#it wasn't an enthusiastic consent

[ant-diary]

I think I have maybe decided to tell someone I no longer want to be friends with them, but I'm wondering if I should give it a few more days before I commit to it

[bunny-jpeg]

holy- THE MAX WEED FIC MIGHT BE THE HOTTEST F1 PIECE IVE READ SO FAR OML PLEASE MORE DRUNK FILTHY SEX WITH MAX I BEG YOU!! or hear me out his rival (who already is into max but refuses to admit it) accidentally takes an aphrodisiac and she’s forced to beg and grind on max for his help!! size kink please with those huge thighs and hands of his ❤️❤️

oh my god thank you!!! i wasn't too sure how people would like intoxicated fics! i know that most write it with liquor, but if you've had sex while stoned, it's a nicer feeling. anyway, i'm really fucking with this idea so! i hope you enjoy!

and for those out there on the internet, send me your ideas! i love ideas to be shared and written!!!! send me your smutty ideas! i want em!!!

max verstappen

cw: smut/pwp, rivals au, aphrodisiacs, begging/whining, size kink, praise kink, non-penetrative sex, driver!reader, recreational drug use (weed), enthusiastic consent, thigh riding, clothed sex, max being a good rival/lover

"i think i should cutting these up for you, schat." he said as he cut the bag open for you. nothing too spectacular on, just four pieces of chocolate, "so this was their response to not having weed." he picked up a piece and eyed it in the light of the kitchen.

most drivers had their vices, many indulged in the bitter nectar of alcohol. others enjoyed the private company of certain individuals, which left heavy stacks of money on nightstands and tucked into bank accounts. a small portion got their kicks from substances that went harder.

you remembered having to sit in a meeting with max when you first started in formula one about the dangers of illicit drugs. as if most of the retired drivers didn't have their brains re-altered by the likes of cocaine.

but this wasn't canada, or certain parts of the united states or even amsterdam. you couldn't just freely by your fix, weed, so you had to get creative. but someone with as much money as you, with that much influence in a city like monte carlo allowed you to get what you needed.

it may not be marijuana on paper, but it would do the trick on a saturday night during summer break.

"you don't think i can handle it?' you asked as you rested your chin against your hand with your elbow on the counter. you sighed, "you think so poorly of me, verstappen?"

he sighed, "no, i just don't want you passed out on my couch. the point is to have fun, not get wasted." he said but before he could grab a knife to cut it half for you, you had taken a piece of it and ate it down. max looked at you and put the knife back in the drawer, "you know, fine. fine, fine, fine. let's see how this goes, schat."

it was almost a dare and made you sit up a little more, you made a face at him, "what? i'm a big girl, i can handle a little drugs."

he drummed his fingers against the counter top and stuck out his bottom lip as he made a face back at you. his other hand was on his hip as he said, "like you could handle all that vodka in austria in twenty-nineteen. or when you out smoked me that weekend in amsterdam and i had to stay in your hotel room because you were going to cry if i left."

"ya know, verstappen. i don't like how i'm being spoken to."

he sighed, he went around the counter and kissed you on the cheek, "grab your bottle of water, you're going to need it." max knew, underneath it all, you carried a soft spot for him. he did for you as well, but he was a little more open about it. you had protected your soft underbelly when it came to him, while he held his arms open for you.

the feelings didn't start until an hour after you took it.

there was some movie on, but you weren't paying much attention. you were cuddled up against him. his arm was around your shoulders and kept you closed to him. you could feel the tingle in your feet and up your legs.

you made a small moaning noise with your nose in the side of his neck, right up against his hair. your hand was spread across the broadness of his chest.

your clenched onto his shirt and shakily exhaled as it start to really hit. everything felt gooey in your brain as you rubbed up against him. usually when you took part in illicit fun, you just got hungry or sleepy. but not this, something swirled in your gut.

"max." you said out of breath.

he pulled you closer to him and looked at you, "yes, schat? aw, was it all too much for you?" he cupped the back of your head and pulled you in for a sweet kiss.

you whined against the kiss as you felt the heat run through your body. you felt hot all over, your knew your face must feel so hot. when you pulled away, you swallowed, "i'm.. i'm really turned on."

he chuckled, oh this was perfect. he rubbed the back of your head, those blue eyes enchanted you. this guy really was going tire-to-tire with you almost every weekend. that excited you.

you've thought about the sight of him in that driving suit, the stupid kits red bull puts him in. even now in a white t-shirt, and sweatpants after a nice dinner, you thought about what was under there.

"shit."

he chuckled then reached over to grab your metal water bottle. he opened it for you and gave you some. you drank it down heavily before he laughed once more. he put the bottle down and asked, "how are you feeling?"

"hot all over." you said, "i need you to fuck me."

he said, "i don't think i can. you're too high." he tucked hair behind your ear, but his eyes went wide as you got on either side of his thick thigh. he looked up at you and said, "schat, i need your word. are you okay to do this?"

you nodded as you gripped onto his shoulders, "yeah, yeah. i'll do all the work. nothing serious." even through the layers of clothes, you felt the stimulation across your clit. you could feel the blood rush in your ears.

your dug your nails into the meat of his shoulders, through the t-shirt he wore. you shakily exhaled, "i can see why everyone obsesses over your thighs." you then grabbed his hand and pressed your palm against his, "i didn't realize how big your hands were either." you giggled, "they're like bear paws." then pressed his hand against your heated cheek.

"they're not that big."

you nodded as you moved against him, your clothed cunt felt stimulated by the movements you made. plus his hands on you made you more turned on. your eyes fluttered shut for a moment, "they so are, they're like big paws. big bear paws." you giggled as you squirmed against him.

max looked away from you for a moment and sighed deeply to compose himself. in all fairness he wanted to sink his teeth into you. he wanted to fold you in half and fuck you until no words could leave your mouth. but he couldn't not while you were like this, even when he said yes. he wanted to make sure that you were sober when he did that.

"why can't you fuck me, max? i've been such a good girl! i almost beat you in belgium, that should make you fuck me." you whined, you stuck out your bottom lip with your hips still grinding against his thigh.

he cupped your behind and kept his nose against your, he sighed, "i'd love to, beautiful." he said, "but, you're not in the right mindset. i know we're rivals. but, i could never hurt you." it was the god's honest truth.

"no fair!" you whined.

"if you need to get off again after this, you can feel free to... pleasure yourself." he said, the words got caught in his throat. he could feel the blush up to his ears at the sight of you grinding against his thigh.

you nodded and held onto him as you continued to rub against him. you panted wildly and you were louder than usual. nromally you were rather quiet, but while high you were pitifully loud. you kissed him on the jaw and said, "next time i wanna feel that nose of yours against my pussy."

he exhaled deeply, his heartbeat staggered, holy shit. your dirty talk was making the hairs stand up on the back of his neck. he held onto you and let you continue to rut against him like a little puppy.

"aw, ya like that, max?" you asked softly.

he chuckled, "i have to say, usually you're more subtle. i didn't know that you liked my body so much."

you looked at him and said, "max, are you fucking kidding me? have you seen yourself. the first time i ever saw you without your shirt on, i almost came!" this was something you'd never admit sober, "big ol' hands, big ol' thighs, big ol' nose. all leads to one thing." you jabbed your finger in his chest, "and i know the answer to that!"

if this was a dream that max was going to wake up from, he was going to wish he was dead. but as he clenched onto your hips and let you set your own pace, he thought he had died and gone to heaven.

usually giving him a compliment was like having your teeth pulled. but right at that moment, your tongue was loose as you chased that orgasmic high you needed.

"just keep going." he panted, trying to keep himself together. and that you did, rubbing yourself raw against him.

you eventually hissed through your teeth as you climaxed in your panties. you wanted to cover your face from the rush through your system. you felt the sweat on your neck as you slowed down. you let out a few stray moans before you slowed down enough to a stop.

"holy shit." you panted as you rested your face against his shoulder. your fingers held onto the front of his shirt as you felt the aftershocks in your body.

he rubbed your back, "how are you feeling?" his cock was painfully erect in his sweatpants, but he wasn't going to try it push it further. not while you were in this state. he'd rather a painful erection then you getting hurt.

you pulled away and looked him in the eyes, your eyes were rimmed red as you nodded, "perfect, excellent, amazing. do..do you have any snacks in the fridge?"

he chuckled. you were painfully cute like this, all snuggled up with him. he knew come the next race you'd be getting in his face and challenging him at every turn. but at that moment, with you high as a kite both of the chocolate and sexual bliss. he ran his fingers through your hair and looked at your cute face. he said to you, "why don't you just lie down and i'll see what i have."

you giggled and wrapped your arms around him. you kissed him on the cheek, "you're a life saver, max!"

-

you woke up the next morning with a headache. it was a deep throb like a hangover but it still made you wince if you focused on it too much. you rolled over, away from the streaming sunlight and into max's arms.

"why did you let me take a whole piece?"

he moved his face closer to you and exhaled deeply, "because you're the most stubborn woman i've ever met." he pulled you closer to him, "give me five more minutes and i'll get you something for your head."

you pressed a kiss on his jaw. maybe he wasn't a total nightmare to be around. underneath the mask (or helmet) he wore, he was a caring man who wanted what was best for you. he even made you breakfast afterwards, but don't mistake it all for pure kindness.

come the dutch grand prix after the break, you two were going to go back to wanting to maul one another (and not sexually) <3

[dhoranbolt]

You don't fool me

A/n: two thing- first this took me forever to write, I kept having to go back and scrap ideas 🥹 second, I did not know just how down bad I was for this man until I had to sit down and write this so.

Also friendly reminder- if your age isn't easily accessible on your profile I will not be tagging you! That said if you'd like a tag in future works let me know and I'll add you to the list!

bestie beta reader: @yukios-medic you are really the best ma'am I appreciate you so much 🥹💙💙💙

Pairing: Sukuna x fem!reader, Yuji pining

cw/tw: minors/ageless blogs DNI, all characters aged up, dub-con that becomes enthusiastic consent, unprotected sex, cream pie, fingering, oral sex (female receiving), oral sex (male receiving), rough sex, dirty talk, threats of killing

Word count: 5k (ish)

This wasn't the first time they'd been paired up and sent off to find and kill a curse, but it was the first time Yuji was weary of the whole thing. They were both strong, that wasn't an issue – he'd been on back-to-back missions for weeks and it was starting to take its toll, that was the issue.

Of course, it didn't help that whenever he was around her, Sukuna would become an even bigger pain in the ass (than he already was).

They'd been sent to a long-abandoned warehouse, falling apart as it was, and radiating with cursed energy. Yep, whatever it was they were after was definitely in here.

"Split up to cover more ground?" She suggested as she looked up at him, but he shook his head.

"We can probably exorcize it quicker if we come across it at the same time, we should just stick together for now." It was a simple enough explanation, not a hint of 'I'm pushing my limits just being here with you' or 'it's easier to know you're safe if you're by my side' detectable.

To her, at least. Yuji chooses to ignore the scoff that resonates in his head as they cautiously enter the building. They walk side-by-side down the hallway, ears and eyes analyzing every detail of their surroundings.

"Must be one pain in the ass curse to send the both of us. I can feel the cursed energy everywhere, I just can't tell exactly where the source is." She filled the silence, wringing her hands together nervously.

"Yeah, I know what you mean. It’s out there, but it's all about the same output. We'll just have to watch our backs." Yuji said with a nod.

"Hey, what do you think Nobara did when she found out Gojo canceled movie night to send us after this one? I can see her practically popping a vein." She laughed softly, moving around a stack of boxes to find any sign of their curse.

"Fushiguro is probably wishing it was you that got left behind right about now." Yuji guessed with a small chuckle, suppressing the thought that he might have wished for it, too. A faint gurgle sounded at the opposite end of the hall, cursed energy seeping into every corner of their bodies as it grew closer.

Yuji covered her mouth with his hand, keeping her scream muffled as he tugged her against his chest and pulled them into the shadows.

"Shh, I think I hear something." He murmurs, squinting in the darkness. He doesn't feel the mouth form on his hand, not until her lips are moving against his palm as she makes a noise.

She's gagging; trying to pry Yuji's hand off her face. And he's going to – until Sukuna's voice rings in his head.

'Pull away and I'll bite her tongue off. Try to keep her quiet while she's drowning in her own blood'

Yuji froze as Sukuna cackled, and she still struggled in his grip, now like iron to keep the curse from making good on his threat.

His name was muffled when she frantically tried to call it, but it only left her mouth open that much more for Sukuna to swipe his tongue along the inside.

If they could conceal their own cursed energy for just a second, then it would keep going on its path to the left of them, and probably wouldn't circle back around for a while. Yuji set his jaw, glaring up the hall as he spoke.

"Conceal your energy, then we'll deal with him. One curse at a time." The only confirmation she gave that she heard him was slightly loosening her grip on his arm.

The curse slunk away and Yuji held his breath, waiting to hear any sign of it coming back. When he was sure it wasn’t, he let out a sigh and threw his head back against the wall. Taking a moment to realize the situation they were still in he looked down at her.

He couldn’t see the blush in her cheeks, but he could feel the heat on his fingers. She shifted her body against his, letting out a whimper at the awkward kiss she was still locked in.

Yuji swallowed hard and took a deep breath. This was so not the time to be letting the sounds she was making go straight to his cock.

'You want her so badly, take her.' Sukuna taunted.

"No." Yuji snapped his response, trying to think of a way out of this (and the boner he was starting to sport against her back).

'Fuck her, brat. Or I'll kill her the next time I get the chance, and I'll draw it out while I make you watch.'

Sukuna knew well what he was doing, keeping this conversation in Yuji's head. She had no clue what he was trying to shield her from. Of course he wanted her, but not like this. Not when Sukuna was all but forcing his hand on the matter, not even giving her a choice.

“I said no! Knock it off!” Sukuna just chuckled, and she turned her head to look up at him with worry in her eyes.

'Or perhaps you’d like me to put us both out of commission. Tell me, just how long do you think she’d last against this curse on her own?'

Yuji’s heart dropped to his stomach. There’s no way Sukuna hated her enough to let her die like this, not with the way he found her so entertaining to him. Not with the way he currently had his tongue down the back of her throat- right?

'No, but if it would cause you everlasting turmoil, I’d jump at the chance.'

Could she ever forgive him for doing this? Would Sukuna even drop this after all was said and done?

Yuji was exhausted, and Sukuna knew it too. It was only a matter of time before he could slip out and swap places.

'I could always assist instead. After all, one wrong move and she’s on her own anyways. Go ahead brat, ask me for my help.' He grinned.

“No, last time I let you out you were a dick.” Yuji snapped, but he was running out of options here. How long until that curse realized where they were and turned back around? He could always make a deal with Sukuna, if he would agree to it was another question though.

At the sound of Yuji’s words her body tensed, blood running cold. There was no way Yuji was actually thinking about letting the king of curses out into the wild, especially when he already had her in this position.

'Tic-toc punk ass, this offer isn’t going to last forever.'

“Promise you won’t hurt her first.” Her eyes went wide and she began to struggle in his grasp again, body going hot. Screaming through his palm and Sukuna’s tongue as well as she could manage in protest.

There is no way he’s about to offer his body over to Sukuna right now, and all she could think about were all the previous times he’d spoken to her – though, at her might be a better word. Everything he’d said up to this point, his promises to absolutely wreck her- all came flooding back. Could they really not handle this job any other way than to bring Sukuna into the mix?

