and Kat come undone on top of him for the first time, soaking his body and mind completely.

==+==+==

I did not mean to write so introspectively but here you go.

Kat & Reboot Vergil

“Don’t look so worried Kat.” Vergil said gently, reaching out his right hand to stroke her head, ending with holding the back of her head to keep her still as he leans into to kiss her temple. “I’ll take care of you.” He promises, kissing her cheek and then her lips all while his left arm was wrapped around your waist, holding you against his side. Seeing as you were all naked, every touch was skin-to-skin. And with his head turned towards Kat you had free reign to kiss and touch him if you wished. “I’ll take care of both of you.” He breathed as his lips parted from hers. He then turned to you, giving you the same treatment. “Lay down on the bed for me in whatever position is comfortable for you both.”

You and Kat climb up onto the bed and she naturally gravitates towards you, unintentionally forcing you to lay on your back so she could rest her head on your shoulder. Your warmth, your heartbeat, the way you stroked her head and shoulders, it was all comforting to her in this new experience. It was a new experience for all of you, but Vergil acted confident, like he had done this countless times before. In reality, he got off on being in control. You and Kat were at his mercy, lying down and looking up at him expectantly.

“Are you sure this is what we should do?” With each of Kat’s words, because she was pressed against you so snuggly, you could feel her breath fan over your skin. “Shouldn’t we do something?” Kat was still not used to being taken care of, even if you have all been in this relationship for a while now. It’s sadly just not the kind of life she has been subject to. This though… this was more.

“Yes, I’m sure.” Vergil verified with a soft chuckle. “Just relax and enjoy yourselves. You both know the safe words.” And so, Vergil began, gently guiding your and Kat’s legs apart. He takes the time to retrieve the bottle of lube from the side table and coat his fingers so as not to cause either of you pain. Then he gently and lovingly started to open you both up, scissoring your respective holes with either hand. He watched your body language carefully to be sure you both were enjoying his touch, even using the extra mental focus to move his hand differently to satisfy you both.

Kat was very vocal, moaning, mewling, sighing, and squealing as her body twisted and twitched in reaction to Vergil’s menstruations. Suddenly her noises stopped and she shifted. She lifted onto her arms and turned to look down at you. Her face was red in embarrassment but her eyes shone with love and longing.

“Can I… kiss you?”

==+==+==

A lot of these stories are rough and intense, but for this one I wanted it to be gentle and sweet. Kat has been through some shit, a real cinnamonroll, and I just want her to be happy and treated nicely.

#devil may cry imagine #devil may cry x reader #v x reader #nero x reader #dante x reader #vergil x reader #devil may cry #reboot vergil x reader #sparda x reader #reboot dante x reader #urizen x reader #nelo angelo x reader #credo x reader #kat x reader #DmC #threes0me

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danisbrainrot · 6 months ago

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omg actress reader x nat? plssss

natalie scatorccio x reader

tw: slight NSFW? they're filming a sex scene but it's not explicit

actually I love this idea! I might start doing a whole yj! actress au. when they're in character everything will be in bold!

pacing your trailer, you nervously bit at your nails; waiting for one of the assistants to come get you was a nightmare. looking up at the clock, you took a deep breath when you saw the time—they should be here any minute now.

a firm knock on the door confirmed your suspicions, "we're ready for you," some called out, causing you to wrap the robe around you tighter. you opened the door slightly and smiled politely at the assistant, following them on set.

there was your costar, natalie scatorccio, waiting for you dressed similarly. she smirked at the sight of you, who was anxiously waiting for the director to instruct how they wanted you in the scene. it was the first sex scene of the movie, where you and her character who'd hated each other the entire movie let their passion take over. you knew it was going to be rough, but your intimacy coordinator had promised she'd be there for you every step of the way.

"natalie can you press y/n against the wall," the director asks, standing behind the camera to see whether the shot would work. you move slowly to where he was pointing, before natalie presses her chest against yours. she winks teasingly, noticing your racing nerves and trying to quell them. you blush, trying to look away. "now, y/n, place your left leg around her waist. natalie can you hold her up?" the intimacy coordinator shoots you a thumbs up and smiles reassuringly.

natalie hoists your legs up, supporting your hamstring. "come here often?" she jokes, prompting you to burst into laughter; her head falls back, as she joins in.

"okay, it works. resume starting positions," the director calls out, covering one ear with his headphones. "in three, two, one. rolling," the clacking sound made the two of you pause, swiftly getting into character.

natalie's eyes softened, turning into her infamous bedroom eyes all her characters shared. you felt your heart race, as you almost forgot to act. "who do you think you are? you think you can kick a couple of balls and suddenly you run the world?" natalie growled, unknowingly pressing against your core with her thigh.

trying hard to hide how flustered you were, you tip your head up smugly, hoping no one realised you were scrambling to remember your lines, "just accept it, you aren't the player you used to be. I won that position fair and square," you reply slyly, getting ready to move.

suddenly, natalie presses you up against the wall. "you have to prove to me how fit you are first," she whispers seductively. you try to keep a stoic face, but feel your resolve beginning to collapse—you were more similar to your character than you realised. she presses her lips against yours, grabbing your face gently and rubbing the back of your thighs. getting the hint, you wrap one of your legs around her waist and pull her in closer.

"cut!" the director yells, causing the two of you to swiftly pull away. by this point you're as red as a tomato, and natalie can't help but smile at your reaction.

the intimacy coordinator quickly checks up on both of you, making sure that you and natalie were comfortable. you nod, although your insides churned with anxiety. natalie, seemingly noticing it, shook her head. "I think we need to take a breather," she suggests, shooting the coordinator a grateful smile when she nodded in understanding.

leading you outside, where the cool breeze calmed your nerves, placed a soothing hand on the small of your back. "are you alright? I get it, it's pretty full on," she asks.

you shake your head, "I've never. . . done a sex scene before, I just feel so vulnerable in front of so many people," you confide.

natalie smirks, nodding in understanding. "and here I thought you were too scared to kiss me," she joked.

"no. no! I loved kissing you—i mean, you're a greater kisser. . . I just don't know how I feel about showing off my boobs to everyone in that room," you reply, a blush quickly creeping across your cheeks.

natalie held your hand comfortingly, "just pretend no one else is there. just your tits and me," she replies, causing you to giggle.

"you must be popular with the ladies," you tease, cocking an eyebrow. natalie laughed, rolling her eyes and cupping your cheek.

you go eerily silent, your eyes gazing into hers as you try to work out what she's doing. "I am, actually. wanna find out why?" she asks, a wide grin on her face; you nod softly, like a deer in headlights.

pulling you in close, natalie presses her lips against yours—it wasn't gentle, but it also wasn't as rough as she'd been when they were on set five minutes ago. it felt nice—tasted delicious too. natalie's soft lips tasted like the coconut balm she'd put on before the scene, and her breath reeked of mints. you found it sweet of her to try and get rid of her smoker breath before the shoot.

finally pulling apart, natalie grins at you, "ready to go back in? finish what we started?" you nod in a daze, letting her lead you on stage and into the bed they'd set up.

let's just say, you quickly lost your nerves for the rest of filming—instead too preoccupied with natalie's lips on yours once more.

#natalie scatorccio x reader #actress!natalie scatorccio #fanfic #actress au #natalie x reader #yellowjackets #natalie scatorccio #fluff #blurb #actress!reader #wlw #danisasks #dani's fics <3

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crystalxwitch · 2 years ago

Text

12| Second Round - W. Maximoff

Summary: basically just smut

Warnings: smut! 18+, minors DNI| top!reader, bottom!Wanda, thigh-riding, horny Wanda can't sleep anymore

Masterlist

There's a sound of shifting in the quiet room. A breathy whimper makes your ears perk up. Is she having a nightmare? You sleeplessly reach out your hand for her. Wanting to place your hand on hers, you hope to calm her down. You hate to see her like this.

Touching her upper arm, you slowly move your hand down. Another whimper escapes her mouth. Careful not to wake her up, you ever so gently follow her arm down to her hand. All the time you have your eyes closed. If you'd open them it would be harder to fall asleep again.

Shifting a bit closer, you realize that she takes up more space than usual. Her leg touches yours, probably laying on her back. Not thinking anything about it, you tuck your head closer to her hair. Feeling her muscles flex under your fingertips, you furrow your brows. Is she awake?

"I need you again."

That wakes you up instantly, the previous dream is nothing compared to the woman in front of you. You can't believe your eyes. Wanda has one hand between her spread thighs, staring at you with pleading eyes. Her fingertips move in lazy, slow circles over her clit. Your fingers stay on her arm, now laying on her wrist.

Her teeth sink into her lower lip, trying to keep her sounds at a low volume. A light shiver overtakes her body. You lean closer until your lips touch her ear.

"Are you that needy to touch yourself until you wake me up?"

Wanda stops her movements. "I- I'm sorry. You can go back to sleep…I didn't want to bother you. I ju-"

You smile, kissing her on her cheek. "Shhh, I'm just teasing you."

You pull her on top of you, your hands settling on her hips. Wanda looks down at you. Her chest heaves with shallow breaths. Goosebumps appear over her skin. You bite down on your tongue.

"Show me again. Show me how to make you feel good."

"You want me to…touch myself." She quietly whispers, a pink flush spreading over her face.

You nod. "Yes."

Wanda slowly inches her hand back down over her stomach. Spreading her thighs a bit, she open herself up. Your eyes are drawn to the spot between her legs, groaning as her fingers cup her pussy again. You give her an encouraging smile, squeezing her hips as her fingertips ghost over her clit.

You nod. "Show me."

She squeezes her eyes shut for a second. Her stomach flexes as her fingertips begin to draw small circles over her clit. Slow. Careful at first. All the time, your eyes are fixated on her pussy, not wanting to miss a single second of the show. She blushes even deeper as the sounds of her pussy travel to her ears.

"Fuck, I can hear how wet you are." You groan.

The moonlight bathes her naked skin in white light. Her nipples harden in the cool air, begging for attention. Your mouth waters at the sight. How can she be this beautiful? Her whole body shudders as you lean forward, pressing a kiss on each of her breasts.

"Pl-please, fuck me." Wanda whimpers, picking up her pace. "I need you, y/n."

You make it your mission to draw each moan and whimper out of her that wants to break free. The sound is like music to your ears. You never want it to come to a stop.

"Fuck." Her fingers dig a bit harder into your shoulders. "They feel sensitive."

You pull back to look at her. "You want me to stop?"

She lowers her hips down, pressing against your thigh with her fingers continuing to draw circles over her clit. "No…no, don't you dare stop what you're doing."

You grin. "Feels so good, doesn't it?"

She grinds a little harder down on your thigh. Rolling her hips back and forth, you help her with your hands on her hips. The redhead gasps, looking straight into your eyes as they get all hazy. Her wetness spreads over your skin, dripping down on the bed. She's climbing up the ladder to her orgasm quicker than she thought. What have you done to her? Wanda can't control her body anymore.

"Fuck, that's it."

She sinks her teeth into her already swollen lip. Little whimpers fall freely past her mouth, not caring about being quiet anymore. Her wetness spreads over your thigh, coating it in her arousal as she rubs back and forth. One of your hands sinks into the back of her hair, forcing her back to arch all prettily.

"Ride my thigh…just like that, baby."

You want to throw her onto her back right then and there. Wanda shudders, her hair faking over her shoulders as she places her hands right below your breasts.

"You look so pretty when you're whimpering." You praise her, cupping her breasts and rolling her hardened nipples between your fingers. "Such a pretty sight. All mine to observe. All mine to touch."

The movements on her clit get sloppier, not able to keep up as her mind gets all mushy. Your hand on her hips urges her to ride your thigh. Brushing her hand aside, you replace her fingers with yours. She violently twitches as your fingers find her clit. Falling forward against your chest, she buries her face in your shoulder. Small curses fall past her mouth.

"You're doing so good, Wanda." You move her on her back, needing to fuck her properly. "Hold it in for me. Don't come just yet."

She moans your name. Over and over again.

You cup her face. She shakes underneath you, staring up at you with soft eyes. Every rational thought is long forgotten. Her brain doesn't function as it should. You're the only person in her mind.

"Yeah…scream my name." You smile from ear to ear, pressing kisses over her chest. "Let me hear you."

Teary eyes stare up into yours. Her mouth hangs open in an o shape. She throws her head back as you enter her with two fingers. Her legs pull you closer, needing to feel your skin against hers. She's sensitive from your earlier activities. Sore. But she can't help it. Something in her screams for your touch. The moment she fell asleep she dreamed about being fucked by you again. It's maddening.

"M- More…please, fuck me harder." Wanda moans, gasping and panting for air.

You turn her on her stomach, pulling her hips up to have more room. Her face falls into the cushion, not able to move a muscle anymore. She groans as your lips leave bruising kisses over her back. The marks on her front are not enough. You want to paint her whole body in your kisses. Mark her so the world knows she's mine. Even just for tonight. Hopefully, forever.

"Take it like a good girl." You breathe against her shoulder, fucking your fingers deeper into her while your other hand sneaks underneath her stomach. "So pretty…such a pretty girl."

She clenches around your fingers. Hard. Your thumb continues to work on her clit. Your pussy hovers above the back of her thigh. All this time, your needs have been rising to an unbearable height. Watching her. Hearing her. It is enough to nearly come.

"You get so adorable when you're fucked hard, princess. Just look at you getting all whiny from getting stretched open."

You grind against her legs, needing to relieve some tension. Wanda's moans get louder. You don't know if she's getting closer or feeling your movements. Dropping your forehead against her shoulder, you curl your fingers against her sweet spot. Your clit just rubs against her skin the right way, the friction heavenly as you feel yourself getting closer as well.

"So…so close." Her voice comes out muffled, her face pressing against the pillow. "Fuck, I'm nearly there. Just a bit more."

Entering a third finger, you stretch her out. Wanda moans, louder than ever before. The light burn at first immediately transforms into sweet pleasure.

"My cute little mess…is it hard to think?" You ask, gasping in the same rhythm as her. "You're just my greedy girl, just aching to finally come."

Incoherent noises escape her mouth. She can't think anymore. The coil in her stomach snaps. Her mouth falls open, screaming your name.

You groan deeply. "Go ahead…give me what's mine."

She grabs the sheet while wildly buckling her hips against your hand. The thought of coming together brings you over the edge. She's a quivering mess underneath you. Small aftershocks twitch through her spent body. You gently turn her on her back, wiping the strands of hair out of her face with your clean hand.

You sigh, feeling the aftershocks leave your body. "I've got you."

Wanda grabs your other hand. Without asking, she sucks your fingers into her mouth. You groan at the sight. Her pretty pink lips around your three fingers nearly make you grow wet again. Her tongue swirls around the pads of your fingers. Sucking off her cum, she hums softly. The taste is sweet on her tongue.

"So pretty."

Wanda smiles all silly and bright. "Yours."

You leave soft kisses over her jawline up to her earlobe. Making your way down her neck, Wanda breathes heavily. You kiss her deeply…hoping to communicate your feelings through it. She's too exhausted to kiss you back properly, letting you guide the kiss. Leaving a little kiss on the tip of her nose, you lay down on the side.

She chuckles. "This is better than a sleeping pill."

"I'm always happy to help you out, princess." You whisper, placing your hand on her wildly pounding heart. "I'll always be there if you need me."

Wanda hums, pressing a kiss on your lips. You close your eyes. You want to burn this night into your mind. She leans back on her back, inching closer until her head rests on your chest. Drawing lazy circles over your skin, the redhead stares up at you. Her beautiful eyes never fail to knock the breath out of your lungs.

"I'm so going to regret this tomorrow." She says in a hushed tone.

"Why?"

"Because I won't feel my fucking legs."

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x reader #wanda fanfic #wanda mcu #wandamaximoff #marvel #wanda marvel #wanda maximoff #wanda smut #wanda maximoff smut

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skinnybritishdudes · 5 months ago

Text

So, holy shit. I, a person who has not written fic in a good fifteen years, suddenly decided to take a crack at this prompt from my own post the other day. It's got a bit of flirty/confident Edwin, some catwin, jealous Charles, and smooching.

I don't have AO3 yet so I'm just going to (trepidatiously) post it here and hope for the best haha don't be alarmed by my extreme vulnerability

3500 words, teen rating, no warnings.

The Case of the Tempting Mirror

“Of course it isn’t dangerous,” says Edwin. He’s standing just in front of the mirror in the corner of the office, wearing the green sweater Charles associates with the day he saved him from Hell. He’s looking back at Charles with an infuriatingly relaxed smile, head tilted slightly to one side. “He wouldn’t hurt me.”

“He’s not the only threat out there, is he?” Charles huffs. “We ran into loads of dodgy stuff in Port Townsend.”

“He’ll protect me,” Edwin says. “Honestly, you don’t have to worry. It’s only that I asked him to gather some plant samples for me and told him I’d be by to check on his progress. It’s for research, Charles, and won’t take a tick. Nothing to get so worked up about.” He takes a step backward toward the mirror.

“He’ll protect you,” repeats Charles, nodding sourly, his mouth a downturned line. “Alright. Go on, then.”

“We’ve been over this before,” says Edwin, more softly. “I can handle myself, and–”

“Right, got it,” says Charles. “I said go, didn’t I?” He flops down on the couch, looking straight ahead into the room instead of at Edwin as he leaves.

Edwin nods with a small sigh. “I will not be long,” he says, and takes another backward step before turning in one swift pivot to walk forward through the mirror and out of the office.

The moment he’s gone, Charles growls loudly, his hands becoming fists on his knees.

The fucking Cat King. Again. Couldn’t they ever be rid of that wanker? The first time Edwin said he was thinking about popping back over to see him, Charles thought he must be joking.

“He was kind to me about Niko’s death,” Edwin had said, looking down. “And I think he’s sad, you know. I find myself wondering if he’s alright.”

“If he needs a friend he’ll have to find someone other than you, mate,” Charles had said. “He’s trapped you before, and you said yourself he’s a trickster. You can’t trust him.”

Edwin had been completely sure he’d be safe, though, and he wouldn’t entertain the possibility of Charles coming with him. He’d been so stupidly stubborn about it, and they’d bickered until the argument was exhausted unless Charles was willing to escalate it into a fight. Though he was panicked and angry at the situation, he just couldn’t bring himself to do it. It felt desperate enough that he would be right to beg or threaten or shout if that’s what it took to keep Edwin safe, but he knew he couldn’t be Edwin’s best mate and also be the guy who tries to control what he does by threatening and shouting at him. If Edwin wouldn’t see reason, what could Charles do? He makes his own choices, in the end.

This was the fourth time. Each time with Edwin so irritatingly determined to go, so unmoved by Charles’ obvious visceral concern. Each time with the same tense mini-argument before Edwin swivels away from him so easily.

Charles stands up, his hands still in fists hanging at his sides. He rolls his head around as if trying to ease tension in muscles that aren’t there, then begins pacing in long strides back and forth across the office.

And Edwin says stuff like “just a tick,” and then comes back three hours later. Every minute of waiting is agony, with Charles never sure if he’ll be back in a moment or if this is just the beginning of a much longer nightmare. He never knows how long until it’s reasonable for him to be as afraid as he has been the entire time, at which agonizing moment his barely-contained panic might become appropriate.

The most nauseating thing of all - if Charles could truly be nauseated - is the sort of lightness about Edwin when he gets back from his visits with the Cat King. He returns in a good mood, the subtle smile at the corner of his lips lingering for hours. It makes Charles want to hit something, and then he worries about himself over that urge. Not rational, is it?

When Charles asks him what took so long, Edwin will say they got caught up talking. It isn’t that he was whisked away to some kind of time-warp space like the first time, he’s just hanging out with his friend the Cat King, on the other side of the world, and lost track of time because he wasn’t thinking about Charles at all. But he never gives much of an account of what they talked about that lasted hours, and Charles never feels like he actually understands what Edwin is doing over there.

It’s like he can’t even bring himself to suspect the thing he suspects. It couldn’t be, could it?

No. It couldn’t.

He growls in his chest again. Could it?

Charles stops his pacing in the middle of the room, sighs again, and turns to look at the mirror. It could be hours more of this. Likely would, in fact. Part of him wishes Crystal were here to distract him and wonders if he should go find her, but a larger part feels like it’s appropriate for him to be here and agitated. He doesn’t want to be distracted from his worries about Edwin, he wants to address them.

He takes two long steps toward the mirror, then sits on the edge of the desk facing it. As always, for a moment he wishes he could see his reflection, but even his memory of that image is foggy now. He hasn’t seen his own face in thirty-five years and can’t quite conjure the details. These days when he tries to imagine his own face, he sees Edwin’s, the only one with which he’s so intimately familiar.

The mirror ripples, just subtly, sending waves through the reflection of the bookshelf behind him. He isn’t even touching it - not yet doing the thing he knows he shouldn’t do but is thinking about anyway - but the mirror can already feel him searching for Edwin and is responding to his anguish.

Charles holds his hand up two inches from the glass surface, just suspended there for a moment like he’s stopping traffic. He can feel the energy of the mirror reaching out to him, and though he knows he really, really shouldn’t do this in the end he barely hesitates before letting his palm touch the turbulent surface. It clears almost immediately, showing Charles a dimly-lit bedroom he’s never seen before. The space is lit by lanterns and a tacky neon sign, shabby but with a large, round, satin-sheeted bed in the middle. Edwin is sitting at the head of the bed, cross-legged, his posture as sharp as ever but looking relaxed and at ease. The Cat King lays curled around him on the mattress, his head at Edwin’s left hand, his knees tucked up on the other side where Edwin’s right hand rests on his ankle.

Charles watches as Edwin gazes down at the Cat King, his left hand moving to bury itself in the cat’s loose curls. They both smile, the Cat King slowly closes his eyes, and Charles feels like he’s choking.

~*~*~

“You did very well,” Edwin murmurs, running his hand through the King’s hair slowly a few times before settling in to gently rub and scratch behind his ears. The cat’s purring vibrates the bed, the sound filling the room as he moves his head into Edwin’s touch, his body squirming against his legs.

“Thank you,” sighs the Cat King. “Right now I can barely remember all the traipsing through the filthy woods I had to do to complete your little scavenger hunt so I guess it must have been worth it.” He rolls over just a little, enough to expose a wide strip of belly through the undone front of his velvet robe.

“Your help is much appreciated,” says Edwin, his right hand moving up to rub the back of his knuckles lightly, gently across the Cat King’s presented belly. “And I’m happy to be able to give you something in return.” He turns his hand over to pet more firmly with his palm, adding some gentle scratches.

The Cat King sighs contentedly, arching his back a little against Edwin’s touch, then frowns. “You could just come and see me, you know,” he says. “Without making me do your little errands.” He flips over onto his side in one swift motion, propping his head up on his hand while Edwins’ fall away. The ghost quickly brings his hands back, clasping them in his lap.

“I thought you liked making me happy,” Edwin says, teasing and earnest at the same time. “That is what you told me, is it not?”

It was rather lovely, actually, the first time Edwin had come back to see the Cat King. First, he was oddly touched to find the King had had mirrors installed all throughout his warehouse in hopes Edwin would come through one of them. But the way he smiled when he saw Edwin had radiated such genuine affection, it caught him off guard. There had always been games between them before, tension and fear and deceit. But when he stepped through the mirror this time, not even fully able to account for why he was doing it but feeling compelled, the strange cat-man smiled at him with the unguarded elation of a long lost friend. Edwin couldn't help but feel an unexpected tenderness toward him.

And then the cat had been so eager to please him. They had spent most of that first visit with Edwin perched on the pallet throne while the Cat King sat below him, rubbing against his leg while they talked. The purring was actually remarkably soothing and satisfying, and Edwin found he enjoyed it very much. Something else he found satisfying was the feeling of the Cat King being at his command; of having him bound the way he had once bound Edwin to this town. So he took advantage of it, to both their satisfaction.

“Yes,” says the Cat King with another sigh. “I did say that. And I meant it, dumbass that I am.” He pouts.

“The knowledge you gather for me is useful,” Edwin says. “And don’t I always give you the reward I promise?”

The Cat King makes a hmphing noise in his throat. “I do like the petting,” he says. “But it also sort of makes it seem like you wouldn’t come and see me if I weren’t useful.” He pushes himself up and in one graceful motion is sitting knees-to-knees with Edwin on the bed.

“You could refuse the tasks, you know,” says Edwin. “I’m not forcing your will in any way, unlike what you did to me.” His words have an edge, but there’s still a smile at one corner of his mouth.

“You’re manipulating me with your adorableness and it’s humiliating,” says the Cat King. “It is like a fucking magic trick.” His frown softens. “I mean, look at your eyes. How am I supposed to live?” He leans forward, gazing into them sadly.

Edwin quirks his head to one side. “My eyes?” he says.

“They’re, like, unfairly gorgeous. You didn’t know that?”

“Actually, I–” Edwin fumbles. “As a ghost, I can’t see my reflection or be photographed so I haven’t seen myself in a very long time. I barely remember my own features.” When he tries, he sees Charles’ instead. That rich, warm, inviting brown, so full of kindness and compassion.

“That’s tragic,” says the Cat King in a breath, laying one hand on either side of Edwin’s face. “They are deep, deep, magical green. And so soft and beautiful. You deserve to know.”

Edwin looks down, embarrassed. He feels fluttery, too, though. Light and jittery. He flicks his eyes back up to look at the Cat King.

“Are you ever going to let me kiss you?” the cat asks softly, hovering close enough to Edwin’s face to deliver if given the go-ahead.

Edwin grimaces, and the Cat King groans, pulling back. “Are you kidding? You are the worst!” He throws his hands up. “Aaand I love you. What a disgusting nightmare.” The Cat King grumbles, his hand moving to slash across Edwin’s lips before the ghost has a chance to react. A glittery gold mark appears on his mouth and Edwin recognizes this feeling, knows he will be forced to tell the truth to whatever the Cat King asks now. It felt like a violation before and does again, but it’s also a dizzyingly liberated feeling.

“What the fuck is going on with you?” asks the Cat King, too frustrated to formulate a more thoughtful question.

“I love Charles,” says Edwin simply, as if that’s the entire story. He supposes it is.

“I mean, duh,” says the Cat King. “Everybody knows that. But does he love you back?”

“No,” says Edwin. He doesn’t feel compelled to explain further; the truth isn’t complicated.

“Then what’s the difference if you let yourself loosen up with me?”

“I don’t know,” Edwin says. “I want to, in a way. That is, I–I believe I could because Charles truly doesn’t love me that way and I am increasingly intrigued, you know, by all these new feelings. And you are certainly not Charles but I cannot deny that you appeal to me, and I find myself wondering what would happen if I did try to let myself go with you.”

“You should let go,” says the Cat King, moving close to Edwin again. “Eternity is a long time to fucking yearn, and I can help you with that.”

Edwin moves his head without thinking, just a little and just in the right direction to indicate receptivity, and the Cat King eagerly moves an inch closer, so ready but wanting to be sure. Then Edwin exhales in a way that sounds like surrender and lets his eyes close, and the King closes the gap between them. Edwin is surprised when pushes back and lets his mouth move, firm and curious. They kiss only for a moment, and Edwin feels it: a tingle, a warmth, something more visceral than the sweet, chaste kiss he shared with Monty. The Cat King purring into Edwin’s mouth causes his whole being to feel like it’s vibrating in a way that isn’t unpleasant in the slightest, and he finds that even without a body he can still shiver.

Edwin’s eyes are half closed and dazed as they pull apart, the Cat King exultant but meaning to check that he’s still OK before going any further. As it turns out, he doesn’t have time to ask the question.

“That’s enough of that, then,” says Charles in a rough voice, twirling his cricket bat as he emerges from the mirror at the far end of the room. He advances in battle stance, feeling very sure something is going to get smashed to bits tonight and the Cat King will be lucky if it’s not his face.

“Charles–” Edwin begins, shocked, with no idea what to say next. He would blush if he could, embarrassed to have been caught like this but also surprised by the surge of emotion he’s feeling at seeing Charles this way.

Charles would not have been able to describe what he was feeling looking at Edwin in this moment, either–the sharp ache and the rage that had sent him hurtling through the mirror, the need that is swirling in his chest like fury.

“Excuse me,” says the Cat King, turning to face Charles. “You are not invited to this rendez-vous and I will absolutely fuck you up.”

“We’ll see who gets fucked up, mate,” says Charles. “Get away from him or I’ll–”

“Oh, are you under the impression he’s not enjoying my attention, Charles?” the Cat King purrs, eyes wide with mischief masquerading as innocence. “Look, he’s still got my mark on him, so he can’t lie. Edwin, didn’t you want me to kiss you?”

“Yes,” Edwin says, his voice emphatic but his face miserable. He sounds like he’s choking, and it reminds Charles painfully of that day on the stairs in Hell. “But only because I know that Charles won’t.” He gulps. “You were right, eternity is a long time and I’ve been longing more and more to experience–oh, do take this cursed thing off my mouth, please!”

The Cat King touches Edwin’s lips perfunctorily and the gold mark disappears. He then scoots away from him and stands, crossing his arms and turning away, stung.

Edwin turns to look up at Charles, standing next to the bed beside him, and opens his mouth to speak.

“Edwin, do you want me to kiss you?” asks Charles, before he can decide what to say.

“Yes,” breathes Edwin without a beat’s hesitation. “But not if you–”

While Edwin is answering, Charles is climbing onto the bed, his long limbs surrounding him in an instant. He drops the cricket bat on the mattress beside them and takes Edwin’s face in both of his hands.

“I think the fuck NOT,” says the Cat King, kicking the mattress hard with one foot and sending Charles and Edwin sprawling, almost falling off the other side of the bed. “You two will not be having your big romantic moment in my fucking bed, thank you very goddamn much. Are you fucking kidding me?” He points at Edwin. “Don’t you dare come back here, do you understand me? You take your scrawny ghosty boyfriend and your nasty teasing lying manipulating–”

Charles and Edwin scramble off the bed and move quickly toward the mirror, holding hands.

“I truly did not mean–” begins Edwin as he passes the Cat King.

“Fuck you,” the King interrupts. Edwin grimaces, his eyebrows knitting together in remorse. He gives the Cat King one last look, then follows Charles through the mirror.

“But let me know if you need anything,” says the Cat King pathetically, flopping back onto the mattress. “I love you,” he whines, and it turns into a meow as a plume of pink smoke envelopes him. He becomes a sleek black cat with green eyes, slinking slowly to the head of the bed to curl up in the warm spot where Edwin had been sitting.

~*~*~

The moment they’re back in the office, Charles turns and advances on Edwin, arms outstretched to embrace him.

Edwin takes a step back and then to the side, moving away. “Wait,” he says, one hand on his chest. “Let’s take a breath. What is happening here, Charles?”

“You said you wanted me to kiss you, didn’t you?” Charles feels a desperate kind of urgency but forces himself to slow down, and he gives Edwin a smile.

“I did, yes,” says Edwin, straightening his posture and casting his eyes to the side, trying to compose himself, too. “But I know that your feelings are not the same as mine. You don’t have to pretend for me, you know, frankly the idea of that is–” he makes a sour face.

“That’s not it,” says Charles. He takes a step closer. “I’m sorry for spying on you. That wasn’t right, I know. But I wondered–I kept wondering what you were getting up to with the Cat King for all that time.”

“Oh? And that gave you license to invade my privacy, did it?” Edwin quirks an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching.

“It didn’t,” says Charles, his smirk becoming a bashful smile. “But I’m not perfect, and it’s what I did.”

“And you didn’t like what you found me getting up to, is that it?”

“Sort of,” says Charles. “But more like, I felt like I wanted to tear the Cat King limb from limb for touching you like that.”

“A bit extreme, perhaps,” says Edwin, his face fighting desperately to crack into a grin. His exhilaration in this moment is palpable and thrumming, even without a heart to race.

“Just a feeling, innit,” says Charles. “I wouldn’t actually have done it, of course. But it made me realize some important things.” He takes another step forward and reaches out to take one of Edwin’s hands in his, pulling him closer still. “Like how much I wanted to touch you like that. And that I didn’t want anybody else to, either. And once I knew it, of course I had to tell you, didn’t I? Especially since the alternative was watching you snog that creepy prick.”

Edwin doesn’t wait any longer, moving his free hand to the back of Charles’ neck and pushing himself up to kiss him with his joyfully irrepressible smile. Charles drops Edwin’s hand and winds his arms around his waist, pulling him in tight while Edwin wraps both arms around his neck. There is no room to regret that they don’t have skin to feel with as the explosion of love and delight reverberates all throughout their beings, crackling like electricity and unfurling like endless blooming vines. Like reality itself was exhaling in relief, the world becoming the way it was always meant to be.

#dead boy detectives #charles rowland #edwin payne #cat king #dbda #catwin #payneland #dead boy detectives fic #painland

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hotwritergf · 7 months ago

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I had a rough time growing up and ive never relaxed around anyone, i was wondering if maybe i could request a little thing with eddie where theyre cuddling and hes helping the reader relax and helping reader learn to trust him, that shes safe now, that she can let go.. nothing bads going to happen..

maybe alittle bit of subspace too?

And she tells eddie that she loves him while shes all doughy eyed and relaxed ❤

Softly and slowly. Eddie Munson x female reader. Angst/fluff. Blurb.

Ty for your request, I hope this is okay. It’s a bit self indulgent but I hope it helps you feel better. My DMs are open if you ever need to speak to someone impartial<3

“You’re okay. No need to worry doll. You think anyone’s gonna hurt you? No chance. They’ll have to get through me, and do you think anyone’s gonna try and fight the freak? Nah. They’re scared of me. So you, little princess, are so safe here.” Eddie mutters, breathing his words into your ear as you lay on his chest. His hair curling over your forehead, he looks down at you with a reassuring smile. You knew you belonged to him. He never treated you like his property, but like you were the most precious crystal he’d ever found. As if you were washed up on the shore just for him to find and polish.

“I promise you. I got you.” His smile beaming from ear to ear, your heartbeat begins to slow and return to its normal pace. Something about being on Eddie’s chest became the most comforting thing for you. It’s like when a baby is born and they lay on their parents chests almost immediately after, soothing the crying to a holt. With your father absent for most of your life, the daddy issues really came to life when you met Eddie. The sort of guy you’d bring home to your parents to piss them off, I mean look at him. A metal head, a stoner, tattoos and in a band called “Corroded Coffin.” You knew your mom wouldn’t approve, she barely approved of you. Always criticising everything you did, putting you down at every given opportunity. But Eddie? He was almost paternal to you.

“They can’t hurt you anymore.” He whispers, running his hands through your hair, scratching at your scalp. His hands massaging your head melted away all of the thoughts, all of the trauma memories that came to light in the panic attack. Eddie knew your past, he wasn’t the sort of “don’t kill yourself you’re so sexy!” Or “don’t do it again.. for me?” Whilst rubbing your scarred skin kind of guy. He was patient, it took years for you to open up to him and he waited. Never pushed for information, never tried to force you to open up about your childhood. He just comforted you, held your hand through the panic attacks, cuddled you through your nightmares and sat in the therapy office waiting room for you every Thursday while you worked on yourself.

“I’m here for you.” He kisses your forehead. The act is so simple yet so intimate. He was right too. He was there for you. He sat with you for hours at skull rock when you got the news that the dad that left you when you were just seven years old had passed away. He was there for you when you were finally diagnosed with complex post traumatic stress disorder, and he wiped every single tear that fell down your cheek. But the best part was, he never expected anything in return. Eddie never tried to cash in on his emotional support to you with sexual favours. He didn’t see you as a doll that you could use when you wanted her. He saw you for who you were, a little damaged but a huge heart with so much love to give.

“Nothing bad is gonna happen to you now baby.” Eddie mumbled as he cradled you, swaying your body from side to side. You let yourself breathe, the breath came out harshly. Mustering up all of the energy you have left to lift your chin up from his tattooed chest, your head feeling a little hazy from the second hand smoke of his joint. You see him, half smiling and brushing the hair from your face behind your ears.

“I love you.” Your voice was breathy and insecure but you knew you meant your words. They didn’t come from your throat, but from the depths of your heart. You lean in, planting a gentle peck on his lips, feeling him smile against you before he agreed, “I love you too.” He’s honey-eyed and his facial expression so gooey and soft for you. Time slows as you stare at each other, so innocently in love with each other. He loves you gently, softly and carefully. You know your heart is safe with him.

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ficmashup · 1 year ago

Text

Out for Drinks

A/N: Hi again, a single person asked me to continue this and I'm an absolute sucker for anyone asking me for anything, so tada. ;) Still have no clue what I'm doing, but it's fun so who cares. I think I'll continue this a little further until the story has closure, even if it's open-ended, so yeah. Thanks to people interacting. Glad you like it. :)

Warnings: Once again, very vague SA or trauma references, some harsh language, nightmares, f!reader, I mean it's almost an OC, she just doesn't have a name really, idk what I'm doing :/ First person again.

Word Count: 3.7k

Feral Masterlist

I have mixed feelings returning to base. On one hand, it’s nice to not be looking around every corner for someone looking to shoot me. Not freezing my ass off is also refreshing. On the other hand, it means being around all the other soldiers and I realize that I’d relaxed a bit around the team. Enough that I feel my defenses going back up as I walk through base, alert and aware of all eyes that trail me. We’ve just gotten back and the others have dispersed. Hopefully to shower, like I plan to. Then I feel the weight of people’s gazes leave me right before a little shiver slides down my back. I turn around to find Price behind me, a little frown on his face as he looks around. But his expression smooths as he looks at me.

“Glad to know it wasn’t a mistake taking you on. Well done.” He reaches out and squeezes my shoulder, sending a shock of pride and pleasure through me.

I straighten up and nod. “It’s a pleasure to be with a team that lets me do my job, sir. Thank you.” There’s a small part of me that also wants to thank him for keeping me from freezing with his body heat, but I’m pretty sure I can’t mention that without blushing.

“Keep doing your job like that and you’ll leave us wondering what we ever did without you.” His hand lingers on my shoulder before dropping, his fingers skimming my arm. We begin walking towards the barracks, our pace leisurely as our boots squelch in the mud. He clears his throat slightly and my eyes snap up to his face in an instant. “Have fun with the boys tonight. If you decide to go.” He says, the corner of his mouth twitching. My brows furrow slightly. Right after we got to base, the others informed me of a post-mission ritual of going out for a drink. I hadn’t decided whether I’d go or not, despite desperately wanting to dissolve in a sweet drink.

“Will you go?” I ask as I tug my bag up my shoulder a bit.

Price nods. “I go for a drink or two. And to keep them out of trouble. Mostly.” His eyes sparkle a bit as he considers me and I get the impression he goes to watch the shit they get themselves into rather than prevent it. “Not sure whether you’d be more or less trouble.”

My lips part in surprise as I blink up at him, then I can’t help but give him a half-smile. “I do have self-control, Captain. I simply also have a low tolerance for idiocy and sometimes the only way to get people to see sense is to knock it into them. Literally.”

He chuckles and the warm sound hits me like a shot of whiskey, warming my stomach and getting me to relax just a touch more. “Well, you won’t hear me agree.” We stop in front of the barracks and it’s a pleasure to see the smile on his face, the ease in his posture. It’s been a while since I’ve just talked with somebody normally like this. Since I’ve let myself. “But you won’t hear me disagree either.” He finishes and my smile widens just a touch.

“I look forward to seeing you try to wrangle cats tonight then, sir.” I give him an easy salute before walking to my room, but my little smile lasts the whole way there.

* * *

The place they take me is an absolute shithole.

The floor is sticky as syrup, the bar chipped and scratched, and nearly every booth or barstool has stuffing coming out of the worn red leather cushions. But there’s top shelf whiskey behind the bar and that’s what they order as we file into the dump. It’s clearly a soldier’s bar and it’s busy tonight. My spine straightens as I see the amount of people shoved into the place and I make sure to pick a spot on the edge of our little group where I can see everything clearly. My gaze doesn’t leave the bartender’s hands as she pours our drinks and I don’t let the boys touch mine as I take it, my hand perched over the rim as I pull it close to me. They don’t comment, but I feel Ghost’s eyes on my hand as I cover my drink and his grip tightens on his own.

“To our Surgeon! Pray to God she doesn’t have to cut one of us open one of these days.” Soap holds up his glass and the others follow suit while I tilt mine towards them with a smile tugging on my lips.

“Don’t get shot, stabbed, or otherwise be idiots, and the likelihood of that goes down.” I remind them, feeling warm as they chuckle and I throw back my drink. My nose wrinkles at the bitter flavor as I slide the glass back to the bartender. “Mojito and a glass of water. Thanks.” She nods, giving an appreciative look to the men beside me while I shake my head slightly. When I look back to them, they’re looking at me judgement on their faces.

“A mojito, G?” Gaz starts, disappointment filling his eyes.

I lean forward in my seat, leveling them with a look. “All of you can choke on your bitter whiskey and beer, I want sugar.” Price reacts first, a barely noticeable smirk on his face as he makes a little noise that’s almost a laugh, then takes a little sip of his drink without saying a word. There’s amusement in his eyes, though.

Soap scoots towards me on his stool, clearly distraught. “It’s not just that. You disrespected a good whiskey throwing it back like that. You’ve got to savor it.”

My eyes roll. “I’m not savoring that piss-flavored swill, thanks. I appreciate the tradition and participated, but that’s all I can give you.” I respond with humor in my voice even as I watch the bartender prepare my mojito and hand me a bottled water. When she gives me my drink, I pointedly drag my lips over the sugar covered rim of my glass before taking a sip while daring the men to say something. The drink is delicious and I take a deep breath of the sweet smell edged with mint.

“Lucky you’re a good shot, G, or we’d have you thrown out on principle.” Gaz teases and I raise a brow at him as if daring him to try.

“Let G have her sweet tooth. We don’t need anyone else wearing down the stock of good whiskey in this place anyway.” Ghost, surprisingly, lets me get away with my preference before taking a sip of his drink. Soap and Gaz grumble a bit and I’m sure I’ll hear more shit about this later, but they let it go for now.

Soap rests his elbow on the bar and faces me, Gaz peeking around him. “Go on, then, lass. Tell us about yourself. Have anyone waiting for you back home?” The question is kind and genuine. Not leading.

I return the position and turn my body towards him, although my eyes are surveying the bar more often than not. “This your plan all along? Give me drinks and interrogate me?” It’s a light tease and Soap grins immediately.

“We want to get to know you.” Gaz offers and the other’s have eyes on me as well. “Despite your bad taste in drinks.” He adds in a quieter tone and I smirk. It’s only fair, I suppose. We’re a team, we’re trusting each other with everything, I can put up with some questions.