'You humans are so predictable, really fucking takes the fun out of everything. I’ll get rid of the curse. Just say you aren’t strong enough, you need a real man to do your dirty work for you.'

“That’s not-”

'Going once…'

“I don’t-”

'Going TWICE...'

“Fine! I need your help, please.” She was hysterical at this point, thrashing in his grip as much as she could, grinding her ass into him harder every time she moved.

'That doesn’t sound like what we agreed to, try again.'

Yuji groaned, thankful he could use that as an excuse to let out some of his frustrations.

“Sukuna please, I’m not strong enough and need a real man to do my dirty work for me.” Yuji bit out, and she stilled at his words, stomach knotting. Any minute now, Sukuna would be breathing down her neck. Months of sexual tension, mostly from his side - would it finally come to a head now? Or would he leave it and just get the job done, let Yuji take back over when it was safe–

A low chuckle rumbled from behind her, and the sound ran straight through her body to her core. She swallowed, realizing the tongue down her throat had finally disappeared.

Sukuna ran a hand up her chest before resting it on her throat.

“Well, well, this is certainly a turn of events, isn’t it?” She whimpered, frozen in place. What the hell was she supposed to do now?

“Sukuna…” She breathed his name warily.

“Surprised to see me? I did tell you I’d have you some day. So, how was I? It’s been a few hundred years. You’ll have to excuse the fact I’m a little rusty.” Sukuna filled the silence, not waiting for an answer.

“You weren’t too bad yourself; I think I even felt you participating at the end. Care for more?” He whispered in her ear, tongue flicking out to lick her lobe. She bit back her moan, clamping her knees together as she gently rocked back into him. He laughed, moving his hands down her body to grip her hips and pull her in closer against him.

“Oh, don’t be shy now, it’s just us. The brat won’t even know, it can be our little secret.”

“I-” She stammered, face hot. So what if she’d gone back to her room at the end of a long day full of Sukuna teasing her, and closed her eyes while chanting his name under the sheets? So what if being the object of the king of curses’ endless teasing was what she used to push her over the edge some nights? That was all by her choice - she was in charge.

Currently having Sukuna’s painfully rock-hard cock prodding her ass while he held her tight against him? She was so clearly not in charge, and to make matters worse? The realization sent her core gushing.

“I can smell you,” he continued, taking in a long breath. And this time she couldn’t bite back her moan.

“Sukuna!” She gasped, feeling the blush run up her ears.

“I think you should really stop being such a cock-tease, woman. No wonder Yuji can’t help but fuck his fist most nights. I bet he can smell you too, he just spares your feelings by not saying anything.” The fog he’d brought with him was starting to clear, and she tried to pry his fingers off of her.

“Stop! You’re lying!” But Sukuna just threw his head back in a cackle.

“I actually don’t care if you believe me, do you want to know why?” He stepped out from behind her so quickly, shoving her back against the wall, it made her head spin. Looking up at his tattooed face and red eyes only solidified how real this situation was for her - and her mouth went dry. He grinned down at her, gripping her chin to hold her in place.

“I’m going to fuck you through this wall. You won’t be able to look at that stupid brat without thinking of me inside you ever again. And he’ll never know because he’s out cold.” Using his free hand, he ripped off her skirt. She cried out, trying to grip his wrist and stop her panties from meeting the same fate.

“Aww, still shy, are we?” He teased as he examined the red lace, running his fingers down to the ever-growing wet spot on them.

“N-No!” Sukuna just chuckled, watching her face morph from flustered to pleasure at his touch.

“And look, you even wore red just for me. How cute of you.” She moaned, closing her eyes. The physical and mental teasing was too much. If he wasn’t going to kill her, she was going to die of embarrassment. He sucked his teeth, hooking his thumb into her mouth and tugging her face.

“Look at me while I touch you, I won’t tell you twice.” He snapped, and her heart thrummed in her chest. It felt so good to finally have him touch her after all this time, she’d forgotten just how dangerous he was in the moment. She nodded sheepishly.

“Good, you listen well for a sorcerer. I don’t believe in praising those beneath me, but I think I’ll make an exception just this once.” He pressed his fingers against her core, watching the way she squirmed under him.

“You’re so wet already and I’ve barely touched you, was my tongue down your throat just what you needed?” Her head was spinning, his hold on her jaw rough, but all she could picture was wrapping her lips around him.

She slid her tongue around his thumb cautiously, watching his reaction for any sign that she’d miss-stepped.

He groaned, smirking down at her as he leaned closer.

“And here you’d have everyone believing you’re too innocent for such filthy things.” Finding the edge of her panties, he pushed them aside, running his fingers through her slick folds. He watched as she moaned, satisfaction settling on his face as the moan grew louder when he pushed a finger inside of her.

“God you’re so tight, there’s no way that brat could stuff his cock in you.” Her walls flexed at his words. Sukuna’s one finger was already so thick, and now her mind was swimming with the thought of having more.

“But don’t worry, you’ll take it from me.” And then she felt a second finger at her entrance, making her eyes open wider. She tried to speak as best she could around the awkward hold he still had her in, but it didn’t matter.

“Suku-na!” She cried out as he forced another finger into her.

“I’d be thanking me if I were you. I’m feeling generous enough to stretch you out before I ram my cock into your stomach.” He offered, grinning as he watched her try and hold herself together.

He didn’t wait for her to adjust to the feeling, why would he? Fucking her open on him was all he could think about while he sat bored on his throne - not that he was admitting it aloud.

So many days, weeks, months, of him wrapped up in her. He knew exactly what she was doing to him, even if she didn’t.

“Was it worth it to parade around like a whore in heat around us?” He asked as he began to slide his fingers in and out of her.

“You know I offered him the chance to have you first. Humans and their virtues though, so fickle. Of course, the brat couldn’t do this.” He pressed his palm against her cunt, and her back arched off the wall as his tongue shot out to flatten on her clit.

Letting go of her chin he wrapped his hand around her neck, giving it a testing squeeze before trailing down to her chest. Groping over her top, and then easily ripping the buttons away.

“Not my clothes!” She protested, but if he heard, he ignored her. Choosing instead to knead her breast as it spilled over her matching bra. Sukuna chuckled, looking back at her.

“The matching set, I’m starting to think you really did wear this just for me. Is that what you do? Under all those clothes you put on, you wear red hoping I’ll catch a glimpse. Hoping I’ll come out to rip it off of you.” He spoke as he rolled her bud roughly between his fingertips.

“God!” She cried out. He was everywhere. Pumping his fingers further inside her walls, tongue abusing her clit-

“I’ll be your god.” He hissed, before leaning down to suck her nipple into his mouth.

She was fast approaching the edge, gasping for air as he shot her towards her peak.

He curled his fingers inside of her, reaching a new angle that sent white hot pleasure shooting through her body.

“Sukuna!” She choked out, reaching up to ball her hands into his top. She was wary of touching him at first, opting to press against the wall instead. But it was all too much. She needed something more to try and ground herself through the first orgasm he was going to rip from her body.

“You gonna cum, little sorcerer?” He hummed around a mouthful of her breast, looking up at her expectantly. She already looked so cute and fucked out for him; grinding into his hand to push him further inside, face flushed as she whimpered his name over, brows pinched up while she looked down to him with a breathless nod.

“Please Sukuna...” If he wasn’t so pent up himself, he might have stopped what he was doing, but edging her would only edge him, and he had no interest in prolonging his own pleasure any more than being stuck in the passenger seat of his vessel already had.

For this encounter, anyways. So, he gave her what she wanted, driving his fingers faster into her cunt, biting down on the nipple currently still in his mouth, while his other hand roughly pinched at the other.

He could feel how close she was. It was getting harder to slide his fingers back into her, and he couldn’t wait to sink into her.

When he didn’t slow down or stop, she took it as permission, though, the tip of the iceberg was so close that even if he had told her no, she wasn’t sure she could have stopped, anyway.

It crashed over her in waves, throwing her against the wall as she cried out his name. Everything was gone - her sight, her hearing, all she could do was ride against his hand, and hope that their grasp on each other was enough to keep her standing through the intensity of it all.

Even when her high started to ebb away, he was still lazily pumping his fingers inside of her. Slowly the world came back to her, heartbeat pounding in her ears, and she whined.

“Aww, is someone sensitive?” He pulled away from her chest with a grin, red eyes glinting as he stared down at her dazed expression. She weakly pushed against his chest, trying to get him to stop while she regained some semblance of normal breathing.

“Sukuna…”

“Well, aren’t you going to thank me?” She swallowed hard, still trying to find her way out of the haze.

“I- thank you...” He pulled his fingers out of her, chuckling at the whimper that left her lips. Raising his hand to his mouth, he kept his eyes on her as he sucked his fingers clean.

“Mmm, I don’t think so.”

“What?” Confusion crossed her face, and he pressed the same two fingers against her parted lips, looking on in admiration as she opened them without question. Sukuna pressed his fingers against her tongue, pulling her mouth open as he did.

“Those red panties you’re wearing will be sufficient.”

“What?” The word left her mouth again, and he raised an eyebrow, dragging his fingers down her tongue and out of her mouth. She stared at him for only a second more before leaning down to slide them off her hips. She looked down to keep from fumbling, but he hooked his finger under her chin, tilting her face back up to him.

“I didn’t say you could look away.” She bit her lip, shimmying awkwardly to slide them down her knees. Stepping one foot out of them at a time, she began to lift them up. He grabbed them from her, large fingers brushing her own as he did.

She moved to stand up again, but he stopped her, shaking his head.

“On second thought, I don’t think one pair of panties is worth a mind-numbing orgasm, do you?” But it wasn’t really a question, not when he was already guiding her to her knees in front of him. The floor below her was cold - a shock that her core, still radiating heat, could feel.

“Be a good girl and open wide,” he said, reaching into his pants to take hold of his neglected cock. Pulling it out, he ran his thumb over the tip, smearing his precum up and down his length.

Sukuna groaned, gritting his teeth. The brat could imagine all he wanted; it would never compare to having her right here in front of him. Small hands braced on his thighs, eyes blown wide as she took in just how fucked she was about to be.

“See something you like?” Her breath hitched as he knocked his fat tip against her bottom lip. She slowly opened her mouth, tongue sliding out and against the underside of his cock. He groaned again, grabbing the back of her head as he forced himself into her mouth.

She dug her nails into his thighs as he did, trying in vain to pull her head back so she could breathe.

“You’re not acting very grateful. Don’t make me fuck your throat, I’ll end up hurting your feelings.” He chuckled. Tears were already welling in her eyes as she choked on what he could fit in her mouth. Slowly, she removed a hand off from his thigh, reaching down to run her fingers through her folds. When she’d gathered enough of her release, she reached back up to pump the rest of him with it.

“How resourceful of you. Makes me want to fuck my cock down your throat all the more.” She moaned around his length, gently rocking him as far as she could take him. Part of her was screaming for air, the other wanted to make him feel just as good as he’d made her feel moments ago. The fog was back, and she blinked the tears away as she looked up at him.

His jaw was tense, one hand still at the back of her head, the other balled in a fist and braced against the wall. Before this she’d only seen him when he was a mouth and one eye, stirring up chaos on Yuji’s cheek. Looking up at him now, though, red eyes trained on her and black markings all over his body - he was breathtaking.

All-powerful and terrifying as hell, considering that he could kill her in an instant, but breathtaking, nonetheless. She let her other hand slide down his leg to rest between her own, pressing her fingers into herself - only to whine in disappointment when it felt nothing like him.

“Needy little thing, aren’t you? I’ve gone hundreds of years without, and you just can’t wait for another.” She breathed hard through her nose, trying to take in as much air as she could before he hit the back of her throat again. Black dots buzzed at the corners of her vision, the sound of her choking on what she could take echoed through the hall.

Her jaw was pried open at a painful angle to accommodate him, and he wasn’t showing any signs of stopping. Her grasp on his cock grew slack, and she wasn’t fighting him every time he knocked his tip just a little further into her mouth. Her own fingers stilled in her aching walls, eyelids fighting to stay open.

Sukuna huffed, sliding his hand around to smack at her cheek.

“Don’t go passing out on me now, I’m not finished with you just yet.” And he pulled out of her mouth with a loud squelch as she gasped for air. The lightheaded feeling slowly dissipated as she looked up at him, tears and spit covering her face.

“You did okay. For now. We’ll revisit that later, get up.” She didn’t have to be told twice, rising on wobbly legs as quickly as she could. The thought occurred to her, that she was practically naked in front of him, while he was still fully clothed. She swallowed hard, trying to wipe away some of the shame along with the tears.

But he didn’t give her much time to wallow in her self-pity, quickly turning her around and pinning her to the cool wall. She shivered at the feeling of his solid body pressed into her back, erection still wet with her spit as it bounced on her bare ass.

“Maybe next time, I’ll let you look at me while I fuck you.” He breathed down her neck, grabbing his length and rubbing it through her folds. She dug her nails into the wall; he barely fit her mouth, there was no way she was ready–

“Relax, I’m not interested in breaking you the first time around. It would ruin the fun in watching you look at me in anticipation every time you’re around.” And he wasn’t wrong. Hell, he was still here, and the anticipation was coursing through her. Taking a slow breath she waited, thankful that the cool wall was enough to ease the heat on her face.

Sukuna gripped her hip and hooked his tip at her entrance before pushing in. She gritted her teeth, moaning at the already over-full feeling. For the situation being what it was, he was fairly gentle as he steadily eased himself through her tight walls with a prolonged hiss. She could only stay pressed against the wall, jaw dropped in a silent moan as he filled her out inch by agonizing inch. Her eyes rolled, body unsure if she should cry out in pleasure or pain.

“God look at you, practically foaming at the mouth. What would your sorcerers say if they caught you like this, hmm?” He groaned, bucking his hips up into hers. Her voice finally caught up to her, and she cried out, nails scraping down the wall as she clawed for anything to keep her grounded.

He didn’t quite fit all the way, but it only turned Sukuna on even more. Of course, he couldn’t fit - but he would. He would break her open on his cock as many times as he needed, until she fit him like a second skin. Until he was the only thing she could think about whenever she tried to seek pleasure elsewhere.

She was playing a game she had no clue about, and Sukuna was going to win. He laughed as he grabbed her hips, pulling out to slam back into her walls. They sucked him in and tried to keep him out all at the same time.

“Sukuna, fuck!” She moaned, reaching behind her to slow him down. He said he wasn’t going to break her, but the rough pace he’d set was literally fucking the air right out of her lungs. Her walls squeezed him tighter, and he moaned.

“Too much for you already, princess? I’m just getting started.” Sukuna grabbed her wrists, pinning them above her head.

“Too much, fuck, ‘s too much!”

“I’m not that brat, you’ll take what I give you exactly how I give it to you. Don’t piss me off, I’m in such a giving mood, right now!” He snaked his other hand around her, tongue darting out to swirl around her clit. Sukuna grinned. In an attempt to get away, she only managed to shove herself further onto his cock.

“Sukuna please, I don’t…Please!”

“Short circuiting, and I’m not even close yet. Shall we see just how many times I can make you cry before I’m finally satisfied?” Her mind was melting, she didn’t care anymore. What was she even begging for? Him to stop? Or maybe she was begging him not to stop. She’d never been filled up like this before; even the pain was pleasurable now. All she could do was stand against this wall and take it, anyway. Her body relaxed against him slightly, and he grinned.

“Is there something you want from me, little sorcerer?” She bit her wobbly lip hard, trying to focus on his words.

“I want- I wanna cum.”

“That so?” She nodded with a whimper.

“Beg, and I’ll think about it.” She couldn’t even be bothered with the feelings of shame looming overhead. She wanted one thing, and if begging was all she needed to do to achieve it, well…

“Please I wanna cum.” She whined, hands flexing in his grasp.

“Beg more, you can do better than that.”

“Please Sukuna please I wanna cum, never wanted to cum so bad. Please make me cum on your cock please I-” She was a wailing mess, she didn’t care who heard her pleas, only that he might answer them. His tongue licked at her folds, snaking around his length to tease her from every side.

He rocked her into her second orgasm, reveling in the feeling of her tightening around him as she screamed.

God, he needed to feel it again. The way her walls fluttered around his thickness, trying to close around the strain of taking him. The feeling was maddening, and Sukuna was sure he could pull another one from her immediately, he just needed to pick up the pace as he rammed his cock harder into her.

The wet sound of his second mouth lapping at her, mixed with her moaning variations of his name and ‘fuck don’t stop’ was more than enough to catch the attention of anyone close by, and as absorbed as Sukuna was in this little game, he wouldn’t let his guard down. He was sure she didn’t even remember what they were here for anymore at this point. If the whites of her rolled eyes and the drool currently sliding down the wall where her face was pressed against it were any indication, anyway.

He could feel her whole body start to twitch and tighten, and he knew she was close again. Two orgasms in, and he knew her body so well already. He’d put that knowledge to good use later.

“Go ahead little sorcerer, scream for me.” And she came hard, walls clamping down on him, practically shoving him out while she did. It was enough to send him reeling, too. Hips slamming up into her, he sank his teeth into her shoulder as he finished with a growl. If they weren’t both so wrapped up in each other, they might have realized he growled ‘mine.’ He painted her insides in white hot ropes, stilling when the euphoria finished washing over him.

“If you think that was mind-numbing, just wait until I get ahold of you in my true form.” Sukuna whispered against the shell of her ear.

He pulled out with a groan, watching her whole body quiver as he did.

“Clean yourself up.” She finally looked back at him, brows knit. He ripped the sleeve off his jacket, handing it over to her. When she tried to pull it, his grip tightened, and he looked at her expectantly.

“Thank you…” She said quietly as she cleared her throat.

“Such a good girl for me already, I don’t even have to train you. I’ll be back, be ready to leave when I am.”

“Wait where-”

“There’s still a job to do here, isn’t there? I’ve got a curse to kill.” He smirked as he walked backwards up the hall.

Yuji wouldn’t be awake for a while, plenty of time for Sukuna to hide his prize. One of the many he planned on taking from her, he thought as he twirled the red panties on his finger.

if you enjoyed this check out my masterlist !

Tags: @saiki-enthusiast @alice-smutthoughts @idktbhloley @rezitio @matchat3a @mo0nforme @bleach-your-panties @fateisnotafactor @lov3ly-bunny @antishadow2021 @xo-evangeline @aramea205 @ackachii @tiredravenette @carpioassists @yoongislatinagff @unoriginalidea @i-likebread @squishybabei @emyyy007 @bitchykittenconnoisseur @kokushibosgirl @wishandluck @kimchi-zaks @kyriekurokami @not-brionnne @andic137 @tang3r1n @mammon-s

[embracing-the-ineffable]

Beware clickbait accusations

Hi fandom, here's what happened yesterday: A reporter named Rachel Johnson, who is the sister to Boris Johnson and a big terfy supporter of JK Rowling, released a 4-part true crime podcast featuring two women accusing Neil Gaiman of SA. Yesterday. The day before the UK elections. This post explores the possible political links in more detail.

CW: this post is free of graphic details, but if you follow these links, there may be explicit descriptions of sex, kink, and bdsm, plus mentions of mental illness and suicidal thoughts.

I want to believe and support survivors, and I also want to base my thoughts and actions on facts. I thought the xitter livestream commentary from Not Becky for all 4 episodes was very insightful. There's also a first episode transcript without extra commentary. (Edit: released after I wrote this post: the full audio plus transcripts for all four episodes of the podcast are now available to download here, or you can read all four transcripts in your browser.) I have since concluded (pending more time to think and read and learn, or any new information, of course):

This seems like the worst kind of clickbait, an unjustified mess that will hurt everyone involved (except possibly a few politicians who might benefit somehow, we'll see). The evidence the "reporters" present directly contradicts their accusations. They're counting on people reading headlines and not digging any deeper.

They tried to make something sinister where there was apparently consent and a caring relationship. Have they exploited one or both of these women? S, in particular, is described as vulnerable and with a history of unspecified mental illness. They have all of the message history between S and Neil, and her messages make the sexy stuff between the two of them sound enthusiastically consensual. There are even messages (multiple!) where she specifically says everything was consensual. Here's one:

They're playing horror music in the background to try to make us feel horrified, even as S reassures us that things were consensual. It's emotional manipulation by the reporters.

The times S sounds upset during the interview are the times she talks about Neil leaving her behind or not paying attention to her. Not the times she talks about consent violations. Her stories during the interview are inconsistent, and they contradict her messages with Neil and with others. Maybe we'll get better information from a more reputable news source, or maybe not, I don't know. I also don't know why anyone who cares about her would have advised her to do this interview.

Then they tracked down lots of other women who know/have dated Neil and they all had glowing things to say, except one other lover from 20 years ago, K. She described some bad sex, and then pointed to a time in their 2-year relationship when she felt something wasn't consensual and he thought it was. And after their breakup, they continued to text and flirt, for decades.

This podcast "exposé" feels like explosive clickbait with political ramifications. The evidence here doesn't support a pattern of poor conduct so much as establish Neil as a fellow well-meaning human with imperfect judgement. That doesn't mean the accusations are all made up; intimate partner violence is complicated, and the responsibility for checking in and getting regular enthusiastic consent from partners is very real, especially when kink or bdsm are involved.

I don't know what the right balance is here between supporting survivors, thinking critically, assuming good intentions, and waiting for better information, but I feel confident that this podcast alone is not enough to condemn anyone aside from the irresponsible journalists who inflicted it on the rest of us.

PS/edit: I'm tagging my relevant posts (mostly reblogs) with #ineffable grief, and you can see all of them here.

[fanaticsnail]

Sanji in his little "Kiss the Cook" apron.

Is it romantic? Starting as a joke with kisses on the cheek and temple until the two of you end up full on making out?

Or is it platonic? With the straw hats giving him little kisses in passing, starting with Luffy and spreading through the crew until even Zoro relents? Because what's better than kissing the homies goodnight?

You tell me snail, what's the move?

-♡♡ lots of love

"porque no los dos?"

Kiss the Cook

Masterlist here

Word Count: 1,700+

Synopsis: Sanji was gifted an apron from Nami after returning back from town. Every member of the crew aside from Zoro and you have followed the embroidered instructions written on his chest, and he wasn't happy about the lack of kisses from you. You finally relent and give him what he wants.

Themes: platonic kisses, fluff, implied f!reader - but can be read as gn!reader, sanji has feelings for you, you have unspoken feelings for sanji, idiots in love, Sanji has lost that 'line-cook rizz'.

Notes: This has been in my ask box for less than a day. I don't know what it is about you, anon. As soon as I see those two little hearts I'm just overtaken by something. I blame the "kisses". @chikariart on twitter.

Tag list: @mfreedomstuff @daydreamer-in-training @sordidmusings @since-im-already-here @indydonuts @feral-artistry @gingernut1314 @i-am-vita @writingmysanity

“Could these onions misbehave any more?” the chef grumbled under his breath, gritting his teeth and clamping hard down on his cigarette, “C’mon, now. What have I gotta do to get your layers off? Talk dirty to you?” He used the steel edge of his knife to attempt to pry the brown outer layer away from its fleshy underside with shaking hands. 

Sanji’s nerves were ignited, his whole composure on edge and waiting for the next intrusion in his kitchen and potential distraction from his work. 

When Nami brought the frilly pink apron his way, he was initially ecstatic at the notion he was thought of enough to be given a little gift. But as the red embroidery with white stitched hearts expressed consent for his body to be given sweet kisses at all times, he was truly alert. With an assault of affection from all who approached him each time he adorned the fabric in its wake, he was finding it difficult to focus on each mundane kitchen task. 

In this case, peeling onions was the bane of his existence. As the flickered peel almost withdrew from the circular bulb, it split and only chipped off a small amount of the outer layer. 

Sanji loved kisses, adored kisses: all the cheek, forehead and shoulder kisses he'd received from the crew. Cheeky Nami kisses, soft Robin kisses, and nibbled toothy kisses from Chopper were his favorites. 

He was less enthusiastic about hulking, wet kisses from Franky, nor the hungry cheek kisses from Luffy which was used to depict the state of his appetite. Usopp was the middle ground, his kisses were a tease on his shoulder with a rough clap and a gaggle of laughter immediately thereafter.

Brook’s kisses were actually quite funny to the blonde cook. As the skeleton man had no lips to kiss with, he resigned himself to the notion of simply walking past him, and taunting him with a melodic hum of the words: “kiss,” “kisses,” or an emphatic “mwah,” as he did so.

Of the members of the remaining crew, he was happy that the stinky moss-head kept his lips to himself. There was no way he would allow him the closer proximity to his body without starting a sparring match. He was, however, not so happy that you were yet to place your lips sweetly on the apple of his cheek. 

Sanji adored you, wanted to treat you with the utmost respect and dote on you alongside the other members of the crew. You were special to him, and he rationalized that his small crush was why he was craving a scrap of your attention so much. As he continued cursing at the onions, he heard a soft tap on the doorway to the kitchen. 

“Need help, cook?” Sanji looked up, noticing you leaning on the side of the door. He smiled softly at you, biting back his smile and gulping his insecurity. 

“Oh, beautiful angel,” he managed to turn away from the counter and look out the window as he resumed his battle with the onions, “I'm all good here, don't you worry yourself. Go relax with the others.” You clicked your tongue and stepped closer to the bench and stood a few feet away from the blonde cook. 

Noticing his posture, you knit your brows in puzzlement. He was twitching while he was going about his peeling, finally managing to coax the shell away from the exterior and sigh in relief. His cheeks were tinted a soft shade of pastel pink, his nose the most darkened by the blushy hue. 

Looking down, the frilly pink apron with ‘Kiss the Cook,’ held the final piece of information as to his nervous composure. You smiled softly at him, looking to where his hands skillfully minced the onions and threw them into a scorching pot with molten butter and aromatic herbs. 

He rinsed his hands in the sink, lathering them with soapy froth and soaking the suds with glassy water. The scent from the pot of sweetened onions with rosemary, sage and thyme had your mouth salivating in anticipation of what was to come. 

“What's cooking, good looking?” you smiled at him softly, gesturing with your chin to the pot on the stove. He froze up, his ears tinting darker with the shade of pink. 

“J-Just a mirepoix,” he stuttered out, prompting you to shake your head and offer him a soft laugh in response. Taking the extinguished cigarette out of his lips, he placed the butt in the bin beneath the sink. 

Noticing the tension in his body, you reach up and place a hand on his shoulder to urge him to turn to face you. He meets his gray orbs with yours, a sheepish look on his face as you gaze up into his eyes. 

“You've been off the line for too long, Sanji,” you scrunch your nose up playfully at him, “Lost that flirtatious kitchen charisma and banter, blushing like a bride at the most simple of compliments. What's going on with you?” You graze your fingers along his jaw, leaving a rising layer of goose flesh in its wake. 

“I-It’s-...” Sanji gulped his nerves back, hanging his head with a soft laugh and subtle shake in response, “...It's this stupid apron.” You look down at the apron with a smirk. 

“What about the ‘stupid apron’, Sanji?” you ask with a raised brow before gazing back into his eyes, “Not your color?” He continued smiling and shaking his head at you before looking up through his eyelashes into your questioning and puzzled eyes. 

“To be honest with you,” he sucked his bottom lip between his teeth to halt his words from sounding too eager, “I actually love it. Even though it started as a joke, it has actually made a big difference the way I’ve been feeling lately.” He shrugged, turning his eyes back to the ground and snickering, “Stupid, right?” 

Cupping his face, you elevate his head and hum at him in deep contemplation. 

“Not stupid,” you shrug at him, darting your eyes between his and flickering your gaze down to his lips, “Not stupid at all.” His breath hitched in his throat, eyes beginning to fill with hope as you drew your face ever closer to his. 

Closing his eyes, he parted his lips and anticipated feeling yours brush with them. His heart beat in his throat, his ears hearing that drum of hope ringing with his elevated pulse. As he drew his face closer still, the balloon of anticipation was instantly deflated as he felt your lips brush with the apple of his cheek and linger for less than a single second. 

As you withdrew from his cheek, Sanji was left feeling like a complete idiot. He stared vacantly, directly ahead with unblinking eyes and his ego completely deflated. His heart fizzled out like a flame being snuffed by a wet blanket. 

Looking at his vacant expression and the soft blush on his cheeks, you couldn’t help yourself. A single, timid kiss was not enough of an indulgence to grant to the blonde cook, in your opinion. You leaned forward once more, pressing a soft kiss on his angular jaw before pressing another on his neck above his pulse and beneath his ear lobe. 

Sanji’s breath hitched, his hands opening and closing in clenched fists and shaking extensions. Gasping, he leant his head to the side and whimpered at the soft touches you were pressing into his skin. His pulse quickened, his breath hitched, and his eyes clenched tightly shut as he argued with himself where to place his hands on you. 

Trailing your lips down to his collarbone, you pressed a sweet and gentle kiss against the bone before clamping your teeth down onto the flesh. Sanji mewled in pleasure at the attention, throwing his head back and drawing up his forearm to his face to catch the damp blood from exiting his nose. His head was dizzy, his lips parting and whining as he felt your tongue swirl around the soft bite to his collar. 

Pulling away from him, you sucked your lips into your mouth and bit-back your smile at his reaction. He slowly drew his eyes down to meet yours, the irises eclipsed by blown pupils and his desire. Giggling at him, you tilted your head to the side and clasped your hands behind your back and rocked on your feet. 

Sanji surged his body forward, claiming your cheeks beneath his hands and carding his fingers through your hair the moment his lips descended onto yours. You squeaked in response, immediately placing your hands on Sanji’s hips as he pinned you against the sink with his hips. His kisses were needy, desperate and full of desire. 

As he rotated his chin to deepen the oscillation, you reached up to his shoulder and tapped it twice while gasping in his mouth. He tugged himself away, looking down at you in shock with wide eyes and panting breath.

“I-I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he began to hastily relay his apologies, “I didn’t mean to do that, truly. The other kisses I get from the crew are usually a little more hasty and less indulgent. I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable or anything, honest-.”

“-Sanji,” you laugh at him, looking up through half-hooded lashes and brushing your nose with his, “Your mirepoix is going to burn.” 