“No, nobody’s waiting for me at home. My parents died before I enlisted and I’ve been moving around ever since, so never got attached to anyone else. No partner to speak of. I get restless easily. That’s why I’m good at my job—I like the focus and having a goal to go after.” Soap blinks a little at me being so forthcoming with information, but Ghost nods. Seems he understands a little of what I’m saying. My eyes flick to Price at the other end of the bar, still nursing his drink, and his gaze is light as it rests on me. He’s listening just as much as the others. “What about you lot?” I return the question and happily sip on my drink while they tell me about themselves.

Soap and Gaz are, unsurprisingly, the most forthcoming. Gaz is more than pleased to lament his lack of partner, but proud to say that he leaves a string of broken hearts wherever he goes. It’s not too surprising. The man oozes warmth and dedication. Soap’s Scottish accent seems to get a touch deeper as he talks about his home and how he blames himself for the last loss of his favorite football team because he was on mission and couldn’t go to the game. Ghost says little about his home life. Just that he lives in London right now and there’s a little café nearby that serves a good cup of tea.

“Fuckin’ Brits.” Soap quips instantly and gets cuffed on the ear for his trouble. They descend into an argument full of sharp words and teases about who is more unbearable, Scots or Brits, and I’m so entertained that I nearly don’t register the man coming up behind me. I catch him in the reflection of the bottles behind the bar and turn around too late to send him a death glare telling him what a bad idea this is. His hand wraps around my bicep and my body is immediately stiff and my hands are clenched into fists. He’s not in uniform and he doesn’t strike me as military. Probably just some jack off that wandered in here and decided to go for one of the few women in this place. I’m in civilian clothes, jeans and a black long-sleeved shirt tucked in. Maybe not obviously military to someone who doesn’t think there are women in the military anyway. Idiot.

“What’s a pretty—"

“You have two seconds to get your hand off me before I kick you in the balls so hard that you deepthroat your own cock.” My words are sharp and there’s not an ounce of hesitation or doubt in my voice. His eyes widen and he blinks as if the words have to fight through the wall of ignorance in his head before he can understand them. Yet they must not get all the way through because he doesn’t let go and instead leans closer with a grin blooming on his face. His mouth opens and I’m already pulling my leg back for the kick when I see movement out of the corner of my eye and Price is suddenly there, putting a hand on the man’s shoulder.

“Step back.” The words are a command and the anger swirling in my gut calms a touch at the smooth authority in his tone. Of course, when a man says it, the other guy pulls his hand off me but doesn’t move away just yet.

“She yours?” He asks, looking Price over while rage boils my blood at being referenced as an object to be owned.

Price keeps close without touching me, his other arm stretched out behind me while his hand perches on the bar. “Mine to protect. Step back, son, before I let her keep her promise.” He releases the man’s shoulder with a light push to get him moving, then slides into his place and sits on the stool next to me with his back turned towards the man, effectively shutting him out. He seems flabbergasted, but eventually turns and dubiously returns to whatever corner he crawled out from.

“Sorry that I couldn’t let you take care of that yourself, G.” Price apologizes and his calm, smooth voice does wonders to soothe the anger still roiling in my chest. “It’s one thing to let you get into fights with soldiers that deserve it and should be able to handle themselves, but it’s another to let you decimate the civilian population.” His gaze holds mine, a twinkle of amusement in his eyes.

I take a deep breath to try and calm down. “Understood, Captain.”

“Just Price when we’re out like this.” He corrects and I hesitate a moment before nodding.

“Understood, Price. I wouldn’t want to get everyone kicked out, anyway.” I glance at the others who have busied themselves watching a football game on the tv, trusting their Captain to handle whatever the problem was. But I’m not foolish enough to think that they weren’t aware of every move that was just made and every word that was said. I finish my drink and set it aside in favor of my water. There’s a little satisfaction in hearing the soft click as the seal breaks and I take a small sip. “You didn’t chime in earlier when I asked about everyone’s homelife.” I offer, letting the question that isn’t a question linger so he can decide whether to answer or not.

He heaves a breath and shrugs a shoulder, accepting his glass as the bartender passes by. “Not much to say. I’ve got a flat in London and I’ll meet Ghost for tea every now and then when I’m desperate enough for company.” There’s a snort down the table from the man and Price smirks at the sound. “The job makes it hard to set down real roots, so I’ve no one waiting for me back home other than old friends that’ve survived this shitshow and are waiting for me to join them or kick the bucket.” He chuckles before taking a sip of his drink.

I consider him a moment, humming. “I hope both are far off.” It’s as close as I can get right now to admitting that I respect him. That I want him to stay on and to keep working with him. More than that, I actually like him. The others are growing on me, but there’s something a little easier with Price.

He returns my gaze and it feels nice to see his eyes soften a touch. “I can guarantee one is and with you behind the scope and holding the needle, I’m confident the other is as well.” I nod, accepting the compliment and responsibility that comes with it. We talk a little more as the night goes on and it’s clear that he’s usually the designated driver on nights like this. I offer to take over for him since I don’t want any more to drink, but he refuses, telling me he’d rather keep talking than drink more and look like an idiot like the others. He says it affectionately though, clearly not minding being the responsible one as long as he’s looking after the team.

Overall, it’s not a bad evening. The bad part comes later in the form of nightmares and sweat and waking up not remembering where I am for a moment. My hand clutches tight to my shirt over my heart, feeling it thunder in my chest as my mind comes back to me and I try to calm down. “Fucking hell.” I murmur, shaking my head and sliding out of bed. I change out of my sweaty clothes into shorts and a sports bra before wandering out into the hall.

I head to the training room and lose myself in the monotony of going at a punching bag. I passed my psych eval, I’m fit for work, but sometimes things creep up on me. It’s the nature of the things we do. Though these nightmares have nothing to do with missions I’ve been on. The dull sound of my fists hitting the punching bag echoes in the room and I eventually calm down enough to stop. I slowly unwrap my knuckles as I walk back towards my room, letting them flutter into one of the trashcans scattered around base. My steps slow as my mind whirls, then I change my course.

The mess hall won’t be open yet since dawn is still about an hour away, but Price has a coffee pot in his office. He’s offered to let the team use it as long as we only touch the pot and mugs alongside it. Time to see if that offer was genuine.

It feels a bit like an intrusion as I walk into his office without him there, but Price isn’t the kind of man to say something he doesn’t mean. I make an entire pot of coffee, knowing that he’ll be up at the crack of dawn and knowing the pot will keep it warm until then. The little sounds of the machine running and dripping dark ambrosia into the glass pot are soothing with their normalcy, especially as the nutty scent fills the room. It mixes well with the leftover smell from his signature cigars and while I don’t sit down once I have my cup, I do stay as I drink my coffee, breathing in the comforting scents.

I don’t realize how long I’ve been here until I hear boots coming down the hall. My hand freezes halfway to my mouth with my second cup of coffee. The gait is familiar and I have a brief moment of panic at feeling like I’m about to be caught doing something I shouldn’t. Instead, I take a breath and turn around to pour another cup of coffee before waiting by the door and offering it to Price as he steps in. Surprise flits through his eyes, not at finding someone here since he could probably smell the coffee from down the hall, but at finding me here.

“Thought you might’ve been Ghost. He’s the only one usually up at this time, but not usually after a night out.” He greets me and a little tingle slides down my spine at his gruff voice still rough from sleep. He takes the cup with a grateful nod while walking around his desk.

I linger by the door, still clinging to my coffee. “Woke up early today. Thanks for letting me use your coffee pot. I’ll be out in just a minute.” I tell him as he takes a sip of the coffee, shaking his head.

“You’re fine. Take your time.” He says the words easily, genuinely, and my shoulders lax before I realize how stiffly I’d been holding myself. His eyes remain on me and both of us remain standing. I’m not sure if he’s unconsciously copying me or if he’s retaining some idea of a gentleman not sitting before a woman. “How long have you been up?”

I shrug a shoulder, shifting my weight slowly from foot to foot to get rid of a bit of anxious energy. “An hour and a half? Maybe two? Needed to work out a little energy.” He hums, nodding and letting his eyes drop to his desk for a few moments. I hesitate as I think through what I’m about to say and I know he’s waiting, letting me decide without pressure. “The nightmares take me by surprise sometimes. Helps to do something physical until the memories fade.” It’s an olive branch, the words are the most vulnerable I’ve been since arrival. Nightmares aren’t abnormal around here and since Price is the only one who has read my file, I know he’ll understand what I mean.

His eyes raise to mine again and they’re gentle and nonjudgmental. “If you want to talk about it, you have my ear. If you want to sit and stay, my door is open. Sometimes the boys do the same.” It seems like such an easy offer for him to make. My fingers shift as I hold my coffee and I take a few steps closer to him, leaning my hip against one of the two chairs in front of his desk.

“And you, Captain?” I prod just a little, curious as to what he does when he has struggles.

He gives me a crooked grin. “I have good soldiers that come in and sit quietly in my office from time to time. They’re pretty good listeners.” I return his smile. It’s a trade then. Nightmare for nightmare. It’s a refreshing mindset and one that I haven’t often run into. More proof that Price is a good leader—a good man.

“Pretty fair price for a good cup of coffee.” I surprise myself by teasing and I’m rewarded by his smile widening as he takes a sip from his own cup.

“Mm. You’re welcome anytime. You make a better cup than the lot of them, anyway.” My lips press together to hide my smile at the compliment as I finish my coffee and set it aside.

“I’ll keep that in mind, sir.” I begin to drift towards the door, halting when he calls out for me.

“G.” I turn back to find him reaching into his desk and shuffling around a bit, then he walks over to me with a little box in his hands. “Sometimes it helps to remind yourself that you’re not there anymore. Find something to ground yourself afterward. Like this.” He taps the top of the box as I take it and my brows furrow at the sight of one of his cigar boxes. I open it to find it empty, but I understand what he means as the distinct scent drifts up to me. I can’t help thinking of how well I slept wrapped up in his arms, breathing in the scent of his cigars and him. My fingers quickly shut the box to keep more of the smell inside as I look up at Price with a hint of a blush in my cheeks.

“Thank you.” It’s for more than just this. It’s a thank you for being gentle with me, for being thoughtful, for doing more than a usual Captain would. His entire body seems to soften and he reaches up, lightly squeezing my shoulder with a heavy hand.

“Anytime.” He responds and it takes me a minute to pull away, his hand sliding off me as I go.

That night, I sleep holding the cigar box and breathing in the smell that’s just so…Price. I don’t have a single nightmare.

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therealcocoshady · 8 months ago

Text

Recovery - Chapter 31

Eminem x Reader Fanfiction

Summary : Dinner with Reader's Dad ends up being a nightmare.

Tags : Angst - Comfort

MARSHALL’S POV

Y/N was pacing the room and her nerves were starting to rub off on him. Out of all the people he had ever met, she was the one whose stress was most communicative. With the energy she was giving, she could probably stress out the toughest, best-trained army negotiators. When she had told him that her father wanted to meet him, Marshall hadn’t freaked out. Being a Dad to someone his girlfriend’s age, he understood the idea of parents wanting to meet their children’s significant others. Sure, he hadn’t met a girlfriend’s family in a while, but he wasn’t too scared. The perspective of Y/N’s father being about his age made things less impressive. The way he saw it, it would just be a casual dinner and, worst comes to worst, he would have to state his intentions towards the man’s daughter : make her happy and support her. Not to toot his own horn, but he could think of worse boyfriends than him for anyone’s daughter. After all, he wasn’t a deadbeat, he had a job, money and he loved Y/N unconditionally. So he wasn’t too stressed out. At least, at the beginning. Because as they got closer to the fateful dinner, Y/N was starting to lose her grip.

Stop stressing out, babe, he chuckled. It’s going to be fine. Plus, I know how to make a good impression.

Sorry, she groaned. It’s just… You meeting my Dad, you know ? I can think of a thousand things that could go wrong.

It’ll be fine, he said softly. Plus, he knows what to expect, right ? The fact that you told him you’re dating me and that he is willing to meet me has to be a good sign.

Oh, he has no idea who you are, she said.

Is that a family thing ? He chuckled. Like a collective decision not to know too much about me before meeting me ?

No, I mean… I don’t know if he knows who Eminem is, actually, she said. He hates rap and hip-hop anyway. But as far as he knows, your name is Marshall and you’re american and… that’s about it.

He opened his eyes wide. He wasn’t expecting that. Not that he was counting on his fame to woo Y/N’s dad, but he thought that the man having an idea of who he was meeting would play in his favor. At least, there wouldn’t be an element of surprise. Better yet, he could have been surprised in a good way, upon discovering that his daughter was not dating an asshole, as it was a common misconception about him.

So he doesn’t know anything about my job, my age… ? Marshall asked.

Hum… No, she said sheepishly. I wasn’t too sure how to break it to him on the phone…

Ok, he sighed. I mean, it can still go well. Is there anything I should know about him ? Other than the fact he might despise what I do for a living ?

You could still word it differently ? She suggested. And say that you’re an entrepreneur in the music industry ? I mean, you own a studio…

Sure, he nervously chuckled. What else ? How do I make a good impression ?

Well he’s already pissed off that he has to come to us for dinner, she pointed out. So we might want to have wine ready.

It’s for his own good, he said. If we’re followed by the press, I’m not sure he would enjoy having paparazzi waiting outside of his place...

I know, she said. But I think we might want to make it up to him with food and wine. And other than that… Hum… Don’t be too American, I guess ?

What the fuck does that mean ? He asked.

Look, my dad can be a bit of a snob, sometimes. Judgy, too… He thinks all American people are over the top and flashy. So maybe no chains or massive jewelry and something with a button wouldn’t hurt, I guess.

Babe, oddly enough, I didn’t bring a shirt or a suit on tour with me, he pointed out with a smile. The best I can do is a sweater.

Sweater it is, then, she said. And you should wear a belt. Like, properly. No ass on display.

Alright, he chuckled. Though you usually like my ass on display…

And no jokes, too, she said sternly.

I’m not stupid, Y/N, he said. I’m not going to joke about our sex life in front of your father.

No, I mean… He doesn’t really do jokes. At all.

Now, he was definitely more stressed out and already bored. He already expected the culture shock, knowing that Europeans are a bit different from Americans on a few aspects. Thankfully, Y/N’s dad spoke English so that was one less thing to worry about. But regardless, it was shaping out to be incredibly boring. As far as he knew, her Dad was an accountant whose hobbies were literature and opera. Not that there was anything wrong with that, but he couldn’t really relate to him.

The plan was to have dinner delivered in their penthouse suite, since going to her dad’s place or the restaurant would be too complicated. The dining room area was welcoming and, apparently, formal enough. Too much for his own liking, but apparently, the man enjoyed things with structure. Her father was about to arrive when Y/N was getting ready. She was dressed in a little navy dress that looked quite conservative. She was pretty, as usual, but he was used to her sporting a more casual look. Not to mention that she spent most of the time in his clothes anyway.

I’m sorry, you didn’t mention that your Dad was a priest, he giggled. Why the fuck are you dressed like you’re going to church ?

He’s a little formal, she said in an annoyed tone.

He’s your father, he said. Why would he care what you wear to dinner ? It’s just us in the suite, you could be wearing PJs…

I told you, Marsh, he’s a little strict, she shrugged. You know, I only started dressing casually when I came to America. Before that, I would never be caught dead wearing leggings and a hoodie.

Fine, he chuckled. Are we ready now ?

I guess, she groaned. I just want to get it over with.

He pulled her in for a kiss. He wanted to get over it too, and focus on the bigger picture : in two days, he would fly back to Detroit while she packed her things before joining him and,

after that, the fun would begin. He would actually have her by his side and get to experience life with the woman he loved. The idea was making his heart swell with joy, as well as the fact that his daughters were really happy for them. When he asked for their blessings, a couple of nights ago, they were nothing but supportive. He didn’t even need to plead his case : they could see what a breath of fresh air Y/N was for him. He had never thought about bringing a woman into his family, but he was so happy he had found her. Now that they were going to live together, he wanted nothing more than to give her the life she deserved and provide her with the safe space she needed. He knew the past few months had been trying for her, and he would be there for her as she let her mind and body recover. Caring for her had become second nature to him anyway, ever since they had met.

Y/N received a call from reception, indicating that her father was here. He could see her anxiety levels rise once again, as he tried to give her a reassuring smile. He kissed her forehead before she went downstairs to meet her Dad, before bringing him into the room. While she was gone, he inspected himself in the mirror. He was dressed in jeans and a dark blue sweater. He had even trimmed his beard for the occasion. He looked rather random. That was the kind of look he usually donned for appointments like PTA or meetings, where he needed to be taken seriously and look like an adult, instead of the man-child he definitely was, dressed in jeans and hoodies, or tee-shirts with rap album covers on them. A couple of minutes later, his girlfriend came back to the room with a man that looked nothing like her. He assumed she took after her mother, because he couldn’t have guessed she was related to this man. He was rather tall and carried himself like a military man, with a stiff posture. He looked rather serious. No, gloomy was a more appropriate word. He wasn’t really one to judge solely on vibe, but he immediately felt ill at ease. One look at the man and he could tell the father was nothing like Y/N. In spite of her usual shyness, she exuded warmth and softness. A far cry from her dad, who seemed cold and distant. As soon as they got through the door, he went to them and shook his hand.

Papa, this is Marshall, my boyfriend, Y/N said. Marsh, this is Jean, my father.

Bonjour, Marshall said as they shook hands and made eye contact, deciding to try one of the three words of french his girl had taught him.

Bonsoir, the man replied in a corrective tone.

Marshall looked at Y/N, a bit lost.

It means “good evening”, she explained. Bonjour is for the day.

Oh, right, he said. Anyway, it’s nice to meet you, sir.

Likewise, the man said in an emotionless voice.

They went to sit in the living room area where Y/N had prepared a glass of wine for her father and soda for the both of them.

I got your favorite wine, she said with a shy smile.

Are the two of you not drinking with me ? He asked.

I don’t drink, Marshall simply said.

I don’t feel like drinking, Y/N said softly.

He could tell she was uncomfortable, and he distinctly remembered her telling him that her father knew nothing about her addiction, recovery, nor her sobriety. She had always been a bit shy, but seeing how uncomfortable she was in the presence of the man who had raised her gave him red flags. Something felt off. Or at least, as a father, he would hate for his girls to be this tense around him. But then again, he understood that not everyone’s relationship with their parents was fun.

Americans usually fail to enjoy wine properly, Jean pointed out.

We actually have decent wine, you know ? Marshall said with a smile.

Only because they come from french vines, the man replied. Are you sure you don’t want to try this, Marshall ?

I’m good, he said. I don’t drink, for health reasons.

He wasn’t ashamed of being sober. Usually, it was quite the contrary : he was proud of his journey and he had come far. But when meeting your girlfriend’s dad, saying you’re recovering from addiction makes you seem like a raging drug-addict and alcoholic, which isn’t exactly the best look. Jean nodded and understanding and they sipped on their beverages as they made small talk.

So… Y/N told me downstairs that you are an entrepreneur ? The father asked, giving him his time to shine.

I am, Marshall nodded. In the music industry, actually.

I don’t know if she told you, but I am a big fan of music myself, Jean continued. What kind of business do you do ?

Well I own a recording studio and a label, Marshall explained. There are a couple of other things, but I am mainly into recording, producing and songwriting.

Have you been doing it for a long time ?

About twenty-five years.

He could see Jean’s stare intensify.

How old are you exactly, Marshall ? He asked in an inquisitive tone.

Fifty-two, Marshall replied as calmly as he could.

He knew he looked a few years younger - thanks to genetics, healthy eating, exercising as well as a good skincare regimen prescribed by his daughters - but surely, his age couldn’t be such a surprise, right ? Or at least, that’s what he thought when he saw his girlfriend’s father’s face decompose. Jean glared at his daughter who immediately looked down.

So, you’re into opera, right ? Marshall asked in an attempt to lighten the mood.

Indeed, Jean said. What kind of music do you produce ?

Mostly hip-hop, Marshall said. Though I’ve worked with artists of various horizons.

Anything I might have heard ?

Well, you might have heard some Eminem stuff, he said with a soft smile.

Y/N threw him a panicked glance. The man in front of him might hate hip-hop but he still had to be honest. Hiding from his father-in-law that he was a big recording artist was probably not the best way to go and get his approval. Life had taught him that honesty was, by far, the best way to go.

I have heard of him, Jean simply said. I cannot say I care for this type of music.

I get it, that’s not for everyone, Marshall said with a shrug.

It is that I don’t think it qualifies as proper music, the man continued. Does it even pay the rent ?

Marshall tried his best not to roll his eyes. He had heard countless times that hip-hop is not actual music and he was sick of people failing to understand the artistry behind it. However, now was not the time to argue. The question about paying the rent was also incredibly stupid, in his opinion. The man was sitting in the penthouse suite of one of the most expensive hotels in Paris. Of course, it paid the rent. He didn’t want to be an asshole who flaunted his wealth, but the judgy look on the other man’s face was almost prompting him to list his assets.

Well, it certainly bought the house, Marshall said with a forced smile.

Alright. What brings you to Europe ? Jean asked. Business ?

Yeah, Marshall said. I just finished the second part of my tour, actually.

Your tour ? You are an artist too ?

Dad, Y/N interjected. What Marshall means to say is that… He’s Eminem.