Immediately, Sanji broke himself away from you and stomped over to the large pot. He grumbled as he stirred the aromatics with a wooden spoon, growling under his breath, “This stupid apron has been nothing but a complete distraction.” You giggled at him as he aggressively began stirring at the pot to salvage the caramelizing vegetables. 

“That’s it,” he tore the apron away from his chest and cast it to the side, “No more kisses in the kitchen. I refuse to have good food spoil because I’ve been getting distracted by soft kisses… sweet kisses…” he trailed off, fishing around in his pocket for a cigarette after he rotated the vegetables within the butter. 

Shaking your head, you go and retrieve the apron from where he cast it aside and hung it over the kitchen table. Eyeing him over mischievously, you walk over to him and hold his hips firmly from behind and place one more soft kiss between his shoulder blades. 

“Come find me when you want to put on that stupid apron again, hm?” you utter, releasing his hips and making your way over to the kitchen doorway and out of the room with haste. 

Sanji shook his head with a warm smile and a dark blush. Looking to where you had just left, he sighed deeply and began to focus solely on the meal preparation with no more cause for distraction.

[themultifanshipper]

Hiiiii ❤️ Could you please write something driverxreader (I’m partial to Carlos but it can be any other you thinks fits the prompt):

Reader wants to surprise him and set a really sexy mood but when he comes home he’s not in the mood (bad race/shitty offers or whatever). So the kick is that he tries to pretend he is into it because all his exes have sort of pushed the “driver’s stamina is endless and men are always on the mood” stereotype and he feels pressured to perform. Reader notices and ends in some sort of fluffy conversation about enthusiastic consent needed from both parts.

IDK if that makes sense but if it does I’m sure you’ll do something amazing with it.

Luv ya! Bye ✌🏽

The race had not gone well for Carlos. A DNF was always hard to take, and you were determined to make him feel better, by any means necessary.

Warnings: Issues around consent, discussing consent, bit angsty, then fluffy, then goes completely unhinged, I'm talking breeding kink, I'm talking getting pinned down and RAILED and BRED (this fic is a roller coaster ngl), mention of pregnancy, cream pie, cum, spit, my disgusting kinks are exposed here (but the smut is at the end so you can stop after the fluffy bit)

You'd set up the apartment perfectly, scented candles, flowers, the works. You'd even made his favourite cookies, having got the recipe from his mother the week before.

So when he walked in all sulky you took the liberty of removing his coat and wrapping your arms around him, kissing him sweetly to welcome him home.

He hummed contentedly as the smell of the cookies invaded his senses and he gasped.

“You didn't! My favourite?” his eyes shone with affection as you nodded.

He took as step towards the kitchen, to follow the alluring smell, but you stopped him with an arm around his waist.

“There will be plenty of time for cookies after” you purred.

“After what?” he asked, genuinely confused.

“Come with me” you said mysteriously as you led him though the corridor into the bedroom.

This was the thing with Carlos, he was insatiable (he was a rich hot competitive man, after all) and you’d come to find that you could fix anything with sex.

Bad race? Sex. Problems with the team? Sex. Bad football results? Sex. Bad weather? Sex.

He was always up for it, you were always up for it, so you dragged him to the bedroom, where you'd set up a few candles to set the mood, and sat him down on the edge of the bed.

You climbed onto his lap, his hands naturally coming to wrap around you as you kissed him deeply.

He sighed into the kiss and you took the opportunity to wrap your fingers into his hair and pull, earning a grunt from him.

“I'm sorry about your race baby” you said sensually, pushing him down to lay on the bed. “Let me make you feel better”

You leant down and kissed along his neck, where you knew he was sensitive, and you gently ground your hips down, making him gasp and let out a low moan.

He lifted himself up enough for you to take his shirt off, as your mouth went lower. His nipples were one of his most sensitive spots, the lightest of touches usually getting him desperate and needy, but all your tongue managed to elicit was a light hiss.

His hand came up to cup the back of your head to keep you there though, so you took that as a good sign.

“Does that feel good, baby?” you asked, and he nodded, eyes closed.

“Want me to go lower?” He licked his lips before answering the most noncommital ‘yes' you'd ever heard.

He was probably a bit too in his head, so your hand went to slip inside his pants.

And that's when you realised… he wasn't even half hard.

Carlos would normally be dripping and begging by now.

“Baby?” his eyes were still screwed shut, and there was a slight wobble in his lower lip as he answered.

“You can keep going…” his voice was so low you barely heard him.

“Carlos look at me” it was an order, your voice taking on the serious tone that Carlos knew meant business.

He looked down at you with unshed tears in his eyes. “I'm sorry”

The tremor in his voice broke your heart and you immediately stood up and pulled him upright in a sitting position, with you standing between his legs.

“Don't you dare apologise! What's wrong, baby?” you held his face in your hands as he bit his lip, obviously uncomfortable about something. “Did I do something wrong Carlos?”

He shook his head.

“Then tell me, what is it? I need you to tell me what's wrong”

He sighed.

“I just don't want to disappoint you. You made all this effort for me…”

You shushed him by kissing him quickly.

“Baby you can't disappoint me. Why would you think that?”

He sniffled. “Because I am not in the mood but I am supposed to be able to provide your pleasure, no? I’m sorry for ruining your plan”

“Baby there's nothing wrong with not being in the mood. I just assumed you would be because it's what we always do after a bad race, I shouldn't have assumed”

“It's not your fault, my ex always used to say that men are always horny and usually that is true but today I just feel like a failure, and now I've failed you as well by not being what you wanted…”

“Carlos you haven't failed me, I love you! Sex isn't important enough to ruin that. If anything it's my fault, I pushed you even though you didn't want to. I'm sorry.”

“No, no! It's my fault. I didn't say no, you couldn't have known!”

You cringed at his words. That's not how consent works.

"I hate everything about that sentence. You shouldn't have to say no. I should have read the signs better, baby…”

“But if I had said no we wou-”

“Carlos!” he stopped and looked at you. “We can argue all day about who's fault it is. The point is I never want you to feel pressured into anything, and let's agree that we always need enthusiastic consent going forward, okay?”

He nodded and pulled you in for a hug, burying his head in the crook of your neck. “Thank you”

“I love you Carlos”

You two stayed like that, cradling each other for what felt like hours, your hand running up and down his back soothingly.

When his heartbeat felt normal again, he mumbled into your skin.

“Can we have cookies, now?”

You giggled, looking down at him as he smiled up at you.

“Of course we can, baby”

You pecked him on the lips before taking his hand in yours and leading him to the kitchen, where his favourite snack lay waiting in the tray.

By the time you'd finished the cookies (and a cheeky glass of wine) it was getting late, so you decided to call it a night.

What you hadn't realised, is that your attentiveness to his needs and you baking his mothers recipe made him earth-shatteringly horny.

So as he crawled into bed behind you, you felt him against your ass and you smirked.

“Do you want to fuck me now, baby?”

He growled into your hair as his hips rolled into yours without him even realising.

“More than anything I have ever wanted in my life”

You giggled and he rolled you onto your front, looming over you like a predator as he pinned you down with his thighs either side of yours.

“And you? Do you want me to fuck you?”

You nodded.

“I need your words, hermosa, like we said” his lips came down to your neck and trailed kisses up to your ear.

“Yes Carlos, please.” You gasped as he shifted his hips to grind into you harder, the friction driving you insane and the feeling of being unable to move as he had his way with you turning you on more than you would admit out loud.

“You can do better than that, mi amor, beg for me…” he whispered, his hands going to grab a pillow to prop your hips up a bit. “tell me how much you want me”

“Carlos, please. I need you to fuck me, I need your cock inside me, please!”

He growled, and ripped your underwear off in one go, hands immediately going down to spread your cheeks, exposing how wet you had gotten so embarrasingly quickly.

He trailed a line of spit down to where you needed him most, the feeling making you shiver, and he wasted no time dipping two fingers in down to the knuckle.

The stretch was incredible, and the angle meant he didn't need to search long to find the spot that made your eyes roll back in pleasure.

You vaguely registered the sound of the bedside drawer opening and closing “We don't have any condoms left, hermosa”

You were about to cry, the pleasure so good you didn't want to stop now. But Carlos suddenly had an idea.

He leaned over you plastering his body over yours, and slid his cock between your thighs, his tip knocking against your clit every time he thrusted forwards. It wasn't perfect but it was certainly hot as fuck as you felt like horny teenagers again, rutting against each other mindlessly.

His cock kept catching against your entrance, threatening to slip in at any moment, as you trembled beneath him.

“Carlos please, just fuck me!” you gasped as his pace increased with his desperation.

“Even without a condom?” he asked, pace faltering slightly at the idea of taking you bare.

“Want you to fill me up, Carlos. Make me yours”

His resolve… well it didn't even make an appearance, as he leaned back and positioned his tip at your entrance, dipping it in teasingly.

“tell me again” he growled.

“Come inside me, please. Fill me up, I want to be full of you”

He wasted no time slamming into you, the thought of your walls, tight and wet around his cock much too enticing to wait any longer.

He stayed there, throbbing inside you at the feeling of finally getting to have you like this for the first time in your relationship.

It was almost overwhelming when he hooked an arm under your hips and started grinding his cock into you, hitting all your sweet spots as you moaned wantonly.

“You want me to fill you up? Come so deep inside you, fuck-” he hips involuntarily slammed into yours.

You moaned “Yes Carlos! I want you to fill me up until I can't take it anymore-”

His hips slammed into you again with more force, chest coming to lay against your back to pin you down with his weight as he pounded into you.

“Look at you, so submissive for me. Want me to breed you? I bet it would only take one try”

His hips moved at an inhuman pace as your hands reached out for something, anything to hold on to.

The idea of the man you loved getting you pregnant made you a bit feral, and you felt yourself nearing the edge the more he spoke.

“Going to fill you up so much my cum will be dripping out of you, hermosa. Do you want me to make you a mother? Keep you full of me all the time?”

“Yes! Yes Carlos! I'm gonna come. I'm- shit!”

“Come for me baby, milk my cock, that's my good girl…”

You saw white when you came, squeezing around Carlos as your body went completely pliant under him.

The feeling of you pulsing around his cock was enough for Carlos to come inside you with a shout, filling you up like he promised.

Your legs felt like jelly, and Carlos didn't feel like pulling out at all, so you stayed like that, riding out the aftershocks of your orgasms.

“I was serious by the way…” you started.

Carlos hummed questionningly.

“About… you know. Trying…”

You felt Carlos' body tense above yours.

“You want to… try?”

“Mhmm” you nodded shyly.

“Fuck” He sat up and pulled out of you gently, turning you over and bending your legs.

He stared at the way his cum started dripping out of you, the sight so lewd he had to close his eyes to keep from going insane.

“What are you doing?” you giggled.

“Give me a minute and i'll fill you up again” he looked at you, and his eyes were so dark you gasped, a spark of arousal running through you at the sight.

“And i'll fill you up as many times as it takes”

Tears started welling up in your eyes. This was it. You and Carlos were going to be parents.

Carlos was hard again, and the fact that this made him so unhinged made you clench, and more cum dribbled out of you, making Carlos moan at the sight.

He tapped his cock on your clit a couple of times, then slid in to the hilt.

You sighed, his cock filling you so perfectly, and he started a bruising pace, laser focused on the wetness between your legs.

He was a man on a mission. And boy, did he deliver.

[butterbabyflapjack]

✧˖° Brian Moser x serial killer fem!reader

✧˖° summary:

The Ice Truck Killer’s back in town, and somehow he's stuck babysitting you; Miami's newest would-be killer.

Helping you out wasn't at all his original intention–he'd rather see you dead, you know far too much–but he supposes he could spare an evening to undomesticate that hungry beast inside you. Show you how to really live your life.

In which Brian helps you kill someone who utterly deserves it, and the kill room turns into a horny sex-fueled bloodbath.

✧˖° wordcount (chapter 1): 5k

✧˖° chapters: one, two, three

✧˖° ao3

✧˖° warnings: serial killer fem!reader, reader insert, explicit sexual content, rough sex, passionate sex, fucking in a kill room, dark romance, dark comedy, canon typical depictions of blood and gore, enthusiastic consent, mutual pining, impact play, playing with your food, serial killers in love, banter, dirty talk, voice kink, trauma bonding, babysitting a serial killer, implied sexual abuse of a child (you're killing this mf don’t worry), torture (you’re torturing this mf don’t worry), Brian is his own warning, enemies to lovers, biting, daddy issues?, blood play, a bit of angst a dash of bloodlust & a heavy splash of spice, Brian loves to fluster you and he won't shut the hell up going about it, Brian survives season 1 in this house

✧˖° author's note:

This is ridiculous, horny, bloody, silly and dark (in essence, a very dark romantic comedy), so please heed the tags!

Starts after season 1, but with Brian escaping. Sorry if there’s any rough spots, I kinda rushed editing this.

ch.1 is from Brian’s POV, and the rest of the story is from yours. And there aren't nearly enough problematic female characters in the world so I'm making you one 😃

✧˖° chapter 1

Hello again, Miami. 

Didn’t think I’d see you again this soon.

What’s it been? Eight months? Since I was your most highly sought after criminal?

Guess I just couldn’t stay away.

Time flies when you’re laying low.

Guess I just missed you.

But really, my reason for coming back to dear old Miami–my home, both my real and spiritual birthplace–has a name, a life, and a face. Your name, if you’re really so curious. Your life. Your face. And I intend to leave what remains of all three of those things behind to the hungry bellies of gators before once more absconding stage left. 

But why, you might ask? Why do I want to kill you? Horrified, scandalized, even. For what reason had you to die by my skillful hand? And the answer to that is simple: death doesn’t need a reason. Death simply is, and I simply enjoy it. 

Though…

Regardless of that irrefutable fact…

I’ll admit. 

This particular death–your death–has a slightly more personal reason. And that reason, or at least its causation, was currently chit-chatting with me on the phone.

“Your plane lands at eight?” Dexter asked, and I didn’t waste time with a nod when he wouldn’t see it. Simply staring out across the coast of Costa Rica, the sunset reflected within the dark shadow of my gaze.

Costa Rica… and I’d really wanted to retire somewhere cold.

Not that this was retirement.

It was more of an… unplanned, involuntary vacation. Just until the heat from the feds cooled down.

Then again, I wasn’t waiting for the temp to drop before planning this little excursion back to Miami. But you’d sorta forced my hand in that regard, now hadn’t you?

“Hope you don’t mind if I crash on the couch,” I said, good-natured, and I knew he wouldn’t object. My brother couldn’t feel much–much more than myself–but I sensed a sort of guilt in him for how he’d previously driven me off those eight months ago. Choosing a fake sibling over a real one, one who actually knew who he was… I’d say the guilt had good cause.

I could hear him at his quaint living room/office combo’s computer, typing away at something. Perpetually Distracted Dexter.

“Yeah–yeah, that’d be great,” he said. 

I exhaled a little sigh whilst listening to the soft waves roll in beside me. “Why do I feel there’s a but coming?”

“No buts,” said Dexter. “I just, uh…” He seemed distracted, but not by whatever he typed. “I’ll just have a friend over tomorrow. She’ll probably be here when you arrive.”

Ah.

The friend.

The one I’d been silently wishing Dex would just kill himself. Grow suddenly bored of you.

Wishful thinking.

He seemed quite fond. 

He wouldn’t shut up about you. Always and forever droning on.