Marshall smiled. At least that was clearer now. It was the first time he had ever had to disclose who he was in such a way. Jean turned to his daughter with a confused expression and said something in french. Y/N’s eyebrows were furrowed as she replied something, visibly uncomfortable. It was incredibly frustrating for him not to understand a word of what they were saying. From what he gathered, it wasn’t a very pleasant exchange.

We should order our food, Y/N said after a while.

Her expression was one of confusion and sadness. She seemed visibly hurt by something her father had said. He hated seeing her this way, but he also didn’t want to interfere. They ordered food from the room service and kept on making awkward small talk. As the meal arrived, they settled in the dining room.

Forgive me for being so blunt, but I am rather disappointed, Jean said.

What disappoints you ? Marshall asked.

When I agreed to let Y/N study in America, I did not expect for her to end like this, he explained matter-of-factly. No one wants their daughter unemployed and making poor life decisions.

He saw Y/N duck her head down. The remark was not aimed at him, at least not directly, but it stung. It was no wonder why she didn’t mention her father too often : from the looks of it, he was an ass.

Ever since her mother’s death, I have raised her on my own and tried to instill good values in her. I certainly did not expect her to repay me by failing miserably to start a career and deciding to be some sort of potiche for a rapper.

A what ? Marshall asked with his eyebrows furrowed.

Potiche, Y/N repeated with a sad look on her face. It means “vase”. It refers to, hum… a woman who is basically a trophy wife.

Marshall’s eyes darkened. He wasn’t necessarily expecting the man’s blessing - not that he cared too much, Y/N was an adult - but having a man his age insult his own daughter was wrong on so many levels. He tried really hard not to spit in the man’s face but it was getting harder by the minute. If he hadn’t gone to anger management classes and therapy, he probably would have thrown him out already.

I mean, she just became a doctor, Marshall said tentatively. You must be kind of proud.

The degree doesn’t mean much if she doesn’t find a job, Jean pointed out sternly. I guess she’s just too lazy.

Not to contradict you, but I’ve actually seen her work on her dissertation, he said. Your daughter is really impressive. I think she deserves credit for her work.

It’s not too hard when everything’s been handed to you, the father pointed out. Do you have children, Marshall ?

I have, Marshall replied. Three girls, actually. They’re 31, 28 and 21.

So I guess you understand the disappointment I’m facing, then. No one wishes for their daughter to fail her professional life and be in a relationship with someone who could be their father.

Y/N was staring at her plate, visibly on the verge of tears. He grabbed her hand under the table and interlaced their fingers. He stared at Jean, who had a cold expression on his face. Not approving of their relationship was one thing, but what kind of father could belittle his child in such a way ?

Look, Marshall said, I understand where you’re coming from. If one of my daughters told me they were in a relationship with someone my age, I wouldn’t be too happy. In fact, I’d probably want to punch the man in the face. But I want you to know that I have good intentions when it comes to Y/N. I love her, I care about her and I want to make her happy.

And, for my career, I’m going to send out applications as soon as I move in with Marshall, Y/N said. We have it figured out.

You are not moving in with him, Jean said.

Both him and Y/N turned their heads and stared at Jean. The way he said it sounded final. As if he were talking to a little girl. However, she was a grown woman, an adult and she didn’t need to ask for permission. In fact, the whole meeting was more of a courtesy rather than an actual obligation. Marshall would gladly remind him, but it was not his place and he knew it. His girlfriend said something to her father, in french. Her tone was soft, at first, as it was most of the time when she talked to people, but as the conversation kept on going, it got more animated. Jean was talking loudly and he could see his girl having trouble being assertive. However, she said something that prompted her father to slap her, before screaming something. Before he could even think about what he was doing, Marshall got up and threw his fist in the other man’s face. It was bad enough that he was making Y/N feel bad, but he would not get away with hitting her.

YOU PIECE OF SHIT ! Marshall screamed as he grabbed him by the collar, forcing him to get up and shoved him against the nearest wall. DON’T YOU FUCKING DARE TOUCH HER!

The man was taller than him but he was in such a fit of rage that, unless his opponent was Mike Tyson, he could probably take out anyone. He kept on screaming, out of his mind, as the other man yelled as well, trying to get out of his hold. Lucky for him, Jean wasn’t much of a fighter. He was firmly holding him by the collar, slapping him just like he had slapped Y/N. He kept on screaming and slapping, telling him what a piece of shit he was, and how undeserving of being a father he was.

You’re fucking lucky your daughter’s in the room, Marshall finally spat. I wouldn’t beat up someone in front of their child, but I swear to God, if I see your motherfucking face one more time, I will fuck you up !

When he finally let go of Jean, the man addressed his daughter, who was still sitting at the table, in a state of shock. He yelled something in French and was about to approach her when Marshall intervened between the two of them. The man yelled something he couldn’t quite understand, still in French, before storming out of the room. Marshall closed his eyes for a second, to regain some composure. His heart was pounding in his chest. He had not been in a state of rage in a long time and the sensations felt foreign. He could feel his cheeks burning. He took a few deep breaths to try and soothe himself. If he didn’t, he might as well chase him down the corridor and strangle him. Seeing him slap Y/N had brought back memories of being abused as a child. His mother had never hit him too much, but the same couldn’t be said of some of her boyfriends. He had always sworn that if he witnessed it, he would intervene and make sure the person regretted their action. Didn’t matter who or when.

When he opened his eyes, they landed on Y/N, who was silently sobbing, face in her hands. For a quick second, he had almost forgotten about her. He immediately went to her, to make sure she was alright. He kneeled by her side and tried to grab her hands, so that he could examine her face. As he tried to touch her, she jerked and looked at him with terror on her face. Suddenly, it hit him : he was the one that scared her. The realization was enough to make his heart sink, as he took a step back.

Please don’t touch me, she whispered. Please.

Ok, he said softly as he held his hands up. I won’t touch you. I just need to make sure you’re alright, baby.

Tears were still streaming down her face and her chest was heaving. He had to fight against his own urges to touch her, wipe her tears and take her in his arms. He was about two feet away from her but it felt too big a distance. He looked at her cheek : the slap hadn’t left a mark. Evidently, it hadn’t been too violent. On a physical aspect, at least. He knew full well the psychological effects of such a gesture.

I didn’t mean to scare you, baby. I’m so sorry, he said softly.

Who are you ?! She blurted out. Wh-What… What did you do ?!

He sighed and looked at her face. It was crumbling, filled with doubt and uncertainty. She had never looked at him like this before. Sure, their first argument was one to remember, and she had certainly looked at him with hatred and disgust, but this look was different. It was a look of fear.

He hit you, Y/N, he said.

You hit him ! You hit my father !

Yes I did, he replied sternly. No father, hell, no parent should ever raise a hand on their child.

It’s… my fault, she said. I said something he didn’t like. I-I shouldn’t have, really. This one is on me.

So what ? He asked. I’m sorry but that doesn’t justify shit, Y/N. I’ve raised three kids, four if you count Nate. Do you know how many times they’ve been insufferable and thrown shit in my face ? A lot. But I can tell you I have never, ever lifted a finger on them. That shit is not ok.

She looked down and buried her face in her hands once again. He wasn’t sure if he should approach her or not. She seemed so distressed, he decided against it, although it broke his heart. After a minute or so, she got up and made her way to the bedroom. He followed her, making sure not to be too close.

Baby, talk to me, he said softly.

Please, no, she said. I need… I need a minute.

He nodded and she went to the bathroom. He heard the lock click. He sighed and sat on the bed. He absolutely did not regret his actions. For all he cared, Jean could sue him, he didn’t give a shit about it. What worried him was what Y/N would think of him. The last thing he wanted was to be seen as someone violent by the person he loved the most. He heard the water running and figured she would take some time. He went back to the living room area and grabbed a can of coke. God knew he needed a sugary drink. The wine bottle was still on the table, half full, as well as the plates of their meal. To be fair, he wasn’t hungry anymore. He sat on the couch and let his head fall back against the headrest as he tried to think of how he would possibly navigate the situation with Y/N. About forty-five minutes later, she came out of the bathroom, wearing her PJs.

Good night, she called from the bedroom.

We should talk, first, he said before joining her.

She seemed a little less distraught, though she still had a frown on her face. She was getting under the cover when he sat on the edge of the bed.

How are you feeling, babe ? He asked carefully.

I don’t know, she said. I’m not even sure how I am supposed to feel.

Did he hurt you ? How is your cheek ?

I-It’s fine, she said. I’m just… I don’t even know how to say it. But you… You were… Terrifying.

I am so sorry, my love, he said. I didn’t mean to scare you. But I saw him hit you, and I lost it.

It wasn’t you, she said. It was someone who looks like you, but it’s not you, Marshall. I’ve never seen you like this. You’re not this angry, scary person.

Well it was me, he sighed. I hate that you had to see me like this. I hate that side of me. I used to be this very angry person but I worked on it. It takes a lot for me to get angry like this, you know ?

You were so intimidating, she said. Suddenly, you were yelling, a-and you were slapping my dad… And I couldn’t help but think “that’s not him, that’s not my boyfriend, that’s not the man I am moving in with”...

He sighed and took his head in his hands. He said nothing for a couple of seconds before looking at her.

I am so sorry, Y/N. I keep on saying that, but it’s true. I need you to know that I would never do that shit to you, he said. I know it must have been very scary for you, especially because you have never seen me like this before, but I want you to know that I would never, ever scream at you like this, let alone lay a finger on you.

I know, she whispered. But… He is my father. And you hit him.

He is your father, he replied. And he hit you. And I am not ok with that. I am not ok with anyone hitting their child, ever. I am not ok with him hitting you, and especially not in front of me. I… Fuck. Has he always been violent like this ? Was he abusive to you ?

No, she said. He is not like that. I mean, yes he is, but he usually isn’t that bad.

Meaning ?

He has always been really tough on me, she said. Really strict. But he never really hit me. Maybe once, when I was a teenager. But it’s never been a habit, you know ? But it’s my fault, I swear.

How is that your fault ? He asked. How is your father hitting you, your fault ?

Because I stood up to him, she said sheepishly. And I shouldn’t have done that. It wasn’t respectful and I shouldn’t have.

What did you say ?

I said… I said that I wasn’t asking for his opinion and that I was old enough to do whatever I wanted, she explained. And then, he said that I was his biggest disappointment and I should be thankful for everything he did for me. And when I said I didn’t care he… he slapped me. So you see, it’s my fault.

He shook his head and sighed. Her thinking it was her fault was wrong on so many levels. At least, he was relieved to know that he hadn’t been violent to her when she was growing up. Everyone was not that lucky. However, the fact that a fifty-something man was not able to handle the fact that his grown-ass daughter was making her own choices and slapped her when she stood up for herself was frankly appalling. So was the fact that Y/N didn’t seem to realize that.

Arguing with your parents, it happens, he said. Even if you had been super disrespectful, which I don’t think you were, him laying a finger on you would not be ok, babe. And I’m not even going to get started on the fact that he’s been belittling you all evening.

He was always like this, you know ? She explained. I was never good enough. But I suppose it was his way of striving for excellence. He wanted the best for me. We don’t come from money, you know. When he was growing up, he was dirt-poor. We don’t have much, we’re typical middle-class, but he worked hard for everything and he was able to give me a good chance in life. And he single-handedly raised me. I owe him everything. He is my father. He is literally my only family.

It’s kind of his job, though, he said. As a parent, that’s literally what he is supposed to do. And I’m sorry but the fact that he comes from poverty doesn’t justify shit. I come from a poor, dysfunctional family too, I should know. I’m a father, I understand the wish for your kids to do good, but that will never be an excuse to behave the way he behaved.

She ducked her head down. He knew his words weren’t exactly what she wanted to hear, but he’d rather tell her the truth.

I can’t move back, she whispered.

What ?! He asked. Of course you can. And you should.

Marshall, no, she said. Before he left he literally told me that if I moved to Detroit, I would have to forget him and his support.

His support ?! Oh yeah, clearly he’s the most supportive person ever, Marshall said sarcastically. Before you went back to France, we knew each other for a whole year. Shall I remind you of all the times he came to visit you ? Of all the times he was here for you, during your recovery or after you were assaulted ? Oh wait, that’s right : NONE. Literally zero. That man has no idea what you’ve been through and he doesn’t see all that you’ve accomplished. You don’t get to call yourself “Dad” just because you helped make a baby. It takes more than that. So why the hell should you care about his so-called support ?!

Because I don’t have a family ! She cried. Marshall, you are the love of my life and I would follow you anywhere. And I told you I don’t care about marriage and children if I get to be with you and I meant it, but I can’t do it if it means that I am losing the only family that I have, the most important person in my life.

What kind of father would do that to his daughter ?! Do you even realize how wrong that is, Y/N ? He asked as he was starting to get worked up.

I want to be with you, Marshall. I do. But…

No « but », he said firmly. That’s bullshit and you know it. If anything, that’s one more reason why you should move. Are you seriously going to live with him after that ?!

I can’t lose my only family, she cried. You’re a family man. You understand, right ?

What I understood long ago is that you get to choose your family and who is part of it, he said. Talia and Jamal are your family. And I can be your family too. But even if that weren’t the case… would you really be willing to turn down opportunities to be happy and live your life just to please your father ?

After all, that’s all it came down to : her independence and her happiness. If she told him she’d be happier in Paris, he wouldn’t mind. It would hurt him, crush him, of course, but he would understand. But judging by what he saw tonight, her sudden reluctance had nothing to do with happiness and everything to do with her fear of disappointing her Dad. She was sobbing uncontrollably and it broke his heart. All he wanted was to make her sadness go away. If he had the choice, he’d rather take her pain so that she could be free of it.

All I’m saying is… don’t make a decision tonight, alright ? He said softly. Just like you needed to think before accepting to move back, you need to think about it. And you need to put yourself first. Not me, not your Dad, not anyone else. You.

I don’t know, she whispered in a croaky voice.

Come here, he said as he gestured for her to come in his arms.

She looked at him and had a second of hesitation, but she got out of the covers and nestled against him. He engulfed her in his embrace. He could feel her tears on his neck. They stayed like this for a while, not talking, not moving either.

I love you, he whispered in her ear. I’m so sorry you didn’t get the evening you deserved.

I love you too, she said quietly. Thank you for tonight. You really tried to make a good impression on my Dad.

Didn’t work but… Yeah, he shrugged. I tried.

I’m sorry he didn’t like you, she added. I wish he would have given you a chance. I tried telling him that you make me really happy, you know ?

I know, babe, he said softly. I don’t need his approval or any blessing from him, though. It would have been nice if we had gotten along, for sure, but as long as I have you, I don’t care. I’m good. Yours is the only approval I need.

I would be crushed if your family hated me, she pointed out. I don’t know how you do it.

Mostly, it comes down to being an ass and not giving a fuck what people think, he chuckled. You, on the other hand, care too much for your own good. But it’s ok because my family likes you. Let’s look at it this way : it’s 50% of our families that approve of us, that’s not bad, right ? Plus, if you consider the number of family members… Odds are in our favor, you know ? There’s only one of him and a lot of people in my family. And I know you like good statistics.

She chuckled for the first time all night. Her soft laugh was music to his ears. Even though her face was puffy from crying, she looked quite adorable and he could not refrain from kissing her temple. He stared into her big doe eyes and smiled at her.

Let’s try and save our evening, ok ? He offered. We could order some dessert and watch the Office.

I’m not really hungry, she said. And you hate the Office.

Hate is a strong word.

You said you hate Michael and he makes you cringe, she pointed out.

He does, but I know that Jim and Pam make your heart melt, that Jim’s pranks make you laugh your ass off and that you have a soft spot for Dwight, he said with a smile. So we can watch it. I know it’s one of your comfort shows.

You remember ? She asked surprised.

I do, he said. Six months was not enough to forget about you. Six lifetimes wouldn’t even do it. You’re still all over the house, you know ? I still have your movies in my Netflix account, bottles of that non-alcoholic wine you love in the pantry and your perfume may or may not be in my bathroom.

Really ? She asked with an emotional smile.

Really, he said. You’ll be right at home. I promise.

He took her hand in his and squeezed it. He had to convince her to fly back to Detroit with him. For her sake, as well as his. They cuddled in bed, watching the stupid TV show. He could tell she was bothered and her mind was wandering, but at least she smiled at the lame jokes. Most of his attention was on her, as well as trying to find ways to get her to make the right choice. He needed a plan, and he needed it fast.

#eminem #marshall mathers #slim shady #eminem fanfiction #eminem fluff #eminem imagine #eminem x reader #marshall mathers x reader #recovery fanfiction #marshall mathers imagine

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mandos-mind-trick · 2 years ago

Text

Carry Me Home

Summary: You live a quiet life, away from stress and danger. So of course Fate had to drop you right in the middle of an active battle to meet your soulmate.

Pairing: Commander Cody x reader Soulmate AU

Warnings: NSFW, smut, unprotected sex, no foreplay, Soulmate AU, brief violence and description of a battle, as usual reader has a bit of a backstory just so the story flows better.

A/N: This one I think is my least favorite so far. I've fought with it all week and just decided to go with it. I love Cody, but goddamn is he hard for me to write.

MASTERLIST

Getting dropped right in the middle of a battlefield was not how you planned to spend your weekend.

You were sitting down to enjoy your favorite book when you had the sudden uncomfortable sensation of being pulled through a thin tube and instead of your comfortable chair, your butt hits dirt.

It takes a second for you to fully comprehend what’s happening. Your apartment has disappeared, and instead you’re outside. It’s very loud where you are as the ringing in your ears begins to fade. Your vision aso clears, and you find yourself staring up at...a helmet?

There’s a figure directly in front of you, just inches from your feet. He’s kneeling behind a rock, blaster in hand. He’s dressed in armor, armor that’s familiar to you. You’d seen it countless times in the news, and a few times on your own home planet.

This is not good.

It’s only a matter of seconds, but it feels like a lifetime that you stare at him in shock. You don’t have much time to think it over as he reaches for you, tugging you behind the rock far too easily. He covers your body with his just moments before an explosion rains debris right on you.

“Stay down!” He orders, pressing a hand into the back of your head.

You’re compacted into a rather uncomfortable crouched position, but you’re not about to move as he goes back to firing. Your hands cover your ears as explosions rain from both sides. Your heart is pounding, feeling like it might beat right out of your chest. You close your eyes, praying this is some cruel dream your brain has thought up. You’re panicking, but you have every right to.

This is not what you had pictured when you had thought up your weekend plans.

You’ve always preferred a quiet life. You weren’t adventurous or impulsive. If you were going to do something, lots of planning went into it first. You were perfectly happy spending your weekends relaxing at home with a holonovel or a film.

Not in the middle of a major battle.

How did you come to be here?

Or better yet, why were you here?

You’re stuck far too long in that position, tucked into a ball behind the rock as blaster and cannon fire flies over your head. You’re stressed beyond belief, adrenaline pumping through your body. Your home planet, Alderaan, was involved in the war heading the relief effort and taking in refugees. You had heard countless stories about what it was like, but none of them could compare to actually being in it.

How the clones do this time and time again is beyond you.

You’re shaking, joints protesting as you’re helped to your feet. The blaster fire has stopped, the world seeming far too quiet after that absolute nightmare. His grip around your arm is tight. He’s not holding you to keep you steady.

He practically drags you through the battlefield, past dead and injured troopers. He doesn’t seem affected at all, your weak legs trying to keep pace with his determined stride. You try not to look, your stomach churning at the thought of all of those people dead, and for what?

It doesn’t take you long to figure out where he’s leading you as you approach who you assume is the Jedi General in charge, judging by the look of him.

“Who is this?” He asks as you come to stand in front of him.

“Unsure, sir. She appeared in the middle of the battle.” The clone says.

“Appeared?” He asks in disbelief.

“Out of thin air.” The clone answers. “Right in front of me.”

“Strange.” The Jedi mumbles, stroking his chin as he stares at you for a moment. He turns to another clone. “Escort her back to the ship. Keep her in a holding cell until we return.”

The clone holding you releases your arm, the other taking his place. You’re led to a gunship, your eyes drifting back to where the first clone and the Jedi are standing for just a moment.

“What are you thinking, sir?” Cody asks, looking at Obi-Wan.

“I don’t think she’s dangerous. Nor is she a spy.” Obi-Wan answers.

“Then why do you think she appeared here?”

Obi-Wan smiles at Cody, a familiar glint in his eye. “The Force works in mysterious ways. Perhaps she was sent here to help.”

***

You sit in the holding cell, fingers tapping on the table anxiously. You’re still shaking a bit from the adrenaline rush, your body very unused to such high levels of stress. You tried to avoid it for that very reason. The trooper that had brought you to the cruiser is standing in the corner behind you, watching you carefully. His unwavering stare is also making you nervous, even though you haven’t done anything wrong.

You grab the cup that’s sitting on the table, taking a sip of the cool water. He had at least been decent enough to get you some water. You’re terribly thirsty after sitting in the middle of a battle for what was probably close to an hour. You’re also starting to get hungry, or perhaps that’s just the nerves twisting away in your stomach.

You’re not sure how long it’s been, not that having a window would have told you much. The eternal darkness of space wasn’t a good indicator of time.

“Apologies for the wait,” The Jedi says. “There was still much to be done after the battle.”

“No apologies necessary.” You say. “I would expect as such after a battle like that. Not that I’ve been in many battles.”

“I am Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi. You’ve already met Marshall Commander Cody.” He introduces them.

You tell him your name as he takes the seat across from you.

“Cody’s already told me his side of the story. I’m interested to hear yours.”

So you tell him. “I had just gotten home from my job at an art museum on Alderaan, and I was getting ready to settle down and read some of the new holonovel I’d picked up when all of a sudden I felt like I was being pulled through a tube and then I’m sitting in the middle of a battlefield.”

Master Kenobi stares at her for a few moments, stroking his beard. “That is very odd indeed. I do believe you. Though, unfortunately, with no way to verify your identity, we have to remain suspicious of you and your motivations.”

You understand, you really do. No doubt Separatist spies constantly tried to infiltrate the Republic. You were very far from a spy, however there was no way to prove that. Unless...

“Senator Organa.” You blurt out before he can stand. “Senator Organa knows me. He and his wife often attend charity galas at the museum. He can vouch for my identity.”

A small smile tugs at Master Kenobi’s lips. “Of course. I will get in contact with the Senator as soon as possible. Until then, I am afraid you will have to remain here.”

You nod. “I understand.”

He nods to the clone in the corner. “Nova will remain with you. If you need anything, he can get it for you.”

***

Obi-Wan and Cody make their way up to the bridge, Cody replaying the conversation in his mind. It’s very odd, this situation. He’d never heard of anyone teleporting before, much less straight into the middle of a battle from halfway across the galaxy.

“What do you think, sir?” Cody asks. “Do you believe her?”

“I do.” Obi-Wan says. “I cannot sense any danger in her presence here, though we cannot be too certain.”

“What do you think it means, her arrival? I’ve never heard of anything like this.”

Obi-Wan smiles. “I believe congratulations are in order, Commander. I think you’ve just met your soulmate.”

Cody stops walking, blinking in shock. His soulmate? She can’t really be...can she? He hadn’t put much thought into his soulmate, like most of his brothers. There were far bigger things to worry about, and considering they were forbidden from initiating their bonds, most of them tried to ignore the existence of soulmates.

Of course, he knows most refuse to follow the rules regarding their soulmates. Many clones have met and keep contact with their mates. Many, not just clones, view the rule as being just another way to dehumanize them.

So many don’t listen.

Cody hadn’t put much thought into what he’d do. It’s easy to pretend you can follow the rules when you’re not facing it yourself. He figured he’d deal with it when the time came. He’d hoped perhaps that time wouldn’t come, or the war would be over before it came. He didn’t think it would happen right in the middle of a battle.

He doesn’t think his General is wrong, either.

He can feel it, the stirring in his chest that he’d overheard his brothers whispering about. The tugging, begging him to go back and just be in the presence of this mysterious teleporting girl once more.

“Sorry, sir?” Cody asks, quickening his steps to catch up to the General once more.

“It’s a rare soulmate link, though I’ve heard of it happening twice now since the start of the war. One soulmate teleporting to the other’s location.”

Cody’s heart clenches in his chest. If the girl is telling the truth, if Senator Organa does verify her identity, then this must be the answer for her strange appearance. But why now? Why did she have to show up now?

Why couldn’t fate have waited for the war to be over?

***

You look up as the energy shield of your cell drops. The time feels like it’s gone by faster this time, possibly because it hasn’t been as long. It’s impossible to tell, without knowing the time.

Commander Cody enters your cell, his helmet tucked under his arm. He’s handsome, well, all the clones are handsome, you think. You take a better look at him now that you’re not so nervous. He wears his hair in regulation cut, and his face is clean shaven. He has a scar on the left side of his face, what looks like a crescent moon at his temple and a line trailing down his temple and across his cheekbone. You wonder how he got it, what had caused such a cruel looking injury.

“The General spoke with Senator Organa. He verified your identity and backed up your story.” Cody says.

You breathe a sigh of relief. You knew you had nothing to worry about, but yet you had still been nervous. What if they hadn’t been able to reach Senator Organa? What would have happened to her then?

“If you’ll follow me, we’ll get you somewhere more comfortable.”

You push yourself up from the table, your legs wobbling a bit. You feel unsteady from sitting for so long so soon after your extreme adrenaline rush. You grip onto the table, keeping yourself steady while your legs wake up.

“Are you alright?” Commander Cody asks.

“Yeah.” You laugh. “Just not used to teleporting, being on a battlefield mid battle, being interrogated, you know. Like everything that’s happened today.”

A smile tugs at the side of Cody’s mouth. “I guess that would be rather jarring. Well, where you’re going there’s a real bed.”

You nod. “Okay. I think I can manage to get there.” You let go of the table, forcing your legs to be steady. You turn to Nova, still dutifully standing in the corner. “Thank you for watching over me, Nova.”

He shifts slightly, almost like he wasn’t expecting it. “Y-You’re welcome, ma’am.”

You turn back to Cody, taking a couple test steps to make sure your legs will hold you. He’s got a smile on his face, a small one, but still a smile. You follow him from your cell, glad you’ll never have to see it again. You hadn’t been treated badly, but sitting at that table in the blank, windowless room for hours hadn’t exactly been the best experience of your life.

“We’re heading to a GAR resupply station. There will be a ship there that will drop you off back on Alderaan.” Cody says as you walk beside him, his pace slower than you really need.

“It will be nice to be back home again.” You say. “Not that you’ve been unwelcoming. It’s just...this life isn’t really for me. I prefer something slow and low-stress.”

“I don’t blame you.” He says. “This life is easy for us because we were designed to handle constant, high levels of stress. It’s...not for everyone though.”

“That’s for sure.” It falls silent for a few moments as you walk through the huge cruiser. “Did your Jedi General figure out why I teleported right to you?” You ask out of curiosity. You’d thought through every explanation you could think of and none of them made sense.

“He had an idea why.” Cody says, clearing his throat. “It’s...it’s complicated.”

“I mean, I did teleport halfway across the galaxy. If that has a simple answer, I’ll be floored.”

Cody glances around, slowing his pace even more. He speaks quietly, like he doesn’t want anyone to overhear. “He thinks it may be our soulmate link.”

Your steps slow to a stop, Cody pausing as well. You stare ahead of you in shock. You hadn’t thought of that possibility. You’d never heard of that being a link, but then again, you’d never looked much into soulmates. Like many, you simply knew you’d find them eventually. You had no distinguishing marks or any of the more common links that were obvious. You’d considered perhaps you didn’t have a soulmate at all, and though that thought made you a bit sad, you’d accepted it. If it was meant to happen, it would.

And apparently, it had.

“I...didn’t even know that was a possibility.” You say.

“Neither did I.” Cody says. “Apparently this is the third time it’s happened since the war started.”

“Well, that’s reassuring.” You say. “We’re not the only ones.” You stare at him for a moment, an unreadable expression on his face. “Why do I feel like there’s more?”

“Well, there is.” He says, and you begin walking once more. “Us clones, we’re not allowed to initiate our bonds. If we find our soulmate, we’re supposed to reject them like the Jedi.��

“Oh.” Your shoulders fall a bit. Of course it makes sense. They’re supposed to be loyal, unshakeable soldiers free of distractions. There’s nothing quite as distracting as a soulmate bond.

You feel a bit disappointed. You’ve just found your soulmate and now he’s telling you he has to reject you. You know how painful it is, how debilitating it can be to go through it. Most don’t come out the other side the same. How can you when you’ve just lost half your soul? Half of your very being?

“That’s...” You swallow the lump forming in your throat. “I-I understand...why...”

A gloved hand touches your face, sliding along your skin. You look up, that hand cupping your chin. You look up into those dark eyes, getting lost in the deep brown of them. They’re so soft as they stare at you, wide with emotion. You’d read once that eyes are the window to the soul. You can tell a lot about someone by their eyes.

“Luckily, most of us don’t agree with that rule.” He says quietly, like he’s afraid someone might walk by and hear. From what he’s saying, it could be dangerous if the wrong person walked by and heard. “It’s not fair to us or to our mates. Most of you have waited long enough.”

“Too long.” You whisper, swallowing the lump in your throat.

“I can’t promise a life, or a future. Any of us could die at any moment. But when the war ends, I will do everything I can to find you.”

***

Your time with the 212th is short. You spend a suspicious amount of time with Cody. For being a Marshall Commander, he certainly has a lot of free time. You meet many, many clones, and do your best to memorize each and every one of their names.

All too soon you’re landing at the GAR station, your time with them at its end. Cody escorts you off the cruiser, leading you through the bustling station to where the shuttle is waiting to take you back to Alderaan.

“I hope the war doesn’t bring us to Alderaan.” Cody says. “As much as I’d like to see you again.”

You smile. “I do hope to see you again soon, but preferably not on a battlefield again.”

Cody smiles down at you. “I’ll keep in contact as much as I can.”

“I’ll be waiting.” You say, looking up at him. Oh how you want to kiss him, but you know you can’t. “You know where to find me.”

Cody lets his fingers brush yours just for a moment. “I’ll never forget.”

You look back as you board the shuttle, your chest already aching. The thought of being apart at all is nearly unbearable, and you can’t even say how long it will be until you see him again.

If you see him again.

No. You refuse to think that way.

You will see him again.

***

The war is over.

It ended rather abruptly, and came with the restructuring of the Republic into the Galactic Empire. Nothing about it feels right to you, mostly because you haven’t heard from Cody since the war ended.

He had sent you a quick message before he left on a mission, and then the war had ended.

That had been a year ago.

You haven’t heard from him since.

You refuse to believe he’s dead. You would have known. Even without initiating your bond, you would have felt it. The pain of half of your soul fading away to nothing. The discomfort, the never-ceasing chill of half of you being gone. You haven’t felt that, which means Cody is alive somewhere.

It’s been a long year.

You’ve been going through the motions, checking every chance you can for a message, some sign from him, but you’ve heard nothing. It hurts, but you know he wouldn’t do that. Not without reason. You hope he’s safe, wherever he is. You hope he’s safe and healthy and whole.

You don’t want to lose him. You barely know him, but the thought of losing him is driving you insane. Your thoughts have slowly been taken over by Cody. You know it’s the bond, the deep yearning to see him and be close to him again. You’re meant to be together, not a galaxy apart with no contact.

You worry you may go insane if you have to keep on without him.

Luckily for you, that doesn’t happen.

It’s your day off and you had planned to spend it sitting on your couch relaxing. Your comm is sitting on the table, waiting for any sign from Cody that he’s alright. You’d give anything just to hear his voice again. You’d sell an organ to see him again.

A knock on your door pulls you away from your thoughts. You’re not expecting anyone, but random visitors aren’t that unheard of. A neighbor or a coworker stopping by. You’re not really in the mood for company, but maybe that’s just what you need.

Except you’re not expecting who’s behind the door.

Your stomach twists painfully, your heart thudding in your chest. Your mouth drops open, the air in your lungs whooshing out in a gasp.

He looks good. Or, at least, he looks uninjured. You know it’s him. Even without the scar, you would have known. He’s not in his armor, dressed down into civilian clothes instead. You want to yell at him, you want to slap him. How dare he leave you for a year without so much as a message. But as you look into his eyes, that idea melts from your mind. There’s dark circles under his eyes. He looks tired. His eyes are shining in the lights of your hallway and there’s a sadness to them, no, a guilty look to them.

“Mesh’la.” He breathes, and you’re moving before you even realize it, practically throwing yourself into his arms.

He wraps his arms around you tightly, almost painfully. You don’t care, relief flooding through you. All the horrible thoughts that had plagued you, all the anger and the fear and the anxiety melting away simply by being in his presence once more.

He backs you into your apartment, the door sliding closed. He doesn’t loosen his hold on you, keeping you close to his chest. “I’m sorry.” He breathes, his breath fanning your ear. “I’m so kriffing sorry.”

“Why?” You ask, your voice thick with tears. You’re not sure when they started, but they’re slowly soaking his shirt. “It’s been a year, Cody. A year since I’ve heard from you. The war ended and then...nothing.”

“I know.” He pulls back slightly, looking down at your face. “I’ll tell you everything, just let me hold you for a moment.”

And so you do. You stand there for the better part of an hour, just holding each other. Time and time again your hands run along his back, cheek pressing into his shoulder just to make sure he’s really here.

Once you manage to separate yourselves, you move to the couch. He tells you everything, about the war ending, Order 66, the inhibitor chips, losing control of his mind, waking up after Kashyyk, the horrible things they’d been forced to do, deserting the Empire. He had wanted to contact you as soon as he left, but he knew it was too risky. He’d found Captain Rex who’d helped him, hiding him and once it was safe, getting him here to you.

“Oh, Cody.” You say, tracing your fingers along his scar. It’s the first time you’ve touched him, really touched him. He’s so warm, the press of your skin against his sending little sparks through your body. “I’m so sorry.” You draw him in, his face pressing against your neck as you hold him.

“Why did it have to happen this way?” He asks, wrapping his arms around your waist.

“We can’t change the past.” You say, running your fingers through his short curls. “We can only keep moving forward from here.”

He breaths a long sigh out, relaxing completely into you. He’s heavy, your body slowly falling back onto the couch. He follows, his lips brushing against the skin of your neck.

“I’m ready to live your boring life.” He murmurs.

You can’t help but laugh at that. He had once remarked that your life was boring when you’d told him you intended to spend your time off at home reading. You knew he had meant it lightly, and he wasn’t wrong. Compared to his life at the time, yours was very boring.

“Don’t let me go.” He says quietly, pressing a kiss to the side of your neck.

A smile tugs at your lips as your back hits the cushions, Cody shifting slightly so he’s not crushing you under his weight. “You have a year to make up for, Cody. And I have some vacation time I’ve been meaning to use.”

“Good.” He says, dragging his lips up your throat. “I don’t intend on letting you leave this couch for a while.”

You pout a bit as he kisses the corner of your mouth. “The bed is more comfortable.”

“We’ll get there eventually.” He murmurs before pressing his lips to yours.

You sigh against his lips, wrapping your arms around his neck. The swirling chaos that had been driving you crazy for the last year is beginning to settle now that he’s here, in your arms, pressed against you. Most soulmates don’t last more than a few days once they meet. It’s been over a year since you met him and you hadn’t so much as touched him.

“Cody,” You sigh against his lips, his body pressing closer to yours. You can feel him, hard against your thigh. “I need you.”

“I’m right here.” He says, pulling away from your lips. He cups your face, calloused thumbs stroking your cheeks.

You smile, reaching up to cup his cheeks. He really is real. He’s really right here. “You are.”

He makes quick work of your clothes, dragging his fingers along your exposed skin. Every touch is like lightning, your body thrumming with energy. It reminds you of when you’d met, appearing on that battlefield, the adrenaline pumping through you. He had to have known, deep down. He’d saved your life without thought, keeping you safe until the battle was over.

He’d saved you, stayed with you until he couldn’t. Now it’s your turn.

Your fingers trail along his back, feeling every ridge of muscle, every raised scar. You want to kiss them all, but that’s for a later time. His teeth sink gently into the side of your breast, making you gasp. You’re already wet, probably leaving a wet spot on your couch.

You’ll have it cleaned later.

“Please, Cody.” You breathe, pressing your hips up against his. “It’s been too long.”

“I know, mesh’la.” He says, kissing your sternum. “I’m so sorry.”

You sink your fingers into his hair, drawing his lips to yours. “Don’t apologize with your words.”

He smirks against your lips, shifting his hips slightly. “Yes, ma’am.”

A shiver runs down your spine. You have the former Marshal Commander of the Grand Army of the Republic naked on your couch, and he had just called you ma’am. You feel a bit powerful, so unlike how you normally feel.

You’ll have to explore that later.

You slip a hand between your bodies, lining him up. He presses into you slowly, taking his time. The stretch burns, and you regret not prepping a little, but he’s slow, easing your tension with gentle kisses and the touch of his hands.

He pauses once he’s seated inside you, giving you a moment. You’re overwhelmed with feeling, the bond between you two strengthening. You can practically feel the link, the cords tying you together multiplying and strengthening into something unbreakable.

His lips press against yours, his hands taking yours, lacing your fingers together. You’re connected in every possible way.

He begins to move, dragging his hips slowly against yours. You moan against his lips, squeezing his hands. He feels so good, you feel so good pressed up against him. It’s been a long year waiting for him, and this very moment has made up for most of it.

You moan his name as he thrusts into you, fingers gripping his. He moans in your ear, whispering to you, speaking near nonsense as you lose yourselves in each other.

You cum, clinging to him so tightly you’re worried you might bruise him. He offers no complaints, his body going lax over yours as he cums, emptying into you. You both stay there, uncaring of your sweaty skin or the fluids leaking between your legs. You’re both breathing heavily, holding onto each other like you might disappear if you let go.

He goes to pull away after a few moments, but you wrap your arms around him tighter, keeping him still.

“Stay?” You whisper, just needing to feel him.

He smiles, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips. “I’m not going anywhere.”

(P.S. Don’t worry, they do eventually move from Alderaan to some small farming planet where they live happily ever after.)

Taglist:

@stressed-cherry

#star wars #star wars fic #clone wars #clone wars fic #commander cody #commander cody x reader #clone trooper cody x reader #marshal commander cody

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lincolndjarin · 1 year ago

Text

Oh Honey. ✩ Chapter 2

chapter two : beware the jabberwock

series masterlist ao3 kofi main masterlist

a/n : took a while to get out but here is chapter two !!! i have a lot of fun writing this fic bc the pacing is so much different than bks but i'm excited to get this chapter out bc i loved writing it so much and i'm so happy that people enjoy this fic so far !!

pairing : monster!joel miller x mortician!reader

rating : 18+ mdni - explicit content, read all warnings

word count : 15.1k (i'm so sorry idk what happened)

summary : new relationships are tricky, especially when your boyfriend likes to disappear for several days with no explanation.

warnings, etc. : dub con?? i'm gonna tag this with that because the sex is like weird in this?? a lot of it is angry or reluctant from one participant at times so i'm gonna tag it just in case, soulmates au, no outbreak au, language, graphic descriptions of violence, gore, fear, feeling of being stalked, feeling of being watched, me making up things regarding the embalming process, animal death, graphic description of the mortuary process, menstruation, derealization (sort of), smut, oral f!recieving, p in v, biting, just like a lot of mouth stuff lmao, cum eating, rough sex, degradation, sort of dumbification, joel is a bit beastly, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, praise, use of the pet name bunny, nightmares, periods, menstruation, joel is a terrible boyfriend, angry sex, injury, blood, blood drinking, manipulation, not a/b/o but something i made up that is sort of along those lines??, body horror, monsters, predator & prey dynamic, a lot of stuff happens this chap so i might have missed some sorry!!, no physical description of reader but joel is described as being abnormally strong and does pick reader up, there is no actual fucking of a monster yet we can't just do that right out the gate it's a thriller it destroys the thrill if they fuck immediately, that being said; this is a monster fucker fic - proceed accordingly

comments and reblogs are appreciated!

You don’t sleep well after your dream.

Just staring up at the ceiling until the sun is starting to shine through the windows.

Not that you’ve been sleeping well recently to begin with. And Joel suddenly feels less safe, the grip of his arms around you feels more like it’s trapping you rather than protecting you.

It’s Joel.

Just take a deep breath.

It’s Joel. Joel Miller. Sweet, handsome, kind, Joel Miller. Joel who came back, even though you assumed you’d never hear from him again.

It was nothing more than a dream.

Stop making up monsters.

You slip out of his arms, quietly making your way over to the fridge to try and find something to make for breakfast. You haven’t gone shopping in a while, all you’ve got is half a loaf of bread and a few eggs. Good enough. Clicking the stove on you set a pan down, cracking the eggs with a small sizzle as they hit the metal.

“Up already?” You didn’t hear him wake but when you turn he’s propped up on an elbow watching you.

“Couldn’t sleep.” Not technically a lie.

“Are you okay?” He sits up a bit and you can feel him sizing you up.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

You aren’t really.

But you can’t really tell him why, so why bother.

He stretches his arms above his head as he gets up, making his way over to you, wrapping his arms around your waist, and resting his head on your shoulder as you flip the eggs.

“Hungry?” You’re desperate to think about anything but your dreams, as you speak his grip around your waist tightens.

“I could eat.” You shudder for several reasons as his teeth graze your neck before nipping at you.

“These should be done in a few minutes, I just gotta make the toast.” You laugh softly as the scruff of his beard brushes against you.

He makes it too easy to forget your fears.

“Mhmm.” The vibrations from his humming make you gasp, nearly dropping the spatula in your hand as he squeezes you for a moment. You work around his advances, putting the bread in the toaster as one of his hands slips under your shirt.

“How many do you want?” You hold up the bread in front of him, trying to get him to pay attention but it’s getting difficult to stay focused on your task when something is currently pressing against your ass.

“I think I’m fine with just this.” He squeezes the bare flesh of your torso making you yelp a bit as his hand drifts further up.

“What happened to your third date rule?” He groans as you reach over to the stove, turning the burner off to keep the eggs from burning before turning around in his arms, your back pressed against the counter.

“We should go to dinner tonight.” He smiles before leaning forward to kiss you but you put a hand between his mouth and yours.

“What makes you think I’ve forgiven you enough to warrant another date?”

He pouts. His bottom lip sticking out a bit as he frowns.

“Wouldn’t matter if I did anyway, it would only be the second date.” You shrug.

“Last night was the second date.” He says rather matter of factly.

“That didn’t count.” You can’t help the smile that threatens to form on your as his frown deepens.

“So you wanna wait for two more dates.”

Definitely not.

“Tonight?” For a brief moment you try and think of anything else you might be doing but you don’t exactly have a social life here in Honey.