It wasn’t romantic, this interest, or so I’d come to suspect over all these past droning months. I didn’t exactly ask about that, though, half because I really didn’t care and half because of how much the subject of you annoyed me, raised over and over again and ugh, just give it a rest already. 

Dex shouldn’t have ‘friends’. The mere concept a fairytale, a mask to people like us. It should be just he and I, two hunters against the world, hunting whomever we like.

“Ah,” I voiced aloud, with the sugar-flaked pleasantry of someone who wasn’t at all picturing severing your aorta with an icepick. “Your little friend will be there to greet me. How nice.”

Dexter must have misread the edge of sarcasm as some sort of concern. “She already knows you’re coming. Don’t worry, she can be trusted.”

Just more proof that my do-good, misguided brother is far too trusting.

“Well,” I said, as though accepting this point as fact. You really can be trusted with my and my brother's secrets–such relief! “I look forward to finally meeting her.” And carving and slicing and dicing her.

I must have forgotten to include that last part out loud, and thus Dexter had no objection–even sounding strangely relieved by my show of good faith in at long last having this introduction.

“See you tomorrow night,” he said, and my lips formed a little smile–instinctual, without any warmth.

“See you then,” I said, then hung up.

And now; here I am. Back in the ever-enchanting sunshine state. My former playground of frozen, meticulously broken toys, and it feels much more like home to be back than I even expected, with just the small matter of ridding you from these sentimental, familial walls.

Walking the concrete pathway to Dex’s Palm Terrace place was nearly surreal, assaulting the walls of my person with waves of distant memories. I’d broken into his beachfront apartment so many times before. Snooping around, getting to know him. Leaving gifts tied up with little red bows. I was basically murderous Saint Claus.

I had only one bag, having traveled here light–a black leather crossbody, which I thumbed the broad strap of whilst knocking with mild knuckles against the door.

Silence. Then, footsteps. Then–

Dexter throws open the door, a smile formed ear to ear like a big, goofy animal. 

“Brian,” he says, and somehow it melts me. Chips slightly away at all that frigid, cold frost round my cruel, vacant heart. And his eyes dip over the state of me. The longer hair, dark curls well past my ears, now; just long enough to tuck back but not long enough to stay there. The dark scruff which coats my angled jawline in the absence of shaving for so long.

“Dig the beard,” Dexter says. “Quite the disguise. Bet the ladies love it.”

I smile at the compliment, though if he'd hated the look I'd feel much the same. “One does what one has to to effectively blend,” I return. And it’s hard not to feel somewhat warm, somewhat seen, understood, by my brother before me. The only person in this world who accepts who I am.

Well, not wholly.

Thanks for nothing, Debra.

Still. Since the death of our mother, Dex is the only place I’ve ever belonged, and seeing him now I’m abruptly struck with just how long it’s been.

I don’t wait for him to welcome me in–he’s probably too cordially stunted to properly welcome me, anyway. I just step right up and throw both my arms around him, my baby brother, my other half; cuffing him firmly on the back as I breathe him in.

“It’s been too long,” I say, holding him there for a moment, before pulling back.

Dexter’s expression is torn into a million indecipherable things, but amongst them is his affection for me. The brother who’ll always see him for who he really is. Who truly fathoms that insatiable beast inside him.

The bliss of our reunion’s forced to end, however, because this house has a rat problem. And as I hear a small, feminine throat being cleared from the fluorescent-lit depths behind my brother, my curiosity gets the better of me.

Time to finally put a face to the name I’ve been loathing for weeks.

And there you are. Standing before a metal-limbed armchair nuzzled inside the living room, like you’d sat there then stiffly stood up; uprooted at the sound of my knocking. Frozen, now; lingering. Like you’re caught in a trap you don’t know your way out of. Hands fidgeting as they twist at the hem of your shirt. 

It’s like you know you don’t belong here–that this moment is Dexter’s and mine–and for the cleverness of that, at least, I must inwardly applaud you. Though that’s decidedly where all my praise ends.

This is one of those social situations I’ve learned so well to navigate through life in the foster system, masking my aberrance. Awkwardness. Other people’s–not mine. And though I could so effortlessly put you at ease as you stand there fidgeting, I find it more entertaining to draw that part out. For a while, at least.

I must admit, I hadn’t pictured you at all in my head. What you’d look like. Not as anything more than an aggravating, compromising blip I’d soon snuff out the threat of. But if I had pictured you, I wouldn’t have imagined you looking, so…

…Well.

You’re not…

Unnatractive. 

I feel one dark brow slowly raising.

And you’re only a friend…?

Whatever must poor Rita think? Seeing the two of you together?

Dexter. You dog.

My eyes trace your expression as you awkwardly hover there in the length of my speculative pause. Myself perfectly content to allow you to hang there in a noose of discomfort all night, and then some. Though eventually I know one of us will have to say something.

This is our fated and much anticipated formal introduction, after all.

So at what feels like long last, I throw you the lifeline that is my smarmiest smile. Knowing full well you won’t know it’s not real. No one but Dex ever does.

“And you must be the friend I’ve heard so much about,” I greet you pleasantly, my deep voice threaded with warmth. Though, peculiarly, that unsure tension in you remains stubbornly in place. Seems if anything only to grow, despite my intent to disarm it. 

Huh.

Oh well–it doesn’t deter me. Killing you will be so much easier if you don’t see it coming, so I’m keen on you liking me, letting your guard down. Thus, I graciously continue:

“You have no idea how much I’ve been looking forward to finally having you right in front of me.”

Maybe a bit of truth will lube you up. And I watch as your lower lip’s sucked in between your teeth for just a moment whilst you eye me; the motion drawing my studious gaze like a shark’s to blood. 

“And why is that?” you ask, which admittedly I wasn’t expecting. Such a nervous mouse, yet you’d put me on the spot.

I can’t place your nerves. I’m perfectly charming. And yes, you’re aware I’m the notorious Ice Truck Killer, but I’m not sure why that would be alarming. Not with the company you keep; namely, my murderous brother. So it must be something else.

And I so hate not knowing things.

“So I can be introduced to you in person, of course,” I say, like it’s obvious, and it should be. Striding in past Dexter as he steps aside to allow me in, shutting and latching the door behind us all; a roomful of killers, or so I’ve been told.

Our eyes never stray in my steady approach; not yours, not mine. My height soon towering over yours, which isn’t unusual for me when meeting new people, nor when standing near almost anyone. Offering my hand and a smile I’ve been told is quite dashing. “Dex has had such wonderful things to say about you.” And I’m sure he has, I just couldn’t be bothered to remember any of them.

My smile could melt steel as if it was butter.

“I’m Brian.”

I won’t lie, I expected you to crumble. Most women love this move. The confidence, the approachable self-assurance. But you eye my outstretched hand as though I might pull you into the fires of hell with me were you to take it, before craning your neck to meet my gaze once more.

“Charmed,” is all you say; unmoving.

Something about that irks a small ripple up my nape, but I just allow my hand to drop graciously back to my side. All practiced, svelte charm still in place. It’d take a lot more than that to dischevel me.

“So,” I say, by all appearance unconcerned by the lack of civility in my brother’s ill choice of friends. “It almost feels like I already know you, what with the way Dexter’s gone on and on.”

Your gaze steals over to Dexter, hovering there in the distance behind us, before you smile up at me again in a way which feels forced. And I suppose you’re not the talkative sort, though why you keep glancing at Dexter as if waiting for something from him, as if he’ll swoop in and save you, I’m uncertain about.

In due time I’ll figure it out.

“But there’s still one thing I’m curious about,” I say, turning to make myself comfortable. It has been a long trip to get here, after all. 

I plop down like a wolf amongst sheep atop Dexter’s hideous couch, legs spread like I own the damn food chain. One arm draped out along the length of its backrest as I eye you somewhat expectantly, still rigid in how you stand. Imagining what you might look like strung upside down by your ankles with a lengthy strap of duct tape kissing those soft lips, holding them shut for me. 

The shadows beneath my eyes pinch.

It’s a lovely image.

Maybe you’ll see for yourself.

“And what’s that?” Dexter asks–bravo, Dexter–at least one of you’s courteous enough to ask. And I tilt my darkly curled head at him.

“How exactly did the two of you get to know one another?” I ask. Watching him. Eying you. Hoping my focus might rattle you–just a little. “I’m sure it’s an interesting tale.”

“I’ve already told you,” Dexter says, and he probably has, at least in his unabbreviated sense. “We work together at the precinct.” He dons his playful tone I often find so silly but right now I find I detest. “The lab geek and the cop~”

“Right. But that’s not what I mean,” I slice into his futile comedy routine, “What I mean, is: how did our friend here come to know you’re one of Miami’s most heinous, uncaught serial killers?”  

The other, of course, being myself; excepting the whole uncaught thing.

Dex is lucky I’m so forgiving.

I put it forth bluntly, with little room for either one of you to wiggle out of answering. And though my radiance of charisma remains, my intensity’s keen. ‘Cause I must admit; now that I’m here, I’m curious about you. Especially when you seem like such a rabbit in a household of jackals. Weren’t you supposed to be some like-minded killer or something? Perhaps I should have paid closer attention whenever the unwanted topic of you had come up in mine and Dexter’s conversations, instead of bitterly tuning you out. 

Strangely, Dexter doesn’t seem to know what to say, and neither do you. Like the story’s too long, too elaborate. As though there's pieces the two of you’d rather omit. 

Fascinating.

“She helped me out,” Dex says at last; monotonously shallow, like the words aren’t even his, like he's rehearsed this. “In a time of need.”

I quirk a subtly mocking brow at him from where I’m idly lounged on the couch. 

“Why do you sound like a generic thankyou card?” Why, indeed. “C’mon, baby brother–I want specifics. You can tell me.” My dusky gaze passes from him to his lovely, curious friend, hovered opposite the ugly coffee table before me. “We’re all friends here, right?”

It would seem that my smile unnerves you. Which might be annoying if it wasn’t so entertaining a thing to see.

Dexter sighs before trying a more human answer, leaning one bulky shoulder against his white, open-backed bookcase that separates his living room from the office attached. 

This whole effectively communicating thing is hard for him.

“It was sort of an accident,” he says, like that’s far more telling. The lacking details seeming to spur you to chime in. 

“It was really just me being in the wrong place at the right time,” you elaborate, with the passive front of one pretending the ice they walk on won’t at any moment begin to splinter. Folding your arms against that pensive look I toss you, which I tilt my head in silent question of. Why so nervous? I’m far from daunting, aren’t I? 

“I was called to check out an anonymous tip,” you continue, averting your gaze from me far more often than one normally does. “Some sort of suspicious activity at an abandoned storage shed near Palmetto. Myself and my parter.” 

You glance at Dex, as if he might continue the tale for you, might rescue you from this, but when he merely quirks a little smile with a similar shrug, you’re forced into proceeding.

“It was supposedly related to a case–which it wasn’t, not that that matters, but…” You let out a breath. Seeming to steady yourself, the recollection, though for all your nervous fidgeting your tone is surprisingly calm. “I walked into the storage shed, it was unlocked, and… And I saw Dexter. Sawing someone’s arm off. Someone who was strapped down to a table in a plastic fucking tutu.” 

You glance at Dex, as he detachedly watches you. 

“Someone I knew from a previous case,” you continue. “Someone who deserved whatever it was Dexter was doing, and much more than that, too. Which is exactly when I shut that fucking door and assured my partner there was nothing to see here, and we left. Left Dexter to do what he does, undisturbed.”

That’s the end of your story, and I picture the scene, all while some predatorily protective part of me insists on clarifying, “So… That’s it? You saw my brother chopping a man into pieces, and were immediately okay with it? Go Team Dexter? Just like that?”

I try very little to hide my disbelief, ‘cause I don’t buy it. In my experience with cops, and I’ve had plenty, you all tend to be such sticklers when it comes to casual bloodshed and carnage. What’s more, your uptick in nerves isn’t exactly selling me.

My lashes lower in my deliberate examination of you. “Why’d you really not turn my dear brother in?”

In lieu of answering, you once more eye Dex, and that look between you says something.

“It’s complicated,” you say at last. Like you’re waiting for Dexter to speak, but he’d rather wait on you.

The pair of you. Really. You’re like a couple of tongue-tied, helpless kittens. Must I string this conversation on for you?

“Enlighten me,” I say, with something of an edge.

Perhaps I should’ve kept the disarmingly fake smile, because if anything you thrust your guard up.

“Look, I don’t owe you a full explanation of what Dexter and I have been through, okay?”

“Oh, I beg to differ,” I viperously put forth, my pretense of pleasantry slipping. “Seeing as how you know so much about myself. And all without my express knowledge or permission.”

An impermanent issue. One I won't leave Miami without personally seeing resolved. You know far too much–you’re an issue. For Dexter’s sake and for mine, we must unfortunately bid you bon voyage.

“I’d say it’s only fair I know a little more about you,” I continue, cordiality slipped back in place. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

The delicate line of your jaw tautens, eyes wavered with wariness and doubt. Refusing to spit out any more, though the longer you’re subject to my critical appraisal, the more the twine of your stubbornness unwinds.

“I… I need someone dead,” you admit at last.

Ah.

There it is.

“And, after seeing Dexter doing… what he does…” You bite your lower lip, as though struggling to recollect straying thoughts. “I need his help. I need his help to kill someone.”

I take my time mulling about your words. Piecing together the part you still aren't saying.

“So… You won’t turn Dexter in, so long as he helps you kill someone. Did I get that right?” 

You bite down harsher–immediately shake your head. “No, it’s–it’s more complicated than that!” 

But by now I’m barely listening. Turning instead to lift a wry brow at my brother, who’s watching this whole fiasco with a can-I-please-leave-yet look plastered upon his face.

“This is the friend you’ve been telling me about?” I wonder vaguely. “The cop who’s blackmailing you into helping her kill someone?”

“I’m a detective,” you cut in, like that matters, like I care, and I feel my eyes already rolling.

“Detective,” I sarcastically amend, with a scathing glance at you. “So sorry to offend, Detective Whoever-You-Are. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m talking to my brother.”

When you mutter back your name under your breath, I make a show of ignoring it.

“So, what?” I instead ask my foolish, good-hearted kin. “You’re actually going to help her kill someone?” 

His lack of answer’s enough. And at his arms-folded silence, I ruminatively tut my tongue.

“Doesn’t seem like you, Dex… Not the edict-ruled brother I know.” I try not to let my tone grow too ingratiating whilst goading, “What about your beloved code?” 

Dexter exhales a stiff breath. Putting forth, “It’s more than that.”

“More?”

“Like she said, it’s complicated.”

“Has the word ‘complicated’ been redefined as ‘indescribably moronic and impossible to explain’ sometime in the last fifteen seconds?” I return, incredulously flat. Eying their strange and stilted silence with dwindling patience. “What aren’t the two of you telling me…?”

You’re biting your lip like you’re biting back words, and I watch, waiting, biding my time for those bit-back words to get the better of you–though surprisingly, it’s Dexter who breaks first. 

“It’s nothing about that, it’s…” He rubs the back of his sand-colored head, roughing his hair up with tense distraction. “Well, it is about that, in a sense. I didn’t know how to bring this up. I just… I have to leave town for the weekend,” he finally gets out. “First thing tomorrow morning, I’m headed out.”

I’m too nonplussed to hide the creeping edge of my bemusement.

That’s what he’s been having trouble saying?

He drops this like it’ll land like a bombshell on our entire reunion, before rushing at whatever my bland expression, “It’s just for a few days. I’ll be back Monday bright and early.”

To be honest, I’m mostly confused about why this seemed so hard for either one of you bumbling idiots to tell me. Or why you’re bumbling about it at all. Why should I care if he’ll be gone for forty-eight more measly hours after we've been separated for almost a year? And for many, many years before that? Does he actually expect me to mourn him till Monday?

“Big plans with the family?” I venture coolly, and Dexter’s broad shoulders bunch into a shrug, as though he’s cornered and a shrug is all that might save him.

“It’s a whole thing,” he explains. “Cody has a scouting trip, then Rita wanted to make a whole weekend out of it with the grandparents–I’ll spare you the details.”

Yes, thank you for that.

Dexter the family man. It���s so sweet it’s nauseating.

“So you’re taking your fake kids camping so you can keep playing domesticated dad to a woman and children who’d hate you if they knew who you really are?” My smile’s so feigned it hurts. “Sounds like a great time.”

My brother, the shrugger, shrugs once again. Doesn’t even try to defend my interpretive accusation. “I gotta be there.”

“Well have fun on your little adventure,” I muse; side-eying him. “Not sure why it took you this long to tell me. I’m sure I’ll find some way to busy myself in the meantime.”

You and Dexter exchange that look again. That look which betrays how you still haven’t shared whatever’s so lodged down your throats and wherever this is really going, and by this point it’s driving me toward wanting to just rip open your necks to drag whatever it is out, myself.

“Well, actually,” my brother begins, struggling once more with saying things. “I’ve already got an idea that’ll keep you busy in mind.”

I steady him in the crosshairs of my vision. Well. Now we might be getting somewhere. And I can’t deny my interest, much like my frustration, is piqued. 

“Oh?”

“A favor, really,” he adds, without elaborating, and I really am going to rip the words right out of him.

“Are you going to tell me what that favor is?” I’m finally forced to ask, before glancing exasperatedly at you. “Or perhaps I should defer to your translator?”

There you go, nervously rubbing that elbow again, though I find myself oddly mesmerized by the motion of it. I can’t say for what cause, other than I’m not blind, and you’re obviously attractive. Watching you anxiously stand there is becoming one of my favorite pastimes.

“I, um,” you mumble, so quietly I almost can’t hear you. A nervous mouse again, one my nature is stirred to chase. “Well. Dexter was going to help me with–you know… What I was saying before. We have everything planned for tomorrow, and it has to happen tomorrow.” You seem strangely adamant about this, and I don’t care enough to question the ‘why’, just as I don’t care for the ‘who’–I’ll take your word for it. “But, um, with Dexter out of town…”

Helpless, as if to say any more’s an impossible task, you glance to Dexter for support.

“Really, the two of you,” I lowly muse. Eyes glistening between the pair of you, alight with my wicked amusement. Stretching out more broadly on the throne of Dexter’s hideous couch. “You could almost put a full sentence together so long as you tag one another in after every breath.”

The taunt’s enough to unlodge wherever Dexter’s tongue’s at. 

“I need you to help her kill this guy while I’m gone,” he finally says bluntly. Arms folded, expression stern, yet hinted by what may as well be him begging me, which in itself, is…

Well. He’s never asked me for anything. Not like this. Though I certainly don’t owe him any favors…

“I know you know how to set up a proper kill room,” he states, and he should–he’s seen my imitation of his plastic-drenched kill room, firsthand. I’ve studied his work more than anyone. Emulated it to perfection, and all for a happily-ever-after he refused to take part of, spat cold in my face.

For a moment, I feel almost human in how I can’t seem to react or respond to this request. Though as I watch the mirrored hope in you both, as the idea of this slowly settles, I find that it doesn’t completely bore me…

My eyes drift to you. Singling you out. Stringing round your anxious expression. And you’ve mettle, at least, to not look away from the barbs of my musing intensity.

So. This is why you’ve been acting so sheepishly inept. You need big bad Brian’s help with something.

It’s laughably cute, the idea of you killing, and already I know I’m going to do it. But I wouldn’t be me if I didn’t make you sit in it a little. Take my time in toying with you, first.

“You want me to babysit your blackmailing little friend here,” I say to Dex, with raven-dark eyes still on you, “while she attempts–and correct me if I’m wrong here–her first kill?” 

I can tell you can feel how my gaze is dissecting you. Pulling apart, piecing together, assessing every piece and shape and shade of you. It makes you squirm, and I love it; sparing a moment to slide my tongue over the sharpness of my teeth as I feast on such a beautiful reaction. 

I turn back to Dex. “What makes you think she’s even capable?”

“I’m capable,” you insist, drawing my gaze again. And even through those nerves roused in my presence, you appear quite convinced of it. 

Interesting. 

“I can do this,” you again allege. With such frail confidence, but confidence nonetheless. “I just… need a little help.”

I tamp down the rearing head of my inquisitiveness. Ensure my interest remains vague in how I lackadaisically eye you. 

“Help with what, exactly?” I slowly ask. And it’s not a no, which I’m amused to see is so surprising.

You blink a few times, eyes growing wider, more determined–before you’re explaining, quickly, as though whatever luck this is may run out.

“Getting him to the kill site,” you say succinctly, with all the puffed-up bravado of a fluffy little rabbit pretending that they’ve slayed a fox before, and it really is amusing. “Moving the body. Clean-up.”

I let my watchful silence drag on. Held in supposed indecisive contemplation. Should I? Should I? Until, when I can nearly hear your fretting heartbeat, I feel one corner of my lips slowly quirk up. Watching every minor movement of you like a fox might a meal, might a rabbit, and find I really wouldn’t mind taking a bite. 

“Don’t need help doing the deed, then?” I subtly ask you.

Your eyebrows flicker to a knot. Lips pressing flat, before you shake your head at me. “No.”

“You sure?” I further goad, with silken smoothness. Loving those little cracks of hesitation along your lovely surface so much I’m inclined to hammer in even more of them. “‘Cause I won’t kill him for you. You have to do that, yourself. And what’s more, if you for any reason chicken out on me and can’t follow through with all this…” I calmly smile. “I’ll simply leave you there all alone with whatever maddened mess of whoever this man you’ve left behind.” The idea of it sparks a delicious flame somewhere deep below my cavernous lack of heart. “After ensuring he’s woken up, first, of course. Aware. Pissed off. Untied.” 

I smile my cheshire smile as that resolve in you flickers in place; the smallest glow, so nearly snuffed out already. 

“So?” I spur in your uncertain silence. “Do we have a deal, little killer?”

And still, you hesitate. Seeming to weigh my words with care, along with the cost of your own, which I certainly appreciate. You’re not as stupid as I’d originally believed, in any case.

At long last, you nod, but I don’t move, don’t even blink from how I wolfishly watch you from my throne of Dexter’s couch. Not until you say the words out loud. And you will, if you want my help. You have to.

If that’s a flash of resentment within those pretty eyes of yours, it only causes my broadening smirk.

“Fine,” you say at last, after thickly swallowing. “We have a deal.”

And surely light must dance in my entertained eyes as I bite back just how pleased I am by this answer. 

This should be fun.

✧˖° chapter 2

[toxicanonymity]

Forever for her. Left in Lincoln, pt. 7 .

10k, softdark!Joel Miller x virgin f!reader

Series Master List | official playlist | floorplan

WARNINGS: I8+, virginity loss, big girthy age gap, angst, dark fluff, reader menstruates, p in v, fingering, grinding, creampie, subtle intimidation, manipulation, horror background elements. Joel is creepy, dark, delulu, and cringe (reader is sheltered, isolated, hormonal). Enthusiastic but dubious consent (brainwashing?), playing fast and loose with climate and fruit. Reader wears a flannel from Joel's closet. Haphazardly edited. This is not the last part.

"We're givin' each other everything, right?" You nodded, then he continued, "So listen." He paused and wet his lips. "I would do anything for ya, peaches." He looked down. "Anything." He met your eyes again and swallowed. "Anything to keep ya safe. . . " He lowered his voice. "an' anything to keep ya mine." 

You woke up in Joel's bed, and he was nowhere in sight. You were warm, almost too warm. The dress was hanging on the back of his bedroom door.  Your undergarments and a pad were on the nightstand.

You took a bath, then put your robe back on and laid on the bed staring at the dress on the back of the door. You could hear the rhythmic scrape of a rake outside and inwardly smiled, picturing Joel doing yard work. You put on your robe, crossed the room to look out the window and felt a refreshing draft as you held the curtains back.  In the bottom right corner of the window's top pane, there was a spiderweb on the outside of the glass. The rake continued to scrape against the ground in the distance.  The web was well-defined and irregular, some of the fibers thicker than others. You admired its intricacy and followed the design, looking for the spider, wondering if it was a male or female.

The rhythmic scraping of the rake lulled you into a trance as you followed the web from the outer edge in, until a black, out-of-focus mass fell right in front of your nose, then you felt a tickle on your chest. You gasped and stifled a squeal. Your body jerked into panic mode. You rapidfire slapped yourself on the chest and felt it smush against your robe. You wiped it on the window pane, then looked at the crumbled spider with its legs drawn in on itself, still moving but barely. It looked like a slow death, but you hoped it wasn't painful. Surely it never thought about its prey this way.  

You took a deep breath and tried to slow your heart rate.  You recalled that time back at your house, outside the spider shed, so long ago – Frank's words through laughter, "we're gonna get through this, honey." You took slow, calming breaths, then swallowed and whispered "sorry," before abruptly turning and walking to the bathroom. You washed your hands and chest with soap again, then came back and sat on the bed. The rake had stopped moving. 

You finally stood up and retrieved the dress, bringing it to the bathroom with you and locking yourself in. You didn't want Joel to see you if it didn't look good on you. Plus, you had to do something really private.

First you went to the toilet. It was its own room within the bathroom. You locked it, too. You sat there for about fifteen minutes trying to let as much of your period out as you could after being horizontal all night. You didn't want all the built up blood pooling in your pad right away. 

Once you did all you could, you washed up and looked in the mirror. You stood there and looked at yourself in your underwear for a minute, mostly looking at your face. You looked different, serious, but vibrating with a new energy. You imagined Joel standing behind you, as if you were in a portrait. Something you'd never have.  But at least you had each other. 

-

You finally put the dress on, over your head. You could just barely reach the back zipper to finish it. It felt much less cumbersome than you imagined it would. It was light and unrestrictive. The lace sleeves had enough room. It felt as comfortable as any other dress. You didn't look in the mirror right away. You looked down at yourself, then  looked over your back, and down your arms. You looked in the reflection of the shower glass and the silhouette looked good enough. 

You turned around to look in the real mirror, and you looked nice. The lace made you feel like a doll, but somehow you looked older than yourself at the same time. You turned around and admired it from the side and over your shoulder from the back, then smoothed it down over your butt and you didn't see the bulkiness you feared from your pad. You looked at yourself head on again, and the only thing out of place was the redness on your chest from scrubbing away the spider. With the dress on, there was a new smile behind your eyes, thinking about how Joel got it for you. 

You went to the kitchen to look out the back window.  You didn't see Joel and were somewhat relieved to have another moment to yourself.  Your tummy felt nervous. You knew it was excitement, but the physical sensation was in discernable from anxiety.  There was a little jar of apple juice on the table with a pill and a note that said "cramps?" You were feeling okay but thought about taking half of it anyway. 

You sniffed the juice and it smelled good. You sat at the kitchen table and stared at the apple juice in the jar, then took a long sip and watched the tiniest bit of apple sediment settle back to the bottom. It was delicious.  You  took half the pill and downed the rest of the juice, then your stomach rumbled. You got an apple from the kitchen counter and sat back down. You inspected it and pressed it. You cut it with your thumbnail to make sure it wasn't rotten. It was crisp, and juice beaded along the crescent moon from your nail. You took a bite and it was fine. You relaxed into the chair and ate the apple. 

Joel had let you sleep late. It was almost mid day.  Just as you were finishing up your apple, you noticed him outside through the kitchen door window. He was standing there and looking at you like you were the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. He was wearing a white button-up shirt that looked like one Frank might wear to one of his black tie dinners. Joel came inside and as he turned around to close the door, you admired his lower body in a pair of form fitting khakis. 

"You look nice," you told him. 

He exhaled a small laugh and looked at the floor as he crossed the room to you. He sat down at the table and took your hand. "You look like an angel." He kissed your hand and scooted closer.  He smelled like aftershave (although he wasn’t shaved, thank goodness) and a hint of sweat from his yard work. As comfortable as he made you feel, you still got butterflies around him. 

He asked, "Hungry?" 

You nodded. "A little."

"How bout a lil picnic, somethin' light?" 

You nodded "is it nice out?"

"Prettiest day we could want, peaches."

—------

He made some grits and you sat at the table watching.  He pulled the wagon with a basket, quilt, and blanket, and held your hand as you slowly walked. He squinted and looked at the trees, then at you.

He asked, "How ya feelin'?" 

"Good, I'm fine." 

"Good."

You assumed you were going to "your tree," but instead you arrived at a peach tree. He had cleared the area around it so no debris was in the way.  He looked around and asked, "Whatcha think?" 

You looked around.  It was a good spot, away from the back, but not too close to the street. Insulated enough to feel private. You nodded, "yeah, this is nice."

Joel spread out the quilt, then the blanket, then, before sitting down, he took both your hands in his. "I feel so lucky, peaches. You're the most special girl in the world."  His eyes bored into yours. "Really mean that. There's no one like you, darlin'."

You looked down then met his eyes again, biting your lip. "I think you're special, too."

A breeze came and swept your dress out, making the scene feel like a postcard. 

He dropped your hands, then fetched something out of his pocket and looked at it.  Your heart skipped a beat. His thick fingers were blocking your view.

"Now darlin', I'm gonna give ya somethin', but first. . ."

He held it up. It was gold and shiny. Your birth father's wedding band. Your heart skipped a beat and a knot formed in your stomach.  

"My. . ." You couldn't finish the sentence. This meant he knew about the gun, too. . . and your mother's knife.  

Joel must have seen it on your face. "Left everything else how ya had it. You're a smart girl, peaches."  

You tried to read his face. It was soft, sympathetic. You nodded hesitantly. 

"It's okay, darlin'. I don't blame ya. I woulda done the same." He held the ring between his forefinger and thumb and you opened your palm. "Smart to be prepared." 

You breathed a sigh of relief as the knot in your stomach relaxed. But even as it faded, you still had that nervous–no, excited–tummy. 

Joel put the ring in your hand and closed it. He held his hand there around yours and seemed like he might say something else, but he didn't. 

You didn't have anywhere to put the ring.  You had a passing thought to put it on your thumb but it felt stupid.  You felt an urge to say you were going to give it to Joel, but you didn't say anything since he let you off the hook. 

Joel reached back in his pocket and fished out another ring, smaller. It was silver with inset stones. He held it up and said, "I want you to have this one." He stepped closer, so his feet were outside yours. "We're givin' each other everything, aren't we?" 

You nodded, and his eyes watered. 

He nodded with you and his brow furrowed. "I love you. . . And I love bein' a family, the two of us."

Your own eyes felt misty. "I love you, too."