“S’gotta be, I’m spending tomorrow with Ellie and then I’ll be busy with work, gotta catch up on some things.”

Why would he need to catch up if he’s been busy all week?

“Tonight works.” Even after what he put you through you still feel the strangest pull towards him, dragging him to the table with you as you set down a couple plates.

“I’ll be here at eight?” He sits, an accomplished look on his face.

“Works for me.”

You have an uneventful breakfast.

Neither one of you talks about his disappearing act. And eventually he has to leave for work and so do you, so he gets his things together once you eat.

“Get dressed, I’ll drive you to Maria’s, I gotta pick up Tommy anyway.” He takes a sip of whatever juice you had left over in the fridge as you nod, finding something clean to wear before following him out to the truck.

He makes it too easy.

He smiles like everything is fine and he holds your hand as he drives.

“Have a good day at work.” You return his smile and he leans across the truck cab to kiss your forehead.

“You too, I’ll see you tonight.”

“See you tonight.” You wave at him as you walk up to the house, Tommy’s just leaving, giving you a pat on the back as he passes you before jumping in the truck with his brother. With a weak smile you watch them go.

There are no bodies today.

It’s a paperwork day for both of you. You know Maria’s dying to ask about what happened but she never does, just staring up at you every once in a while, always looking like she’s about to say something before choosing not to.

You decide to throw her a bone.

“I’m having dinner with Joel tonight.” You can’t ignore the surprised smile on her face.

“I’m glad you two seem to be getting along.”

“Yeah, apparently he got caught up in his work for a few days.” You try and get a reaction out of her but she goes emotionless, giving you only a hum in response.

You don’t try to start another conversation after that until you say good night at the end of your shift. Giving her a small wave before stepping into the misty evening air.

You keep your eyes on the trees the entire walk home but nothing seems out of sorts and before you know it you’re safe in the camper.

You’re dressed and ready to go when the truck pulls up. You aren’t sure where exactly you’re supposed to be going but you’re ready nonetheless, deciding on just jeans and a plain tshirt. What you aren’t expecting is when Joel steps out of the truck with grocery bags and a grin plastered on his face.

“I thought we could cook together.” He says as he makes his way up the steps inside.

“You know how to cook?” You try not to sound as surprised as you are but he just laughs.

“I have two kids. I know how to cook.” He sets the bag on the counter and you open it, he’s brought bread, cheese, and cans of tomato soup.

“What exactly do you plan on cooking?”

“Grilled cheese.” He says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world and any worries you had about tonight go out the window.

“You really went all out for tonight.” You raise your eyebrows at him.

He nods, searching through the cabinets for a pan and a pot.

“When you said cook together you meant you cook and I watch, right?” You lift yourself up onto the counter as he lights the stove.

“Obviously.” He sets everything down and you watch him fish around the top of the fridge for a few seconds before pulling down a rather dusty old radio. “I knew she had one somewhere.” He grins as he sets it down beside you, plugging it in and fidgeting with the knobs until the static turns into music.

You don’t recognize the song that plays but he does, as he hums along, opening the two cans, emptying them into the pot.

You had been so nervous about tonight, nightmares aside, you had expected a totally different Joel, the kind of person who ignores you for a week and expects immediate forgiveness. But instead he continues to be just Joel. Joel, who’s very presence lulls you into an overpowering sense of comfort. The moment he stepped inside the camper the entire space became heavy with his cologne, everything smells like the forest, as if you’re surrounded by pine trees and not the four walls around you.

“We should do something this week.” He turns to you as he butters the bread, setting it in the pan with a quiet sizzle.

“Don’t you have work, and Ellie?” You tear open the plastic wrapper on the cheese, handing him a few slices.

“I do, but I can get Tommy to watch her for a night.” He tosses them down onto the bread before opening a drawer, riffling around until he finds a spatula.

You hum along to the music with him when the song changes to something familiar, watching him cook.

He looks at home with you, like he belongs right here.

You both laugh your way through dinner, it’s outrageous how charming he can be, he tells you about the house he’s building, and how his brother ordered the wrong kind of cement. (You didn’t know there was a wrong kind.) And he tells you about how Ellie’s picked up some curse words, apparently there’s quite an argument happening between the Millers regarding who she learned them from.

You’ve always been hesitant to talk about work, especially on dates because you never know how people are going to react. Not everyone has the same relationship with death that you have. So when he says, how has working for Maria been? You aren’t exactly sure what to say.

“It’s good.”

“That’s it? It’s good?” He looks up at you, giving you that lopsided fucking smirk and you can’t help but just melt at the sight of it.

“We’ve been… busy, lots of work the last few days, now we’re just funeral planning, this week we’ve got a funeral pretty much everyday, Maria’s swamped.”

“What made you choose this line of work?”

You never really know how to answer that question.

“Because I like to play with dead things.” Never gets the laugh you hope for, and the real answer just makes you sad.

“I like to fix things.” You instinctively break eye contact, staring down at an uneven floor board you’d never noticed before under the table. “I like knowing that I can help people in that way, to fix them one last time.”

For a moment he doesn’t speak, when you look back up at him he simply looks at you with something that resembles yearning.

“That’s nice.”

You’re glad he thinks so.

He takes the dishes, rinsing them in the sink despite your protests.

Your palms are getting clammy.

This is, by his count, your third date.

Is it weird that this feels scheduled? It was different when you’d brought him home after your first date, that felt natural, your body innately wanted to be with him. How do you even start this kind of thing when it feels so planned? You both know what you want but it feels strange to just outright say, so is this the part where we have sex?

He dries his hands on his jeans and clears his throat as he turns back to you, holding his hand out, you aren’t really sure what he’s doing until he pulls you up from your seat, wrapping his other arm around your waist.

It isn’t the kind of song you can slow dance to, it’s fast and upbeat.

But as far as you can tell, Joel isn’t the kind of guy who dances in the first place, so you bring your free hand up to his shoulder and join him in his attempts to dance.

I heat up, I can't cool down

You got me spinning

There isn’t a lot of floor space in the camper but he makes it work by holding you close and mostly just spinning you as he nods along to the music.

'Round and 'round

'Round and 'round and 'round it goes

If his goal was to put you at ease then it’s working, any remaining nerves you have fizzled out completely. You laugh in earnest, not out of fear, as he bumps his nose against yours.

Where it stops nobody knows

Every time you call my name

I heat up like a burning flame

Burning flame full of desire

Kiss me baby, let the fire get higher

He keeps his forehead flush with yours as you continue to sway your hips back and forth to the beat, the both of you laughing and spinning, you watch curiously as he closes his eyes, inhaling deeply.

Abra abracadabra

I wanna reach out and grab ya

Abra abracadabra

Abracadabra

With a satisfied sigh he opens his eyes, his gaze going from simple infatuation to something darker. When the song ends he pulls you close, so you’re chest to chest and reaches over, turning down the radio.

“So…” You can’t stop smiling as you stare at him through your lashes.

“So.” He gently guides you, his hands on your hips as he walks you backwards until the backs of your knees hit the bed.

“I’ve got a long day tomorrow, I should probably get some sleep.” You give him an exaggerated yawn and point at the bed, plastering a mock apologetic look on your face.

“You’re really funny.” He leans down to give you a chaste kiss before picking you up. His strength is still a wonder to you.

The way he throws you down onto your bed makes you erupt into a fit of giggles but he certainly isn’t laughing anymore as he drags you by your ankles to the edge of the mattress, a look of concentration on his face now.

“Joel!” You shriek as you hear the tearing of the zipper on your jeans.

“M’sorry.” He grumbles, making no effort to slow down as he tugs them down.

He doesn’t sound sorry.

“It’s a zipper, just unzip it for Christ's sake.” His sudden change in demeanor leaves you a little breathless, in the blink of an eye he’s gone from remarkably gentle to practically unhinged.

“S’too late for that.” He groans softly as he kneels on the camper floor, throwing your legs over his shoulders.

“You owe me a new pair-” Your voice trails off into a stuttered moan as his mouth latches onto the front of your panties, dragging his tongue over the wet spot that’s been forming all night.

“We can go to the mall sometime this week.” He mumbles against your cunt before you feel his teeth grazing the fabric before tearing it apart completely.

“Jesus, Joel!” Instinctively your hands grip his hair as he buries his face between your legs.

How sharp are his teeth?

He’s all consuming. Like he’s trying to lay claim to every single part of you. And he’s loud, it’s a good thing you don’t have neighbors. Lewd slurping noises as he laps at your dripping hole like it’s his fucking job.

He flattens his tongue, dragging it through your folds, for a moment you aren’t sure what he’s doing, but it feels fucking amazing. The way his tongue moves in and out of you, occasionally drawing a lazy circle around your clit, it isn’t like anything anyones ever done before. It takes you a moment to realize that he isn’t necessarily trying to make you feel good (despite the effect it may be having on you,) you’re pretty sure he’s tasting you.

Drinking you in. If he’s trying to get you off it’s only because he wants more.

“S’ so sweet.” He mumbles against your thigh, biting the meat there making you cry out a bit before he returns to his work between your legs.

“Joel- fuck, Joel please.” You manage to stutter out between gasps, when did he become so gruff? You never could have predicted that he would be like this in bed, his grip on you is certain to leave bruises and you can barely think straight after just a few minutes with his head between your thighs. The noises he makes as his lips wrap around your clit are down right pornagraphic. Your vision is starting to go white around the edges as he does the first gentle thing since he started, sucking that bundle of nerves almost lazily. Through shuttered breaths you manage to mumble out his name a few more times your vision whites out completely.

You’re a little surprised at how quickly he manages to pull an orgasm from you, your skin coated in a thin sheen of sweat as you sit up, pulling him up by his hair as you crash your lips against his, tasting your own slick on his tongue. He moves so feverishly as you feel his hands spreading you again, teasing your entrance with two fingers before slowly pushing them in.

“Joel- oh my god-” He silences your rambling with his mouth again, swallowing your groan once he’s knuckle deep inside you. His brows furrow in concentration as he starts to pump them in and out of you. “P-please.” You stammer out.

It’s such a sharp contrast to the Joel you’re used to, he’s so… unruly.

“So fucking tight.” He mutters before grinding his palm against your clit, pulling another series of gasps from your throat. “Such a pretty, tight, wet cunt.” He whispers against your jaw and you feel a third finger pushing into you.

You hadn’t expected him to be so vulgar, turns out he’s only all southern manners outside of the bedroom. You’re starting to see stars all over again as you feel the stretch of his thick fingers, he nips at your jaw before pressing them in deep, focusing on grinding the heel of his palm into your clit until you’re soaking his hand, hands tugging at his hair as a second orgasm is ripped out of you with a shudder. Your head falls back with a noisy whine, you can’t decide if you want more or less, his touch burns your skin but you feel so cold without it.

“Please, please Joel.” You exhale the words, scratching lightly at his shoulders with a whine.

“Tell me what you want.” His voice is lower than ever and you watch as he unzips his jeans, shoving them off and taking his cock in between his fingers, still slick with your release. Your eyes go wide as he strokes himself a few times, he’s thick, hefty, you’re trying not to stare slack-jawed at the way he fills his own hand. You grab the bottom of his shirt, pulling it off in an attempt to feel more of his skin against you.

“Fuck me… please.” You tack on the please at the end hoping he doesn’t make you wait much longer as you gawk at his pretty tan skin. You don’t even know where to look, you run your fingers through the coarse sprinkle of black and gray hair on his chest as he crawls further up the bed to hover above you.

He takes your thighs, pushing them up against your stomach, his eyes dark with something reminiscent of hunger. You hook your own arms around your knees to keep yourself in that position as he takes hold of his cock once more, guiding himself into you with a strangled groan.

“Christ…” He mumbles under his breath as he slides just the tip of himself in, your own breath hitching at the size of him. He tilts head town, pressing a soft kiss to your chin.

He splays his palms out on your thighs, leveraging himself as he carefully rocks his hips back and forth, slowly working himself into you. The camper fills with the sounds of your collective noises. Joel is loud. Grunting and growling as he fully buries himself in your heat.

He scans your face for signs of distress, tears pricking the corners of your eyes, the tiniest sting from the stretch pulls a whine out of you but you only nod as he stares into your eyes.

“More, Joel.”

Once he has your approval he starts moving, setting a pace that for a few thrusts is slow before picking up. Quickly becoming downright brutal, every slam of his pelvis against yours drives his cock deeper into you. He feels as if he was made for this, he’s just big enough that it doesn’t hurt, simply an overwhelming feeling of fullness.

Your body begins to tense up all over again, you wrap your arms around his torso as much as you can in this position, scratching at his back. He leans forward, going in for a kiss before moving around your face, kissing your jaw, forehead, nose, and temples. When he kisses the apples of your cheeks you feel his tongue darting out.

Did he just lick up a tear?

He snaps his hips forward, disrupting your train of thought, his teeth barred as he does so, eyes fixed on every one of your reactions. He’s practically snarling as you let your head fall back against the mattress, the head of his cock driving into your g-spot.

“Wanna come again already, bunny?” You make a real spectacle of yourself, hooking your legs around his waist, trying to pull him in deeper. “Greedy little thing…”

“Joel please-”

“Joel please.” He mocks. “Is that all you can say now?” You keen softly but he only grins as you tighten around him.

“P-please…” You squeak out as he snaps hips forward once more.

“Come again, I wanna feel this pretty cunt come.” He snarls against your neck, leaving a trail of bites until he reaches your shoulder, a particularly harsh bite has you crying out.

“Joel!” You grit your teeth, a wave of heat washes over you as you come one last time, you feel his tongue dragging across the bite mark.

It’s all so close to being painful.

Your stomach aches from the overstimulation, and you register a faint stinging feeling when he laps at the bite. Your walls clench around him, strangling his cock, and his hands instantly leave your legs, gripping the sheets instead.

“Fuck, fuck.” He barely pulls out in time, coming on your stomach. You reach down in your haze, scooping some of his load onto your finger before sliding them between your lips.

Fucking salted caramel.

Sweet and sticky on your tongue.

He pants above you, watching with an intoxicated look as you dip your fingers into his cum over and over again until your stomach is bare.

He nudges his nose against yours, rubbing every part of his face against you for a few minutes. It’s wildly intimate and you're once again a little taken aback by his sudden tone shift.

“Was that okay?” He drawls, once again searching your face for any indication that you might not be.

You nod, beaming up at him and letting him rest the bridge of his nose on yours for a few moments more before you slip out of his arms, stepping into the bathroom. You relieve yourself before going to sort yourself out in the mirror.

You’re bleeding.

Where he bit you, two mirroring crescents, red and angry on your shoulder, leaking blood.

“Shit.” You grab a handful of toilet paper, wiping it clean before rinsing it in the sink and returning to him.

“Everything okay?” He’s pulled his boxers on, tossing you his shirt which you’re eager to put on. You don’t want him to see the bite.

“Everything’s fine.” You crawl back up into the bed beside him.

He stays the night, pulling you to his chest and caging you in with his arms.

And you aren’t haunted by dreams.

In the morning a part of you worries he’ll disappear all over again, you’re a little surprised when he texts you just a few minutes after he drives off. [ can’t wait to see you again soon bunny ]

Joel follows through on his promise.

A few days later he picks you up from work and drives you to the outlet mall about an hour away, saying he needs to get some stuff for Ellie as well. Apparently she likes to throw plates so he wants to find the kind that suction onto the table. As he drives the radio plays a country song you don’t recognize which he hums along to as you watch the trees outside the window.

“You know, I’ve been meaning to ask you about my aunt.” He turns the music down once you start speaking.

“Darlene? You probably know her better than I do.” He doesn’t seem very eager to talk about her but it only makes you want to know more.

“Doubt it. All I know about her is that she wasn’t close with anyone in my family.”

“You weren’t close? But she left you her camper.”

“That’s why I need to know anything you might know about her, I know nothing.” He seems hesitant and you’re worried if you keep pushing it he won’t tell you anything at all.

“She was a lonely old woman, had me fix things for her often, I honestly think she just wanted company.” His voice softens a bit as he says it.

“She didn’t have friends here in Honey?”

“Not that I know of, she was a bit of a shut in, sweetest woman I’ve ever met, just a bit… skittish. She worked from home and I’m pretty sure someone delivered her groceries. The only time I ever saw her outside was when I was fixing her roof and she sat in a lawn chair to talk to me while I did.”

“She worked from home?”

“Yeah, something on her laptop, I’m not entirely sure.” You’ve never seen a laptop.

You’ve been living in the camper for nearly six months and you’ve never seen a laptop.

But that’s not what interests you the most right now.

“What do you mean by skittish?” You’re trying to gauge his reaction but he doesn’t seem to have one.

“Maybe skittish isn’t the right word. Eccentric? Some of the kids in town called her ditzy Darlene.” His expression sours as he says it.

“That’s horrible.”

“It was.”

“Why?” He seems more reluctant than ever but now you’re just upset on behalf of the woman who left you everything.

“She fed into a lot of the legends around town, and didn't seem to have any hobbies outside of monster hunting.”

“Monster hunting?”

“She was the only local who went to the gift shops, searching for a monster she swears she saw.”

Sounds familiar.

“Did she ever find any?”

“Monsters?” He laughs. “Not that I know of.”

“Did you think she was crazy?”

“I think she was lonely, and I think when you spend that much time alone your mind can wander.”

“But did you think she was crazy?”

“No.” He puts an end to the conversation by putting the truck in park. You hadn’t even realized you were there, the outlet mall is so small. His southern manners remain persistent as he jogs around the truck to open your door for you, holding onto you to provide balance as you hop out.

You aren’t sure where anything is so you just follow him, taking his hand in yours as you walk. He takes you into a clothing store you don’t recognize the name of and waits patiently as you try on a few different pairs of jeans. It’s been quite some time since you’ve bought new clothes so you get a few pairs, you’re worried it’s boring for him to just wait outside the changing room but when you walk out with three pairs slung over your arm he still looks happy as can be. When you go to pay he opens his wallet, silencing your protests with a reminder that it’s his fault you needed new jeans in the first place.

After that he takes his time, the two of you walk hand in hand through each store, he doesn’t even look around most of them, seemingly content with just spending time with you.

He manages to find a few rubber bowls with suction cup bottoms for Ellie as well as some spanish flashcards and you decide to get a pair of blue hiking boots, if you’re gonna be walking everywhere you might as well be comfortable.

At the last store you stop at you find a nice perfume, spraying a bit into the air and inhaling. It reminds you of springtime, it’s light, floral, but when Joel catches a whiff of it he scrunches his nose up.

“You don’t like it?” You set the bottle back down.

“I like the way you smell now.” You frown, trying to remember what shampoo and body wash you’ve been using. If you recall correctly it’s just some generic brand you’d bought ages ago.

“I didn’t know you spoke spanish?” You remark, pointing at the bag containing the cards, opting to just change the subject rather than give yourself a headache trying to remember.

“I don’t, but Sarah does and she’s been insisting I teach Ellie while she’s gone, something about it being better if she’s bilingual.”

“I think that’s sweet.” You swing your arms a bit, keeping his hand in yours as he walks you out of the store and in the direction of the truck.

“Of course you think it’s sweet, you're not the one with two daughters who will be using their secret language against you.” He takes his keys from his pocket, clicking the unlock button.

“It’s not a secret language, if your baby can learn it then I’m sure you can.” He helps you up into the truck once more, shutting the door behind you.

It’s almost comically difficult to keep your hands off him when you’re alone, especially now that you have a taste for him. Even just being in the truck with the windows up is suffocating, the smell of his aftershave or his laundry detergent drives you mad the moment you’re stuck in an enclosed space with him.

You slide across the truck so you’re in the middle seat as he pulls out of the parking lot. It’s like you feel sick when you aren’t touching him, like you’re suffering from this barely noticeable nausea and you don’t realize you were even dealing with it until it’s gone.

You watch curiously as he keeps one hand on the wheel and brings the other to rest on your thigh. His shoulders relax the moment he does, his frown lines smooth themselves out a bit.

He’s just so warm, and he’s so nice to be near. Today he smells like a candle you used to have, something you lit around Christmas time. He smells like cookies and peppermint.

You can’t help but turn your head a bit, trying to discreetly inhale the scent of his jacket.

To say that Joel Miller becomes the perfect boyfriend would be an understatement.

He drives you to work, he sends you flowers, (which gets confusing in a funeral home.) he holds open doors, and he always texts you back.

Quite literally everything gets better once he’s back in your life.

You don’t get anymore mangled bodies, only a few from the nursing home and one from a nearby hospital, it’s mostly just funeral planning these days. You see Joel daily, Maria and Tommy seem a little surprised every time he dotes on you and you can’t help but wonder what he’s done to earn such a reaction, but he’s so sweet you hardly care. Between both of you working and him having a toddler you’re shocked he makes as much time for you as he does. You see him every morning when he takes you into work but he also insists on seeing you twice a week, whether it’s going out, or ordering in, or just dragging him into your bed, he always makes time for you.

You even spend a little time with Ellie. Joel spends a lot of time with her at the funeral home so you often see her in little doses, she seems indifferent towards you which worries you until you realize she acts that way towards everyone but her father. It’s remarkable to watch him with her, he’s soft with you but with her it’s something else entirely. She sticks to him like glue and you’ve never once seen him look bothered by that fact, you assume she’d get bored just sitting in his arms but she never does. He likes to tell her jokes and you aren’t even sure she understands them but without fail she bursts into a fit of giggles every time he gets to the punchline.