He took your hand, and slid the ring onto it. It was old fashioned, simple. "Ain't never gonna let ya go."

"Good," you whispered. 

—

He kissed your hand, and when he tried to hold your other hand, too, you realized you were still holding your father's ring. 

"Um," you cleared your throat. "Would this fit you?" You asked and opened your hand. His face relaxed. 

"I dunno, peaches," he whispered. His eyes sparkled at you. He held his hand palm-down. The top of his ring finger's knuckle was a little red as if he'd already tried to put it on. You slid the ring part way on, but his finger was too big. 

"Sorry," you muttered and felt a lump in your throat. You didn't have anything to give him. It rested above his knuckle. 

"S'okay darlin', it's the fact that ya tried." He unbuttoned his shirt pocket, dropped the ring into it, then buttoned it again. "I'll keep it safe for ya."

You sucked your bottom lip into your mouth and nodded, looking up at him shyly, somehow feeling like you ruined this. 

He cupped your face and read your eyes, then closed the gap between your faces and his lips pressed into yours. 

He hugged you into him, kissed you harder, then murmured, "wanna sit down?"

You nodded.

You smoothed your dress under you and sat down with your knees to the side, leaning toward him.  He unpacked a thermos of grits and two bowls. He unbuttoned his wrists and rolled up his sleeves and his forearm flexed with every lift of the spoon.  You ate mostly in silence, but he looked at you adoringly the whole time and your nerves faded.  His wrist nudged his inner thigh and when your eyes drifted there, the shape of his cock sent a pang between your legs. He followed your gaze and your face heated up as he raised his eyebrows. 

—

When you were finished eating, you washed it down with the apple juice, then Joel packed up the basket and put it back in the wagon. When he settled back onto the blanket again, he had a serious look about him. 

He sat down with his legs folded to the side so his knees were toward you, and he braced his hand on the blanket, leaning toward you. He kissed you again.  He tasted like apples and you imagined he did, too.  As he pulled away, he read your face and cupped your cheek. "You're the most beautiful angel, darlin'," he smiled.  His gaze lingered, then he swallowed and looked down.  He sat up straighter and cleared his throat. He asked again, "We're givin' each other everything, right?" 

You nodded, then he continued, "So listen," then wet his lips and paused. "I would do anything for ya, peaches." He looked down. "Anything." He swallowed. "Anything to keep ya safe," he met your eyes and lowered his voice. "And anything to keep you mine." 

Your heart raced and you slowly nodded as he let it sink in.

"Get what I'm sayin', peaches?"

"Bad things," you nodded. 

His brows remained furrowed as he studied your face.  His voice was low and gruff.  "Yeah, you could say that."

You looked down to his shirt and the outline of your father's ring in his pocket. He continued, "and darlin', I've felt this way for some time."

Your chest fluttered.

He looked up at the leaves of the peach tree, and it hit you that this was where he found you that day. 

Your whole body felt warm, especially in the lace sleeves. He looked at you with anticipation and you admitted, "I had a feeling."

He lifted his eyebrows as he searched your eyes. "Okay," he whispered with a small nod. He looked down again. 

"Yeah," you replied.  ". . .and maybe you already did bad things."  Your chest pounded. He looked at you blankly, and once he blinked, you rephrased, "Necessary things. To be together." 

His jaw shifted back and forth. He looked at your mouth, then back up at your eyes. "Would ya wanna know?" 

Tension gathered between your eyebrows.  You took a deep breath, looked at his lips and watched his jaw clench. His eyes watered.  After a moment, you slowly shook your head no. He inhaled and his eyes narrowed. Your voice was a near whisper as you told him, "No. . . Doesn't matter now." 

Joel exhaled and nodded. He looked at you intensely and whispered, "Okay, baby."    

You didn't need to know. You told him, "We're together, that's all I care about."

"Me too, darlin'." He chuckled, then relaxed and said, “so glad we got each other.” He folded his knees toward you again, leaned in, and cupped your cheek, his eyes locked with yours. “Me and you, baby.” 

“You and me,” you whispered, lashes fluttering as his face drifted toward yours. 

—-

Your lips locked, and yours tingled with excitement. 

His hand moved to the back of your head.  His tongue parted your lips, and he pulled you into him as he became more passionate. 

As his kiss intensified, he gently lowered you into lying down on the blanket, with one of his knees  between yours. His hand ran up your side and came to a rest on your breast as his mouth devoured yours.  He palmed your breast, gently bit your lip, and his length hardened against your thigh. When he pulled back, he cupped your face and raised his eyebrows, and his voice was husky. "I'm never," he kissed your lips, then lowered his volume and looked into your eyes, "gonna let you go." His thumb stroked your temple.  His lips brushed yours, then kissed you deeper.  He pulled back, shook his head with a small smile, and his voice became a whisper as he repeated, "Never." 

Your skin prickled with goosebumps, Joel's beautiful face hovering over yours under the peach tree, his body pressed against yours.

"Good," you whispered, and took his head in both your hands. You pulled him down on you. He braced himself with one forearm on the blanket near your head and his other hand traveled back down your side, down your dress, and reached under the skirt of it to your thigh. His hand slid up your thigh and he squeezed it, then lifted your thigh against him. 

He lowered his hips to rest against yours, and his cock grew stiffer against you.  The warm shape of his stiff length made your whole body go weak. He lifted himself off you just long enough to get the skirt of your dress out of the way.  You felt warm and wet between your legs and didn't know how much of it was blood. You knew he didn't care, but it didn't entirely leave your mind. 

He had the front of it bunched up at your hips, with his hand between your legs.  You flinched as his palm glided over your panties, feeling the shape of your pad. But it didn't phase him at all. He gently reached into your panties. 

Your face tensed. “Remember, I–"

"I know, baby," he reassured you with kind eyes.

"What about the dress?”

“Dress don’t matter, darlin’." He kissed you again. "Long as you're feelin' good." He planted another kiss and pressed his hard-on against you again. "Are ya?" 

You nodded an unequivocal yes. It was certainly what your body wanted.  

"Hell, let's paint it red,” he mused. 

You relaxed and laughed softly. 

"No?" He asked with a smile, then leaned his forehead against yours. He kissed you gently.  

The time of the month wasn't ideal, but you wanted it. If you waited, he might think you weren't ready after all. Plus, you were more comfortable than you ever thought you could be. A month ago, you would have died at the thought of a man seeing any evidence of your period at all. But Joel was so reassuring, so comforting, and he really wanted all of you. He was turning it into something beautiful, and you had no doubt he felt that way.  He looked at you again, then asked, “Sure you’re feelin’ good enough?" He kissed you again.  “‘Cause that's all that matters.”

“I am,” you nodded earnestly.”

“You sure?”

"Joel," you sighed on the edge of irritation.

"Ok, darlin'."

He slid his hand down and exhaled vocally when his fingers met your warm, moist folds. He ran his fingers up and down your folds, moistening your clit, then he slowly, teasingly circled it. His cock swelled harder against you. "You wanna go to bed?"

You shook your head. "It's magical out here."

"That's right, peaches," he murmured lowly into your neck, lightly circling your clit with his moist fingers. His breath was warm and humid against your neck.  "Special, ain't it?"

You nodded, and pulled his head back down to yours. Your lips met again.  His thick fingers tensed, slid down, and prodded at your entrance. You tilted your hips and he gave a short, low "mm" as he brought his fingers back to your clit. 

His tongue slid against yours in rhythm with his fingers. His mouth grew hungrier for yours every moment as he massaged your most sensitive place.  He got you almost to the edge. You whimpered as his hands worked within the confines of your panties.  Then he asked,  "Let's take these off, hmm?"  You nodded. He started to do it, then looked at your face to confirm, "You want me to?" 

"I can do it," you lifted your hips and slid them down, and once they were mid-thigh, he finished taking them off. 

–

He lowered his torso against yours and his massive hand nudged your shoulder up toward him. You wrapped your arms around his neck, and he lifted you into sitting. He traced the back neckline of the dress and murmured, "want this on or off?"

You shrugged. 

"up to you, darlin'. But I sure would like to see ya." He kissed your neck and you could feel him smile against your skin. "If you're warm enough"

You were warm all over. You were so warm at your very core that it was hard to imagine ever being cold again. You asked, "you'll keep me warm, won't you?"

"Course I will."

You cracked a shy smile and planted your hands on the ground to lift your weight off the dress. Joel brought the dress up to your stomach, his fingers smearing it red, then you lifted your arms and he took it off. He planted delicate kisses on your chest at the base of your neck, and your shoulder as he gently nudged your bra straps off. Then he unclasped the back, and you let it fall in front of you. He put the bra aside and you were naked.  He folded the dress into a pillow and put it under your head. 

You looked at Joel's clothes and didn't say anything, but he replied to your silent question with a teasing smile. "no, I don't have to be so dressed..." you silently unbuttoned his pants, eye on his cock straining against the khakis, as he unbuttoned his shirt.  Before pulling down the zipper, you traced the hard shape of his cock, and his chest let out a nearly imperceptible growl at your first rub. 

He made quick work of the remaining shirt buttons, smearing a few of them red.  His chest flexed as he peeled the sleeves down his bulging arms. He took his undershirt off over his head, tousling his hair, which he didn’t fix.  It was the hottest you’d ever seen him. You were sitting back on  your hands, naked body laid out for him.  He looked at you lustily every few seconds as he took his pants off, then his boxers, leaving his commanding cock bobbing heavily before you.  You pulled your eyes back up to his face and he looked at you adoringly. 

–

He knelt on the blanket. Was this really going to happen? You reached out, and he nodded. You wrapped your hand around his shaft and whined, "I'm ready, you know I'm ready."

"Ready for what, darlin'?"

"To put our bodies together." 

He nodded. "yeah, baby. You're ready. Gonna be real special."

He got between your legs where a fluttering ache was pounding, begging for relief.  He held his cock in his hand. You felt your body making space for him. There was a place inside you that needed to be filled. He slowly lunged toward you and braced his hand on the blanket above your hip.  He ran his tip through your dripping folds and his manhood further hardened. He spread the moisture over his cock. He laid his hard cock on your mound and brought his face to yours again. He rested about half his weight on top of you, his bare body flush with yours, his forearms braced on the blanket. 

He kissed you deeply, grinding his erection against you, slick with your arousal and blood. Your lips embraced his and your mouth practically sucked in his tongue. He licked into you in rhythm with his slow thrusts against you. Your clit twitched against his cock and you lifted your hips, making him moan into your mouth.  You needed him in you yesterday. You lifted your hips again and his mouth curved into a smile against your lips. 

He reached between your legs and the breadth of his hand took up all the space. You whimpered at the first contact of the padding of his fingers with your naked heat. He slowly, lightly rubbed you as he kissed you, then slid his fingers down through your folds, gathering your moisture. He entered you with his middle finger, then his ring finger. You moaned into his mouth as his fingers slid all the way into your warm core. His cock swelled harder against your thigh as he pumped his thick digits in and out of you. He moaned softly, then added a third. Your hips rocked into his hand. 

You were tense, afraid of coming too soon. 

"Joel," you whimpered. 

"Yeah baby," he murmured.

"What if I–ohh–what if I come too soon."

He chuckled, "you can come, baby," he kept working his fingers inside you, pressing his upper palm into your clit. You sighed and the tension swelled in your gut. "'s'a good thing, darlin'. gets ya ready for this." He rolled his stiff manhood against you as he said it. "Nice 'n ready." 

"But Joel," you whined, unsure. "I want you inside"

"You wanna come on my cock?"

"Yeah, on your cock."

"Oh, baby," he moaned, his cock leaking against your thigh. "You will, baby. You will. You'll come again." 

"Really? 

He nodded. "Yeah. C'mon darlin, You'll come on my cock, too."

His eyes were sincere. He returned his attention to your clit and you let go. As you began to contract, he slid his fingers back inside you. "Oh, good girl," he sighed as you squeezed his fingers. "Like that, don't ya? Like squeezin' me?"

You nodded and whimpered, unable to speak as you rode out the orgasm. 

"Oh, baby."  He continued grinding against your hip and kissed you again as you recovered. 

He pumped three fingers again, and under his breath, he muttered, "good. . .good." He moaned and pushed his hips against you. "Now I've got ya stretched, nice and relaxed." 

"Joel," you begged. "Are you gonna–" 

“Oh darlin’, I’m comin’.” he whispered. “Ready to be full of me?”

“Yeah,” you nodded. "Fill me with you," you begged. "Put it in." 

“Givin’ each other everything now,” he reminded you. “Can’t get it back.”

You nodded, “you can have it all.”

“And I’m gonna give it to ya, too.”

You nodded and your walls twitched in anticipation.

"Gonna give it all to ya."

He read your eyes and as you got lost in the black holes of his pupils, the clear fibers of his affection wrapped around you, tethering you to him and the moment. He pulled his hips back and his knees spread slightly.  You spread your legs to make room. He looked between your legs and the affection on his face faded into desire.  “My lands, peaches.” 

He hovered over you.  Your hands skimmed up his sides, and came to rest around his neck.  

He used his hand to notch himself at your entrance and pushed his tip inside, stretching you open. You gasped softly, breasts heaving in anticipation of the rest of it.  You dragged your feet toward your butt on the blanket, lifting your knees to frame his hips. 

“I love you, baby,” he whispered, and put his forehead against yours. 

“I love you too,” you whined, brows furrowed. 

His forehead lifted off yours, his lips returned to your mouth, and his hips pressed forward, inching his cock into you with a stretch.  His lips broke away from yours and his mouth stayed open.  He watched your face as his girth spread you open, dividing your walls.  You gasped and nodded for more.  He pushed further, taking you apart from yourself inch by inch. You imagined even a smidgen more girth wouldn’t feel good. He bowed his head and backed out an inch of his length, watching your body suck him back in as he pushed in a little more than he had before. 

“God damn,” he whispered, then wet his lips as he looked back up at you with half his length sheathed in your warmth. 

“You feel so good, joel”

“Oh, darlin’,” he breathed. “You got no idea.” 

“I want it all,” you begged.

He nodded, “Okay, baby.” then slowly pushed his hips forward, gradually burying his length with some effort, stuffing you full of him.  “Oh, darlin’.” The look of pain on his face told you how hard he was trying not to slam into you. He was slow and gentle, and his tip pushed through your core with even more heft than you imagined.  Each inch of him spread you more and filled you fuller than you thought you could be. Your body made more space and he took it up right away. 

“Joel,” you breathed. 

He whispered your name and said, “you’re doin’ so good.” His flesh didn’t just complete you, it made you more than you were. He took you apart and made you something new, something wrapped around him so tight. “almost there, baby.” And then he groaned “Ohhhh, god,” as you swallowed up the rest of him. It was a perfect fit. 

You whimpered as he came to a rest. His cock filled up the whole space and made more for itself.  The fuzz of his balls brushed your skin. Your mouth hung open and you breathed, savoring the fullness of feeling him there inside you for the first time. 

“Oh, darlin’,” he sighed, staying all the way inside you. He pressed his lips into yours, then pulled back and asked, “You okay?”

You nodded, happy tears prickling your eyes. His brows knitted. 

“Are you okay?” you asked. 

He nodded. “First time in years,” he whispered, and looked up at the tree. His cock twitched inside you and his tip nudged your cervix. “You tell me when you’re ready, baby.”