It’s good with him, everything is easier. Everything just sort of makes sense with Joel and for the first time in a long time everything feels right.

Until the morning you wake up, a sticky feeling between your legs and an ache in your belly.

“Shit.” You roll out of bed, quickly shedding your clothes, tossing them into the laundry bin before texting Joel.

[ hot date idea for us, you drive me to the laundromat and then watch me do my laundry ]

Setting your phone down you hop into the shower, washing away the blood with a groan, you spend far too long under the water, when you finally step out and check your phone you’re running late, you pull open the curtains a bit to see if Joel’s already waiting for you but much to your confusion you aren’t met with the familiar sight of the truck.

You had never really discussed him driving you to work; it was just something he’d started doing, you probably shouldn’t have expected it to be a permanent thing.

You haphazardly pull yourself together, tossing on whatever looks clean before grabbing your phone and bag, rushing out the door.

The cool morning air stings your face as you quickly walk down the familiar gravel driveway towards the home, you’re already preparing your excuse for why you’re so late but Maria doesn’t even notice as you step into the office, she’s busy on a call.

You recognize the look on her face, she’s talking to a family. You step inside, taking a seat in one of the chairs across from her desk as you wait. She seems to be at the end of the conversation.

You couldn’t be more grateful that she takes care of telling the families. You’ve never been good at that kind of thing. She hangs up with a gentle, goodbye, smiling up at you as you try and imagine a situation in which your job was to deliver such terrible news.

The ache in your stomach snaps you back to reality.

Fuck. You forgot to bring anything.

“Any chance you have a pad?” You give her an apologetic look.

Based on her expression you’d think you’d just asked her for a lung. Several emotions flash across her face in an instant, but mostly she looks like someone who just solved a riddle that had been plaguing them for quite some time. She snaps out of it quickly though, giving you a curt nod.

“Of course, let me just run upstairs.”

It’s an older man, graying and wearing what is obviously hiking gear.

Poor guy.

He’s torn apart, the worst you’ve seen so far, his limbs have all been individually torn off, they lay, separated from the rest of him on the table.

It’s an open casket so you’re gonna be down here all day.

You text Joel one last time before setting your phone down.

[ gonna be pretty busy all day, got another bear attack, i’ll call you when i’m on my way home. ]

With that you get to work, putting on your gown and gloves, and starting at the torn clothes. It’s hard to figure out where his clothes start and his skin ends with the condition his body is in but you manage to cut him out of everything so you can properly assess the damage.

You’re getting used to seeing these messy wounds, the sight of torn flesh. It should be a pretty easy job all things considered. He’ll be in a suit so you’ll just reattach everything and no one will ever have to see the extent of his wounds.

You check everything twice, making sure that you’ve got the left and right correct before you start sewing things back up. You try to mimic the way you saw Maria do it, careful and practiced stitches.

You finish the legs easily enough, both had been ripped off just above the knee, you’re about to start on the arms when you drop the needle in surprise.

How didn’t you realize this before?

You’ve been preparing these bodies for weeks now and you’ve never once noticed one harrowing detail. You’re used to tending to bodies that have already seen a pathologist. Bodies with their organs in a bag, with their blood drained, ready to be prepared for a funeral or cremation. And you’ve been so focused on doing a good job to impress Maria that you’ve failed to take note of the most obvious thing before you.

There’s no blood.

None of the bodies you’ve tended to from the bear attacks have blood, all of their organs remain intact but because Maria declares cause of death you know she doesn’t drain them. You’ve drained everyone who hasn’t been sent in from a bear attack.

Maybe Maria drained them before you got in.

But that isn’t possible, you know that, you’d have seen the equipment, and you’ve gotten bodies straight from the scene, already drained.

You reach over to grab a scalpel off the table.

You shouldn’t do this. You could probably be fired for it, but as long as no one finds out you’ll be fine. All the damage to this cadaver has been done to its limbs, so hypothetically, if you were to slice open his chest you would see blood, dried or otherwise.

So you do just that.

You carve out a small, clean, incision vertically on his sternum.

Nothing.

You’ve got a pen flashlight that you shine into his chest cavity only to find his organs. Dry.

He’s been completely drained of his blood.

You stitch him up quickly, finishing the job as swiftly as possible before running up the stairs, mumbling a rushed excuse to Maria before running the entire way home.

Joel doesn’t text you back.

This isn’t happening, not again, he wouldn’t do this again.

You feel like you’re gonna be sick.

An image flashes through your mind.

Joel.

Lips curled back in a snarl.

No. That wasn’t real, it was just a dream. Although the line between the two has been getting blurrier.

Joel isn’t out there draining people of their blood, that’s absurd, even if he goes missing and those dates happen to coincide with the days that you get bloodless corpses.

It’s a coincidence.

Or it isn’t.

Maybe for one second you should just let yourself consider the possibility that something is terribly wrong.

You thoroughly check the two bodies you get the next day.

They come in together, a couple from out of state hiking in the park. Neither one of them bleeds.

The day after that you wake up early and walk to the funeral home as the sun rises. You watch the hearse wheel in the body, and you make sure you’re the first person to see her.

A tragically beautiful woman who appears to be in her late forties, maybe early fifties.

None of her wounds are bloody, and when you open her chest cavity it’s like someone drank her insides with a straw.

You’re nearly at your breaking point, nothing you’re looking at makes any sense.

You spend that night in bed, unable to sleep as you try and figure out what the hell is going on.

Joel doesn’t answer your calls.

He doesn’t respond to your several angry texts.

And something deep down within you tells you that asking Maria would be a mistake.

You’re completely alone on this.

So you call Maria and you tell her that you’re sick and won’t be in tomorrow. Then you look up the bus schedule in and out of town.

The bus comes in and out of Honey twice, every other day. Lucky for you, today is one of the days the bus will be there in the morning, and return in the evening.

The bus stop is empty when you arrive, the misty morning air clings to your skin as you stare out into the surrounding forest.

Something is out there.

And you’re gonna find out what it is.

You can’t keep being afraid, this is your home now, and you won’t be driven away by some imaginary monster.

It starts to drizzle when you look out the window of the bus, watching Honey disappear behind you.

You have a plan.

Well sort of.

You’re going to find some literature on the subject. You’re sick of feeling crazy so you’re going to prove yourself right. Something is very wrong in Honey, and monster or not, you’re going to figure it out.

You don’t catch the name of the town you end up in, you just get off at the stop that looks the most tourist friendly, assuming that there has to be a book store somewhere in town.

You only have to walk main street for a few minutes before you find it.

It’s a quaint little shop tucked in between an attorney's office and a gift shop.

Betty’s Books

Dimly lit and jam packed wall to wall with books, a small elderly woman sits behind the counter, reading a Stephen King novel.

“Excuse me?” You clear your throat as she looks up at you over her wiry glasses.

“How can I help you?” Her smile is warm, it fills the entire shop with an aura of comfort.

You’re going to sound ridiculous. And the moment you do this you’ll be speaking it into existence.

You don’t have any other options.

“Do you have anything on local urban legends?” You try not to sound too ashamed but her smile never falters as she points.

“Back left corner, dear.”

“Thank you.”

“Let me know if you need anything else.” She’s already buried her nose back in her book before you turn towards the rest of the shop.

You begin searching the shelves for anything that could possibly help you, there’s several different books on bigfoot and the loch ness monster. There are a lot of empty spaces between books and you have to assume that this is what most tourists are buying.

People in search of ghosts and myths.

Are you any better than them?

Running out into the darkness, looking for a monster you very well may have made up.

You look through a few more options before finally settling on a thick, leather bound book, you pull it from its place and stare down at the embossed cover.

A Beginners Guide to Cryptozoology : West Virginian Monsters

You aren’t going to find a better place to start.

You move back towards the front, stopping in front of the children's section.

Lullabies & Poems for Bedtime

A rabbit with a pocket watch, asleep under a tree, adorns the cover.

Ellie might like that.

Even if you’re madder than hell at her father.

You grab the little white book, setting both onto the counter, paying before stepping out into the rain. You’ve got hours until the bus back to Honey returns so you quickly make your way to a diner across the street, keeping the books tucked into your jacket.

A little bell chimes as you push the door open, sitting yourself at one of the free booths you set the books down on the table.

The waitress brings you coffee and water as you set your jacket aside, you order a plate of fries just to give you something to do as you watch the rain on the diner windows for a bit.

Eventually you know you can’t put it off anymore so you open up the book and sit back, taking care to read every single page, not wanting to miss a thing.

The first thing you learn is that there are a startling number of unnamed monsters.

It covers the basics in the first few chapters, mothman, bigfoot, chupacabra, and werewolves, but the second half of the book is entirely monsters with no names, only ink drawing accompanying the descriptions. For a while you find nothing, eventually ordering a milkshake which you sip as you skim the pages.

After two hours you’re about to give up when you stumble across a page that finally shows something familiar.

A drawing of a body, mangled, with wounds you recognize.

Five slashes across the chest, both arms completely torn off.

This creature is thought to reside only in heavily wooded areas, it was speculated to be located in the southern United States for several decades before disappearing completely.

Since then people have claimed to have seen this creature in many different locations although the majority seem to be centralized to the east coast of North America, resembling a lich, or a wendigo.

When you turn the page the illustration of the monster stares back at you.

It’s hard to make out what’s what and it looks mostly like inky scribbles but within those lines you see the creature you’ve been imagining. Long, sharp limbs, massive shoulders, and a face almost reminiscent of a humans, everything is just… distorted.

While technically unnamed, there are many unique pieces of folklore attached to this specific creature. Witnesses claim to have seen this monster transform from human to creature and vice versa, as if they walk among us in their free time.

What sets the creature apart from many other creatures of this variety is their affinity for humans. More often than not we’ve gotten reports of these creatures seeking out human mates.

We have several different claims from people saying they’ve seen the transformation happen right before their very eyes. One man claimed to have watched his sister in law turn at Thanksgiving dinner. Another says that he saw a cousin's boyfriend disappear into the woods during a wedding, transforming into a beast as he did.

According to old legends there is thought to be a connection between these creatures and their mates, quite literally bonding them in blood. The males are believed to be linked to their human mates menstrual cycles; if they have one, the females are linked to their own. There are many different descriptions of what this means for human mates. Some believe that when this creature comes in contact with their mate that they permanently revert to their human forms. Others believe they’re hunger for flesh only grows after coming in contact with them.

But most believe that they eat their mate. Plain and simple. That their blood is more potent to them than anyone else’s, so much so that any love they may harbor for them is irrelevant, they are simply blinded by their bloodlust.

Its victims often resemble that of an animal attack. Bodies torn apart, mangled, often believers of this legend are ‘disproven’ because of this fact, but there is always one thing that separates this creature's kills from that of an animal. Animals who eat their victims will do exactly that, eat them, this creature does no such thing, while it does massacre its victims it will rarely consume its flesh, preferring the taste of blood.

There have been no confirmed sightings of these creatures and we have been unable to trace its origins or obtain any photographic evidence, maybe it really is just an animal.

Monster or bear? It’s up to you.

It’s up to you.

You slam the book shut.

It’s nonsense.

Joel isn’t some blood drinking, period monster. But you came all this way, looking for a monster, and seemingly you’ve found it.

You pick up the little book for Ellie, taking a sip of your coffee.

Maybe it’ll make you feel better.

You open it to find a familiar little song on the inside of the cover.

I know you,

I walked with you once upon a dream.

You flip through it, mostly admiring the beautiful illustrations, they look like watercolors. There’s a frog with a crown, princesses with flowing gowns and witches grinning up at you from the pages. It isn’t until some random page in the middle that you actually stop to read the poem. The drawing accompanying this one isn’t colorful, only black ink, a drastic change from everything so far.

Jabberwocky

By: Lewis Carroll

It unsettles you to look at so you focus on the words instead. You know this creature, it’s from Alice in Wonderland. The poem is whimsical, you can imagine a child finding it rather entertaining should a parent read it with enthusiasm. You don’t have a parent reading it to you though, you’re alone, staring at the lines that have caught your eye.

Beware the Jabberwock, my son!

The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!

No more books today.

When you check your phone there are no new notifications. So Joel is either a terrible boyfriend or a potential murderer.

How comforting.

Fuck it.

You click on his contact.

[ TEXT ME BACK RIGHT NOW. OR WE’RE THROUGH. ]

Monsters aren’t real.

Joel Miller is just the worst boyfriend (soon to be ex-boyfriend) on the planet.

It doesn’t help that you catch a glimpse of a tampon wrapper in your bag when you throw your phone back into it.

It’s a coincidence.

You can’t say anything to anyone about this, how would it look if ditzy Darlene’s niece showed up and started spinning stories of her own? You can’t do it, you know exactly what people would say. They’d say it ran in the family and they’d find a reason to be cruel to her even in death.

So you take the bus home in silence.

For the next few days barely speak to Maria other than polite greetings, you’re certain she doesn’t notice, both of you are swamped. You’ve got a body everyday the rest of the week and she’s up to her neck in paperwork.

And Joel never texts.

Maria’s juggling Ellie and trying to fill out papers when you get in the next morning.

“Thank god you’re here, can you run upstairs and grab something for me, there’s a little makeup bag on the counter in the bathroom, I forgot it earlier and I’m waiting on a phone call regarding the couple we had.”

“Of course.” You set your things down before reaching for Ellie. “Here, let me take her so you can do that.”

“You’re a lifesaver, thank you.” Almost as if on cue the phone rings the moment she says it. You head towards the stairs, the toddler in your arms scrunches up her face as if trying to recall your identity.

“You know me, silly, I’m friends with your daddy.” At the mention of her father she seems to relax and you open the door at the top of the stairs.

You’ve never actually been in this part of the house before, you’ve always stayed in the business section. You don’t get a chance to look around, the bathroom is the first door on your left. A bag the size of a pencil box is on the counter, you hand it to Ellie, her little hands play with the bag as you carefully bounce her in your arms.

“Do you know where your daddy is?” You poke her in the belly making her smile at you for the first time. “Not gonna snitch?” You tickle her side, earning a tiny giggle. You let her play with the zipper as you bring her back downstairs. “Any bodies today?” You yell as you descend the stairs.

“Had a cremation from the home this morning, I’ve just got a lot of papers, I’m planning six funerals simultaneously right now.”

Six massacred corpses in six days.

“Where’s Tommy?” Ellie puts up a bit of a fight for the bag but you set it down on the desk just in time to watch Marias grip on her pen tighten.

Yikes. Must be a sore spot right now.

“He’s got a work thing, left me with that little monster.” She uses the pen to point at the toddler who’s already starting to get antsy in your arms.

If you’ve got no bodies today you might as well offer to help.

“I can watch Ellie if you’d like.”

“Really? You don’t mind?”

“Of course not, want me to keep her upstairs? I’m sure you don’t want me watching her in the basement.” You laugh a little as she nods.

“You really are a lifesaver, I don’t know how I managed without you.”

“Oh stop, you clearly did just fine before I came along.” Your face gets a bit hot at the compliment.

“I’ll be up in a few hours once I finish up here, you two have fun.” She doesn’t give any instruction beyond that so you just take Ellie back upstairs. You haven’t spent much time with her beyond the small interactions in passing but you know she doesn’t like doing nothing unless it’s with Joel. She’s trying to get out of your arms the second you’re at the top of the stairs. You set her down in the entryway and she’s already running into the kitchen.

You don’t want to snoop but you actually get to take a good look around as Ellie settles in front of a pile of notebooks and a mess of crayons on the kitchen floor. It’s a pretty open floor plan, the kitchen and living room are all one big room and from the looks of it they must watch Ellie often, an outsider would assume they have a child of their own. A play pen is set up on the floor of the living room and toys are scattered everywhere.

“Are you hungry, sweetie? Do you want something to eat?” There’s different snacks on the counter as you walk over to where she’s playing.

“Yes please.” Her voice is clear and high pitched, you’re actually a little surprised, you didn’t even know she could talk, she’s always silent when you’re around. There’s an assortment of different things on the counter so you just find something that’s already open. Handing her a little container of apple puffs, she doesn’t look up from her drawings, just blindly reaching over and grabbing a handful as you sit at the counter to watch over her.

She’s a very well behaved baby all things considered.

You have to stop her from drawing on the walls a few times and at one point she stuffed a handful of food between the couch cushions but other than that she’s rather relaxed. She sits and draws mostly, only occasionally getting up and doing a few laps around the room before returning to her papers.

At one point she makes her way to where you’re sitting, slapping your leg to get your attention until you pick her up, she points to the window above the sink and when you take her there she simply stares out at the trees.

She’s focused on the woods as you watch her expression, her face is oddly serious.

After a few minutes you set her down, unease filling your body. She doesn’t seem to mind though as she runs back to her drawings, you return to the counter, checking your phone for a few minutes until she appears in your peripherals once more, tapping your leg again, handing you one of her drawings.

At several different moments this week you’ve thought that you’ve reached your breaking point.

None of those compare to how you feel when you pick up the paper Ellie had been scribbling on.

It’s crude and mostly indiscernible but you know exactly what you’re looking at.

A monster.

A broad shouldered, sharp toothed, crayon monster.

You stare at the little girl, trying to keep your composure as you pick her up, setting her in your lap and pointing at the mess of scribbles on the page.

You feel crazier than ever, asking a toddler for help but no one else is around and you’re running out of options.

“Can you tell me what that is, sweetie? What did you draw?” You hand her the drawing back which she crumples a bit in her fist before setting it on the counter, you point again at the creature. “Ellie, honey, can you tell me what this is please?” You’re doing your best to keep calm as she kicks her legs a bit before staring up at you with a frown.

“Daddy?” For someone so small she speaks so loudly and clearly, but you just shake your head.

“I know, honey, you want your daddy, I wish I knew where he was but you’re stuck with me today.” You smooth out her hair a bit as she scrunches up her face, looking rather upset.

“Tío.” She points down at the drawing before looking back at you for approval, you just smile. You feel like an idiot. Asking a child for help. A child who can barely speak.

“It’s okay, you’re too little to understand.” You hold her under one arm as you walk around the counter to the fridge. “How about I get you some juice.”

You find a clean sippy cup, pouring her some apple juice before setting her back down, handing her the cup and searching through your bag.

“I almost forgot, I got you a present.” She perks up immediately, setting her cup down as you hold the little white book out towards her.

“Thanks!” Her eyes light up as she takes it from you, it’s one of the few times you’ve seen her smile without her father being in the room, sitting on the floor before looking back up at you, tapping the spot next to her until you sit as well.

“Do you want me to read it to you?” You watch as she sets it down in front of her, she’s surprisingly gentle as she flips open the cover.

“No thank you.” She’s enraptured by the illustrations, not caring for the text, laying down on her stomach, and sitting up on her elbows as she slowly flips through the pages, her eyes wide as she points out everything she sees to you. You rub her back, nodding along, you’re mostly just happy that she’s excited.

She kicks her feet as she explains the big red bird on the page to you. After a few more minutes of her babbling she turns the page again.

Jabberwocky

She giggles wildly as she points at the page and suddenly you’re filled with dread all over again. She’s positively captivated by the drawing, refusing to turn to a different page when you urge her to move on.

You don’t speak again until Maria comes upstairs to check on her, when you do it’s to tell her you aren’t feeling well, and you’re going home.

You’re going on a monster hunt.

There’s nothing left to do. You need to soothe your fears before you lose it completely and you aren’t going to stare at the trees and wonder for the rest of your life.

You stop at one of the tourist traps in town, you need supplies for tonight.

A camera.

It’s an easy in and out stop. You buy a polaroid camera, and several packs of film.

No one will believe you otherwise, you’ll be ridiculed the same way they did Darlene. You think of her as you walk back home, what if she was right about everything? She spent her life in fear of a monster no one believed in and they mocked her for it, and at the end of the day she might have been right.

Maybe the monster is real and it isn’t Joel.

Either way you’re going into the woods tonight. Your backpack is packed with the essentials, your water bottle, camera, an extra film pack, one of the knives from the kitchen (wrapped in a towel,) and a flashlight.

Once you’re packed you put your boots and jacket on and head out.

It’s like everything quiets down the moment you step outside. The forest hums, beckoning you in, and how could you refuse such an offer?

You manage to keep your hands steady as you flip the switch on your flashlight, stepping into the trees. It feels so much colder now than it did when you were walking home.

With dusk settling the sun is no longer there to keep you warm or to guide your way. You haven’t actually seen much of the forest, so you decide to walk in a straight line to avoid getting lost as you carefully step over a tangle of roots. As a child you loved nothing more than playing in the woods behind your house. But after just half an hour in these woods you suddenly resent the trees, they no longer bring you any comfort as you carry on into the cold dark night. You’re just about to give up and turn back around when suddenly something changes.

Without warning and with seemingly no cause you feel a chill rush through your body, your hair standing on end. Your blood runs cold and you hear a sound you’re all too familiar with at this point.

The tearing sound rips through the air.

Your instincts tell you that you’ve become prey rather suddenly in this situation but you can’t turn back now, not when you can prove to yourself that you aren’t losing it.

As quietly as possible you reach back into your pack, grabbing the camera already loaded with film and holding it in your free hand. The beam coming from your flashlight trembles slightly as you carry on towards the noise.

It’s louder than it ever was in the dreams. In the dreams it was subdued, almost as if you subconsciously knew that it couldn’t hurt you. As you carry onward you can’t help but wonder if you’re just imagining it at this point. It doesn’t seem to get louder as you walk. It simply fills the air completely, you’re being directed purely by your instincts. You know it’s this way as you move forward a few more steps.

You scan the trees with your light, seeing nothing out of the ordinary until you finally see it. Your finger instinctively flips off your flashlight.

You almost didn’t catch it.

But your legs keep moving and you get closer and closer to the hunched figure.

It’s hard to describe, like your eyes don’t want to accept what you’re seeing. A voice in the back of your mind tells you that you’re getting too close but you can’t seem to stop yourself as you carry on until you can get a good look at it.

You can’t help but breathe a sigh of relief as you realize it isn’t Joel. But that relief only lasts a moment as you see what you’re actually dealing with.

You aren’t sure how big it is. It’s big. That much is clear but it’s crouched down, it’s almost human, it may have once been human. You’re having trouble making out most of it in only the moonlight. It’s less broad than the illustrations you’ve seen, almost slim, with how close you are now you can see that it’s eating.

A buck, one of the biggest ones you’ve ever seen is splayed out across some rocks. It’s stomach has been ripped open. You watch, with morbid fascination as it digs its maw deeper into the gore.

How curious, it’s wearing clothes. Or at least the remains of some clothing, a bit of fabric clings to its crooked spine, it wears the tattered collar of a shirt like a necklace. Navy blue sweatpants stretch around the creature's waist, the fabric pulled taut, it looks like they make it just past its knees. The elastic around the ankles has snapped.

The funniest part of all of this is that you feel nothing but fear for the creature. You aren’t disgusted and you certainly don’t hate it. You’re just afraid, so afraid that before you can slap your hand over your mouth you burst into a peal of laughter.

Fuck.

It all happens so fast, you aren’t ready in the slightest to be face to face with it and suddenly you are, purely on instinct your hand twitches and with the flash of the camera you get a single moment to stare at it.

It’s so close to being human.

It’s mouth is too big, a blood soaked tongue falling past a row of jagged, pointed teeth. It’s almost like someone stretched out a person's face like it was made of clay. And it’s male. Intricate branching horns stretch out from under the hair crowning its head.

“The doe’s don’t have antlers.”

Your dad was a hunter, you know your antlers, you aren’t exactly sure but if it was a deer it would be a thirteen pointer. You should run, you’re about to but then you finally look it in the eye, just as the final remnants of the camera flash flicker out.

There is something worse than hunger, or thirst, or rage in its eyes, if that was all there was you could scream or cry. But this leaves you frozen in place.

Recognition.

Like it knows you.

And the moment it recognizes you it snarls, an ear-piercing sound that rips through the quiet of the forest, blood spewing from its maw at you, flecks of crimson tint your clothes and hands as your eyes go wide.

It’s a good thing your legs move faster than your brain, you’re already sprinting away from the creature.

You lose your flashlight almost immediately but you know where you’re going, you couldn’t be more thankful for your decision to go in a straight line. You don’t stop moving, running blindly back the way you came, never once daring to look behind you.

You know it’s there, you can hear it, and you can feel it.

Its breath is hot on your heels, you can hear the branches splintering directly behind you. Everything is a blur, stray branches sting your exposed skin but you don’t stop, you can’t, your muscles ache as you push onward, keeping your hands out in front of you to guide you through the darkness until you finally see the road up ahead.

You’re nearly there, almost feeling relief, almost.

An icy hand wraps around your ankle, you’re yanked backwards before you can process what’s going on, your back dragging across the forest floor and in an instant you’re beneath it.

This is it.

You wanted a monster, you got one. And now you’re going to die for it. It snarls as its maw falls open, you’re face to face with a row of shimmering, gore smeared teeth. This is it.

He smells like cinnamon.

It tilts its head ninety degrees, its jaw closing in on your throat as you close your eyes, tears now flow freely down your face and finally you can’t contain your terror anymore.

You scream.

A trembling shriek falling from your lips and much to your confusion a killing blow never comes. After one more shuddering breath you open your eyes only to find you’re just staring up at the trees. You sit up, still out of breath.

He’s a few feet away now.

Thrashing around frantically as he stumbles backwards. As if your scream had upset him. He bellows, his twisted hands clutching his skull like he’s angry with himself. You cover your ears instinctively when it snarls in pain.

He can’t help it.

You’re scrambling to your feet once more, giving him one final glance, you look into each other's eyes.

“Run.”

It speaks.

You break into a sprint once more, not daring to stop until your feet touch pavement. You don’t get the sense that you’re being followed anymore but you’re still in shambles. The adrenaline is slowly starting to fizzle out and you’re painfully aware of the wound you sustained during that encounter. Your ankle is torn up, two deep gashes from where it grabbed you are bleeding an alarming amount. You stumble, the sight of it making you nauseous.

You get a moment's respite and you manage to compose yourself enough to retrieve your phone from your pocket. Walking backwards, keeping your eyes on the forest as you slowly continue to back away. In your desperation your blood stained fingertips frantically swipe across your phone screen, you don’t realize until it’s too late that you’re calling the only person who isn’t going to answer.

Yet when you bring the phone to your ear you hear a click.

“Joel?” You can’t fucking believe it. He actually picked up.

“Sweetheart? Are you okay?” He can definitely hear the panic in your voice.

You just break down.

“I’m by the road, on the way from Maria’s to my camper, I- I need you to come get me, please, it’s- it’s following me, but I think I lost it please, Joel.” You’re in hysterics as you catch a glimpse of one of the few streetlights down the road. You hear the sound of keys and you swear you hear Maria saying something in the background but you’re too frenzied to focus on that.

“Who’s following you? Stay right there m’on my way.” You can hear the truck starting in the background as you keep running, not daring to stop even though it doesn’t feel like you’re being pursued anymore.

“The monster… in the woods… it’s not a bear Joel.” You’re out of breath when you finally stop, standing in the middle of the road underneath the street lamp, spinning around to try and somehow keep an eye on all of the darkness around you.

“Stay where you are, I’ll be there in two minutes, okay? Stay right where you are.” You’re about to beg him to hurry when the line goes dead.

You must look like a mad woman. Standing in the middle of the street, covered in blood, and spinning in circles to try and keep an eye on every single direction as you listen for any signs of movement.

Your heartbeat never slows, you can hear it pounding in the crushing silence that surrounds you.

It only takes a few minutes before you see headlights approaching in the distance. You don’t even let the truck come to a full stop as you open the door and jump in, closing it behind you as you scramble towards Joel as if he could protect you from the goliath you saw in the darkness.

“Drive! Now Joel, go!” You yell as he accelerates just to the point of following the speed limit as he heads towards your camper.

“Bunny, please, calm down.” He wraps the hand that isn’t on the steering wheel around you but you shove him off, sliding back to the other side of the truck.

“Don’t tell me to calm down, Joel, not after what I just went through, I saw it, a real monster grabbed me.” You’re stumbling over your words, trying to get them out as quickly as possible.

“Slow down, just tell me what happened.”

“I told you on the phone, I just found a fucking monster, Joel, that’s what happened.”

He’s gone silent now.

He probably thinks you’re crazy.

That’s fine. You know you aren’t, you saw it, watched it feed. There’s deer blood on your boots.

“You didn’t see a monster.” When you look he’s shaking worse than you are. You don’t dare turn your head further but you watch in your peripheral as he grips the steering wheel, his knuckles going white.

He’s lying.

Why would he lie?

“I did, I took a-.” You reach into your bag and your stomach fills with dread as you realize you dropped the camera.

“You didn’t. You’ve been spending too much time alone, and you shouldn’t be going out in the woods by yourself to begin with.”

“And who’s fault is it that I’ve been alone?” You snap.

He doesn’t have a response to that. And you don’t have anything else to say, not like he’d believe you if you did. You should probably break up with him, for several reasons.

Except you can’t.

If you do, how will you stop people from being needlessly murdered? He may not be the monster, but he knows something, and you need to find out what it is.

So you’ll ‘forgive’ him. Again. Because you need to get to the bottom of this.

And maybe, despite it all, you’re still terribly attached to him. He keeps disappearing, without warning and with halfhearted excuses as to why and all you can think about right now is how badly you missed him, and how badly you need him.

“Does Tommy have Ellie tonight?” You mumble, trying not to sound too irritated.

“I was stopping in to see her before leaving her with Maria for the night when you called.”

“Why?”

“I was gonna come over here and apologize.” He sounds just as sincere as he did last time but you still scoff.

“What’s the excuse this time?” When you turn to scowl at him he looks guilty.

“I was out of town on a work trip.”

“And you couldn’t answer your phone.”

“I forgot my charger at home.”

It’s a preconceived lie. You’re certain of it based on how quick he replies, and it’s not even a good one. He could have borrowed a coworker's phone or bought a new charger; it wouldn't have been difficult. But he doesn’t want you to know where he really was.

Every bit of this confuses you.

You saw something in the woods, but it wasn’t Joel? Joel was with Ellie and then he was with you, he couldn’t have been slaughtering lost hikers. It doesn’t make sense. One thing is for certain though, and it’s that you can’t break up with Joel until you know what's going on or more people are going to be killed by that thing you saw in the woods. You aren’t really sure what to call it, but you know that you found the thing that’s been killing.

And he knows something about it.

He had no reason to get as rattled as he did if he didn't know something about what you saw. So you can’t break up with him, not until you figure this all out. Until then you just have to play the part of a clueless, loving girlfriend. Which shouldn’t be too hard considering the fact that for some reason there is still a sick and twisted attraction to him despite everything you know, settling in your stomach. You bite your tongue, going the rest of the short drive in silence. When he finally pulls up to the camper the engine goes quiet as he turns the key. You had no intention of inviting him in but you won’t stop him if he follows.

You slam the truck door shut, stomping up to the door, his footsteps following close behind.

“Let’s talk about this.” He reaches for your arm as you’re unlocking the door but you just shove him off. You leave it open, kicking your shoes off as you slip out of your jacket as you flip on the lights.

“I don’t want to talk.” He shuts the door behind him, you note that he locks it behind him.

How presumptuous.

Correct, but presumptuous.

“You’re clearly upset, bunny.” He kneels down, untying his own boots before kicking them off. You glare down at him until he stands, trying to pull you into his arms but you just shove him away again. His eyes go wide as he takes you in.

Based on his reaction you really must be quite a sight.

“Jesus, you’re a mess.” He looks genuinely concerned but you brush it off.

“Thanks.” You scoff but when you look down you realize you’ve been leaving a trail of blood in your wake.

“Do you have a first aid kit?” You should send him away. Tend to yourself and go to bed, but instead you just point to the cabinet containing the kit, sitting on the table as he retrieves it, tossing it down beside you. He doesn’t ask what happened, grimacing as he lifts your leg to examine your ankle.

He doesn’t need to ask, he knows what happened.

He tends to your wounds in silence. You wince as he wipes the lacerations on your ankle, they look bad enough that you consider just going to the hospital but he doesn’t seem too worried. They’re just shallow enough that you don’t think you’ll need stitches.

You don’t watch as he sprays it with antiseptic, quickly wrapping it in a layer of gauze and then bandages.

When he’s finished you’re ready to get angry with him all over again but the moment you open your mouth to yell at him he grabs you by the chin, taking a clean piece of gauze and gently dabbing the thin cuts that litter your face.

You stare up at the ceiling light, refusing to meet his gaze.

He tends to every one of them, taking extra care as he smears ointment on each one. When he’s finished he takes anything bloodied and gathers it in his hand, standing to toss them into the bin under the sink. You don’t turn, but out of the corner of your eye you see him bring his hand to his mouth.

Your blood.

He tasted your blood.

You can feel the bile rising in your throat but you just swallow it back down.

“Now we can talk.” He makes his way back over to you but you just shake your head.

“I already told you, I don’t wanna talk.”

“Bunny-” He takes another step towards you.

“Shut up.”

“Don’t be like that.” There’s real remorse in his eyes, you might even feel bad if you didn’t know that he was lying to you.

“Shut. Up.” You push him so he stumbles back onto the bed. “I’m not crazy.” He props himself up on his elbows to look at you as you say it.

“I know.” He sounds almost apologetic.

“Take your clothes off.” You mumble, already tossing your shirt to the side.

“Are you sure?”

You’re sure that he knows what’s out there in the woods and he isn’t telling you.

“I am.” You kick your jeans off to emphasize your point. You know he won’t deny you this. Whatever sick, unexplainable force pulls you into his arms affects him as it does you. You don’t just want him, you need him.

You hadn’t realized it until he’d disappeared again, but now you couldn’t be more aware. It’s as if your entire life you’ve felt wrong. You’ve been in a state of discomfort for as long as you can remember, like a vital part of you was missing. But you got used to it, and you learned to live with the odd sensation of never feeling like you're in the right place, nowhere ever felt like home.

Joel feels like home, in a sort of twisted way.

From the moment you first saw him everything cleared up. It was like you had finally found your center of balance, and when he disappeared he took all of that with him.

This is more than just attraction.

With that he tugs his flannel off, you grab the bottom of his shirt, impatiently pulling it up over his head, not wanting to look him in the eyes, you stare at his shoulders as you climb up onto the bed, straddling his lap.

“I really think we should talk-” He starts again so you reach behind yourself, unclasping your bra, glaring at him as you let it drop.

“Then talk.”

He looks at you like you’re something to eat.

“That’s not fair.” He finally manages to pull his gaze off of your chest, looking you in the eyes, his pupils swallowing his irises leaving you to stare into the darkness of his eyes.

“There’s nothing to talk about, you went away for work and you forgot your phone charger.” You reach between the two of you to remove his belt, tossing it behind him on the bed before trying to unzip his jeans. “It was just an unfortunate series of circumstances.” You grumble before lifting yourself off his lap so he can shove his jeans off.

He’s glaring at you now. Good. He should know that you’re challenging him. Everything from this point on is a game, you just have to catch him in a lie. You grind down against the straining fabric of his boxers, hands on his shoulders to balance yourself as you rub yourself against his clothed erection, drawing a hiss from between his teeth. Before you know it his hands are gripping the hem of your panties.

“Go on Joel, rip them off. I know you’re plenty capable.” You say it like the accusation it is. He’s strong enough to do a lot of things, you aren’t sure if tearing a person in half is one of those things but you’re determined to find out. He knows what you’re implying but he does it anyway, grabbing the fabric on either side of your hips and easily tearing them to shreds.

“You don’t know what you do to me.” He murmurs, leaning forward to press his forehead to yours.

You do.

He does the same to you. A carnal desire, your most basic human instincts are reduced to nothing the moment your skin is against his.

You don’t waste any time, slipping your hand under the waistband of his underwear, watching his cock spring free, slapping against his stomach. You unceremoniously spit in your hand before taking him in your fist, watching his jaw go slack as you rake your nails against the underside of his cock, feeling him twitch in your hand. You keep your eyes trained on his face as you notch him at your entrance, tilting your head to the side as you hesitate.

The veins in his neck jut out as you slide the head of his cock over your clit, hissing softly as you do.

He’s purposefully showing restraint.

He clutches the sheets, his knuckles go pale and you can’t help but wonder if he isn’t touching you because he’s worried he’ll hurt you.

“Fuck me, Joel.” You lean forward, biting his stupidly plush bottom lip. He doesn’t move his hands from where they are and you can’t help but scowl against his mouth.

He’s holding back.

He knows exactly what you’re doing and he’s trying to prove you wrong. How long has he been holding back?

In one sharp motion you slide down on his cock, forcing an obscene moan out of yourself, but it isn’t loud enough to cover the ripping sound. Your eyes wander downward, his are rolled back but all you can focus on now is your torn bed sheets in his clenched fist.

Holy hell.

“Fuck. Me.” You rasp out, lifting your hips again before dropping them back down. His head falls forward this time, his mouth latching onto your shoulder, muffling his growl.

You know that growl.

“Fuck me or leave, Joel.” You take his face in your hand, roughly pulling him back so he’s eye to eye with you.

You heard that growl in the woods less than an hour ago.

“You’re playing with fire, bunny.” He glares at you but you just stare right back.

“I won’t say it again.” You give him one last warning and he finally brings his hands to your hips, with a grunt he lifts you up, slamming you back down on his cock, you can feel him brushing against your cervix as you cry out.

At his age he shouldn’t be able to do that.

He does it again, moving you like a ragdoll up and down on his length, a lewd squelching fills the air, egging him on. He tilts his head down, his teeth scrape against your breast, and you can hear a roar building in his throat. He fucks you like a fleshlight, moving you effortlessly up and down on his cock, your chest bouncing with each thrust.

He shouldn’t be able to do any of this.

Neither one of you speaks, you can feel the camper swaying ever so slightly as he slams into you, thrusting his hips up to meet yours as he pulls you down onto him.

He makes it look effortless.

Another growl rips through the air and you know neither one of you is gonna last long if he keeps going at this pace. He hammers into your sensitive spots with every thrust, your clit rubbing against the dark curls along his pelvis.

He’s merciless with the force at which he moves you, he’s started nipping at your shoulder and you know he’s close as they get harder and harder. You finally feel him break the skin and just like that he’s lifting you off of him, his mouth clamped down on your flesh, you feel his cum between your legs as he finishes on your folds. The sensation of him slipping out of you sends you over the edge right along with him, your stomach tightening as you groan, letting your head fall forward onto him.

You feel better already.

Not good, just better.

He manages to keep you both upright for a few more moments before collapsing down on the mattress with you in his arms.

And then it’s just quiet.

Until the mattress squeaks as you get up. Wiping yourself off with a towel and turning the lights off before returning to bed without a word. He’s the one who finally breaks the silence.

“If you want me to leave, I’ll leave.”

“You can stay.” You mumble, rolling over to face away from him.

It’s better if you know where he is.

That’s what you tell yourself.

It’s easier to swallow that excuse than the truth, that you can’t shake the terror from your encounter with the creature and now amount of fucking is going to change that. You don’t want to be alone, no matter how angry you are. He doesn’t seem to take the hint though, snaking his arm under yours and pulling you to his chest.

You start to push him away but you feel a wave of calm wash over you when he does so you just settle back against him. You close your eyes, praying sleep might come but all you see in the darkness is that open maw closing in on you.

You know that growl.

It isn’t Joel. It can’t be Joel, he was with Ellie and then he was with you.

It wasn’t Joel.

You’re more than used to waking up in the woods at this point. Monsters and men torment you in your dreams whenever they get the chance to.

But tonight is different.

You don’t feel the cold, wetness of the forest floor on your back before you open your eyes. Instead you only feel steel, you make an attempt to sit up on instinct but you can’t. In a panic you open your eyes to find yourself cuffed to the cadaver carrier from Marias basement.

This can’t be happening.

This is the kind of dream you get after your first body.

You’ve had this dream, years ago when you’d just started studying mortuary sciences. Although now it feels worse, more ominous than it had previously.

That probably has to do with the fact that you can’t move.

In response to that petrifying thought you begin to uselessly tug on the cuffs, your ankles and wrists attached to the cold unforgiving steel of the table you’ve sewn countless bodies back together on.

You don’t strap cadavers down, there’s no need to.

The door swings open and you’re thankfully able to sit up enough to watch Maria and Joel walk in, solemn looks on both of their faces.

You open your mouth to call for help but something stops you.

No.

No, no, no.

Your jaw is wired shut.

The sudden realization makes you gag as you shake the table with the force of your panic.

Maria is always thorough, your mouth is full of cotton.

They act as if you’re as lifeless as any other corpse as they stand beside you, despite your muffled screaming, tears immediately flowing from your eyes as you feel your throat constrict around the cotton.

“What happened to her?” He sounds so far gone even though he only stands a few feet away.

“You know what happened to her.” Marias sorrow turns to a look of resentment as she turns to Joel.

“Bear attack.” He says it more to himself than to her.

“Keep telling yourself that.”

“I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

“You never do.” Her voice is full of a hatred you haven’t ever heard in reality.

She looks at you with a pity you’ve had on your own face before. It’s the same look you give every corpse on a table.

You follow Maria’s gaze down at your body and find your chest sliced open, the inside dry.

And then you wake up.

Of course Joel is there when you sit up in bed with a strangled cry, a fresh flood of tears falling down your face.

“Bunny?” His groggy, sleep ridden voice resembles a growl, sending you backwards away from him, your back hitting where the mattress meets the camper wall. He’s already up, he moves towards you but the moment you flinch away from he stops. “Are you okay? What hap-“

“Don’t come any closer.” Your voice is barely above a whisper.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay.” Thankfully he doesn’t move towards you, he holds his hands up ever so slowly. He’s acting like you’re a cornered animal.

You can’t seem to find your voice. Every single logical and rational part of your body and mind tell you to get as far away from him as possible. To fight tooth and nail to get past him, to run away and never look back. You’d never get away with that though, he’s too deeply rooted in you already. He’s made for you. Sculpted by the gods to be everything you’ve ever wanted all in one neat little salt and pepper package, served up to you on a silver platter.

“Sweetheart, it’s okay, you’re okay.” He inches forward a bit but the way you pull your legs up against your chest, trying to make yourself smaller makes him move back. “It’s okay, it’s just me.”

Yeah Joel, that's the problem.

a/n : i have such mixed feeling abt this chap but whatever i really like it so ?? idk

I am no longer doing taglists so follow @lincolndjarinnotifs and turn on notifications to be notified when new chapters are posted !!

#lincolndjarin #joel miller #tlou #the last of us #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #tlou hbo #joel tlou #the last of us hbo #monster fucker #monster lover #monster romance #oh honey #fic : oh honey

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