“I’m ready,” you nodded. 

He looked you in the eyes again. “Our life starts now.” He withdrew most of his length, then let it back into you, his belly flush with yours while his cock dragged heavily inside you. He closed his eyes as your bodies became flush again. He retreated again at a snail’s pace, then pushed in a little faster. 

“Saved this just for me, didn’t ya?”

He met your eyes again, then added, “Never be anyone else.” 

He lowered his face for another kiss.  Each time his flesh filled you up you could hardly believe how your body hugged him.  It was like your body had been waiting for him all along.  It really had been. This was what your bodies were made to do. Complete each other.  

He looked at you and his brow furrowed again. 

You asked, "What? What, Joel?"

“Now that I’ve been inside ya,” he breathed, "I’m not sure I know how not to be.”

You knew exactly how he felt. You couldn't bear the thought of being pulled apart. 

He reached a slow but steady rhythm, gently filling you with his cock. You traced his shoulder, then his bicep.  His bare stomach was resting against your skin, his happy trail touching you with each thrust m. He had about half his weight on you, and he let gravity help as he thrust into you. You imagined it as a magnetism. Each time he retreated, your bodies pulled back together. He bowed his head and watched himself disappear between your legs, and watched your body clinging to his shaft, hugging him tight, trying to pull him back in, not letting him go. “God damn, baby,” he breathed as he watched. “most beautiful thing I ever seen.”

When your caress reached the crook of his elbow, he braced on one forearm so he could take your hand and interlace.his fingers with yours. He held your hand to his chest and whispered, “All yours, darlin’,” his hips still moving, his cock sliding snugly against every ridge of you . 

You nodded tearfully, pressing your palm into his chest, feeling the soft hair and the hard muscle. 

“Every beat of it, peaches.” 

Your other hand cupped his cheek, then slid up to tangle in his hair as his face returned to yours, kissing you as he buried his length in you. When your faces separated, you watched the surreal beauty of his form – his messy hair, his tan skin glimmering, his brown eyes flickering with affection as he filled you to the brim with his flesh. 

“Oh, baby, you feel so good”

“I–I’m so–it’s so–”

“Packed full of it, aren’t ya baby?”

You nodded. “It’s so much,” you whispered. “But not too much,” you quickly added. “‘s’perfect.”

“So perfect, darlin’--Ohhh god, baby-–always knew ya were.” 

All you saw was him, and the rhythm of his chest over yours. Beneath his heavy breaths and moans, leaves danced in the breeze, birds chirped, and the occasional piece of fruit thumped in the distance as it hit the ground.  “Oh baby, I've been starvin’ for this.” His hips moved steadily, filling you with his cock every second or so, whispering your name here and there, marveling at your beauty.  

“It feels so good, Joel.” 

“how’s it feel?”

“Meant to be there,” you whispered, then sighed as his cock dragged through your core, completing you again. “Like it’s filling my body” More than that–it was creating space for itself, space you didn’t have before, that's the part you didn't expect. It was moving the most intimate parts of you out of the way and replacing them with him. 

You tried to describe it.  “It’s like –”  He lowered his mouth to your neck and sucked “--oh, joel–it’s–it’s–.” 

“Oh, baby,” he sighed against your neck, his hips moving steadily. “I know it, darlin’,” he murmured, grinding his pelvis into yours with each smooth thrust. He slowed his hips, still grinding against you, stiff cock dragging inside you. “Meant to be right here.” Your leg wrapped around him and his thrusts became more measured, his pelvis closer against you, grinding into your clit. “Meant to be fillin’ you.”

The pleasure was swirling, nearly coming to a boil in your gut, humming for release against his front, around his cock. “I love you,” you breathed, lifting your hips into his. 

“Ohhh, baby I love you too,” he whispered with a smile and near laugh. “‘n’ I love how ya take it.” His eyes darted around your face affectionately, then he bowed his head to look at where your bodies met. “Look so pretty wrapped around this cock,” he looked back up at you with bright, glistening eyes. “Look so pretty, peaches.” Your clit twitched. His movements had your hips lifting into him all on their own. “Yeah, that’s right, darlin’.” You let yourself grind up into him. “Jus’ like that,” he whispered, his body  grinding against your mound as his cock moved within you. The tension hummed louder and tightened your core on the edge of bliss. You both moaned. 

“Now I want ya to come, peaches,” he said in a serious tone. “Ohh, oh baby—want ya to come and squeeze me real good, can ya do that?”

You nodded, biting your lip, vision getting blurry with the moisture in your eyes.  You couldn't take any more tension but unsure if or when the peak would overtake you. 

“C’mon, I got ya,” he breathed as you teetered on the edge. “Breathe, baby. c’mon.” You remembered to breathe, his pelvis grinded into yours again, and then you whimpered as the tension burst. “Jo–ohhhh,” your voice was shaky as it overtook you. Your clit spasmed and each wave pulsed outward through your body. Your tears overtook your eyelashes as you moaned and gasped. Your walls clamped down around his cock, and he groaned. 

“You–Ohgoddamn,” he muttered as though losing control. Then he groaned, bottomed out hard, and erupted with a shudder. A burst of warmth flooded your core, then your whole body. He dipped his head to kiss you as he came. His cock pulsed into your walls again and again and your walls squeezed in return. His lips pressed into yours, then his tongue. He kissed you and moaned into your mouth. He sucked and gently bit your bottom lip as he filled you.  He was filling you all the way up, every single part of you full of him, his essence rushing through you. 

There was before this and after this, you finally got it, after all this time he tried to make you see. You  understood everything. Like how there was so much beauty left in the world, and it was right there between you. It wasn’t an abstract wish, it was the physical presence of you and him, your bodies together, pulsing against each other’s most intimate parts, his seed spilling into you, his lips on yours, your bodies inseparable, on the ground in the orchard. You saved it for him. Your whole life led to him. 

His kiss became more tender as he finished coming. He pulled back and his eyes glistened as he read your face. 

You locked eyes for what felt like forever, with Joel still breathing heavily, most of his weight on top of you.

“I love you,” he whispered. 

“I love you, too.” 

His eyes fell to your mouth and he kissed you again.  “gonna pull out now, okay?”

Your lip trembled and your temples felt weak at the idea of your bodies not being joined. He could tell.

“It’s okay, darlin’. We’ll lay here, long as ya want.” He nodded at you and raised his eyebrows for permission to pull out.

You bit your lip and nodded. 

He lay half on top of you, with a hand on your breast. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you whispered. “How did it–how was it?”

“Like nothin’ i’ve ever known, baby.” He sucked in a shaky breath that made you look down at his face and his cheeks were wet. 

–

You took a short nap like that, naked under the peach tree, until a dead leaf fell and tickled your arm and you jolted awake. A bird cawed at your sudden movement, and Joel asked, "you okay?" 

When you got up, you only put your underwear back on. Joel wrapped you in one of the blankets, put his arm around you as he brought you back inside. 

As you were walking back to the house, you heard the car noise again, toward the front of the orchard, and you froze, your eyes wide, looking toward the street. But this time it came with a breeze and the rustling of leaves. 

“Just the wind, darlin’. What’s got ya so jumpy?”

“I dunno,” you mumbled. “Sorry.” 

You didn’t realize you were jumpy.  Maybe since you found out Bill and Frank could come home soon, you kept expecting them. 

—-

When you got back inside, he laid the dress across the back of a chair in the living room and traced one of several red smudges with his fingers. There was bright red and dark red. "See? It's beautiful." He patted your hair. "gonna remember this forever." 

He ran a bath. You sat on the edge of the garden tub as the bath filled up, and he kneeled in front of you in his boxers. He curled his fingers into the waistband of your panties and you stood up as he helped you take them off. There was diluted  blood drying on your inner thighs. He dipped a sponge into the hot water to clean you. When you noticed a bit of his cum leaking out of you, it made you sad. You hoped he’d give you more. 

Joel got in the tub first, then you got between his legs and laid back. You laid in silence for a while, then said, “I loved that." Hearing yourself in the bathtub sounded crisper than usual. 

“What’d ya love, darlin'.”

“I love having you inside me.”

“Oh, baby, it’s my favorite place to be.”

"Good”

His cock twitched against your lower back. “‘Course it is, baby.” He kissed the crown of your head.  

"I feel empty now"

"'S'okay, darlin'. You're s'posed to. 'S'posed to want somethin' there." His hand came between your legs and gently fingered your floating curls.

He shifted his hips under you. "Gotta pace yourself, but it'll feel better and better, I promise."

"Okay."

"We’ll rest up and do it again later." 

"Yeah."

—---------

That night, you did it again.  He was deep inside you, pressing sweet kisses into your neck as you whimpered beneath him.

“How’s it feel,” he murmured into your neck. “Still feel good?”

“Feels good,” you whined

“S’only gonna get better, baby. Better every day.” He slowly retreated, then sighed "ohh, baby" as he filled you with his cock again. He was still fucking you slowly, carefully, grunting and moaning with your whimpers and sighs. His hair was messed up again, moving to the beat of his thrusts, and his neck veins were bulging. 

There was a loud rap at the door, startling you both.  Joel’s hand reflexively covered your mouth as he froze, then composed himself and completed one last slow thrust, one that felt even better with you frozen in fear.  

“Gonna be okay, baby,” he whispered, then pulled out. He slowly released his hand from your mouth, pressing a kiss into your lips. Your eyes were wide. You hadn't heard the car over your mutual pleasure.  "Gonna be okay," he repeated.  

He pulled on a pair of jeans and white t-shirt. He took a gun out of his nightstand.  There was another loud rap at the door, longer this time. A deep voice with the same drawl as your husband. “JOEL, IT’S ME. OPEN UP.” 

Joel looked at you and whispered, "Tommy."  

Joel put the gun in the back of his jeans and shut the bedroom door behind him.  

—--

The front door creaked as Joel opened it. “Tommy.” You heard the slapping of a hand on a back as they greeted each other, then the door closed.  “Didn’t know ya were comin’, woulda gotten a room ready or–”

"Just dropped off Bill ‘n Frank.”

“Shhhh.”

“Hey, what the hell's goin' on? Where's the kid?”

“Tell’em she’s safe.  Asleep upstairs."

"You don't think she'd wanna see'em?"

"No sense in wakin' her up." 

There was a long pause, then Joel asked, “Why’d ya drive’em?" 

“Their truck gave out.” After a long pause, Tommy added “Frank said somethin’s off with you.” 

“What're you talkin’ about? Why would Frank said that?” 

"Said ya smiled. Made'em uneasy." 

Joel scoffed. "I was bein' nice."

Tommy laughed. "I told'em you're weird about hospitals, prolly overcompensatin'. Told'em everything's fine. . ."

Joel said, "good, ‘cause everything is."

"You gonna invite me in?"

"Come on in." A few footsteps, then the front door shut. 

Tommy asked, “She’s upstairs?” 

Tommy’s boots thudded away from Joel's bedroom, toward the stairs. 

“Tommy, wait.”  

Tommy didn’t wait.  Two sets of footsteps climbed the stairs, with Joel’s quieter steps following Tommy's boots. You couldn't hear their conversation. A door opened and closed upstairs. Then another. And another.  You turned the ring on your finger.

Footsteps, then indistinct heated words.

The lighter set of footsteps descended the stairs with the boots following behind.  Tommy's voice got closer on the way down the stairs. “somethin’ ain't right here.”

The front door locked before Tommy made it down.  

Joel was calm. “Slow down, take a breath.”

Tommy replied, “I don’t like that look you’re givin’ me, brother.”

Joel told him, “You need to sit down and listen to me.”

“Joel, if I don’t come back, Bill’s comin’ over here.” 

"She's safe," Joel insisted. "C'mere, let's have a drink."

The footsteps faded into the living room, then stopped abruptly. "What the hell's that?" The footsteps slowly resumed, then stopped again. Then, the rustling of fabric.  Tommy's voice was shaky. "What the hell is this, Joel?"

"Shhhhh. Ain't what ya think." 

"Don't look like it," Tommy laughed in bad humor, then composed his nerves into calm anger. "What'd you do, Joel?"

"Nothin', Tommy. It’s her period, damn. Now sit down."

"I may be the only one who knows how dangerous you are, but don't act like I don't fuckin’ know.” 

Your heart skipped a beat.  

Joel responded, “You don’t."

You held your neck, looking around the room. Your pulse was pounding against the heel of your palm.

“I don't? What the hell’s that s'posed to mean?”

“I’m in love with her, Tommy." Your heart swelled. 

"Jesus. . ." 

Tommy mumbled something else, and Joel responded, “She's not a kid." 

"She's Bill's kid," Tommy countered. 

"Not anymore. And I’ll do anything to keep her." After a pause, Joel added, “I mean anything.”

"I fuckin' know you do," Tommy snapped. 

"Then we’re clear," Joel said. "Tell'em ya didn't wanna wake her up."

"Not ‘til I see her," Tommy insisted. 

There was a beat of silence, then Joel offered, "Cool off first, have a drink. Don't wanna scare her."

Your heart raced. Their voices became indistinct as they moved towards the kitchen.

—---------

You sat on the bed stunned. Your parents were home, and you weren't as happy as you imagined you'd be to hear it.  You were wholly preoccupied by Tommy's words. Joel was dangerous. You had already come to know it in your heart, but hearing someone else say it out loud had your mind racing. You never thought about what that meant for you. The worst part was the fear in Tommy’s voice. Would Joel do something to Tommy? His own brother? They were family. You and Joel were family. 

You got up and went into Joel's closet.  You pulled out a flannel and put it on over your nightgown.  You built up your courage, then slowly opened Joel’s bedroom door. 

—---------------

You emerged from the bedroom, unsure how either of them would react. You pulled the flannel over your hands, hiding the ring. As you tiptoed into the living room, Joel was on the sofa facing away from you. Tommy was facing you and saw you first. He was holding a mostly empty glass of whiskey. Joel's glass was already empty on the coffee table.  Tommy sat upright and swallowed. He put his glass down on the side table. 

“Hey,” Tommy's voice was soft, like he didn't want to startle you.  “You okay?” 

Joel looked over his shoulder, then turned his body. 

“Yeah,” you nodded and walked over to them, looking at Joel.  Joel's face softened as he looked at you.  You sat on one of Joel’s thighs, your bare feet on the floor holding some of your weight.

“They're home, darlin’,” Joel said and looked at you with pleading eyes.  “wanna go now, or let’em get some rest, see’em in the mornin’?”

You didn’t hesitate. “Let’em get some rest.” 

Tommy sat back and raised his eyebrows in surprise. When you looked right at him, the dress caught your eye on the other chair and your chest felt hot. 

Joel cradled your head with one hand and kissed you on the cheek. “Ok, peaches. Give Uncle Tommy a kiss goodnight, then go back to bed."

You looked at Joel hesitantly. He nodded toward Tommy and flexed his jaw.

Tommy watched you curiously as you approached. You gave him a loose hug around the neck and the lightest peck on the cheek. 

“Night, sweetie,” Tommy mumbled. 

You went back to Joel's lap and put your arms around his neck. He looked at you and you searched his eyes. He gave you a chaste kiss on the lips and whispered, "Go on. I'll be there soon," with a wink. His hand was big and warm on your back as you stood up to walk away.

—

Before you closed the bedroom door behind you, Tommy said, "Okay, she's not a kid. . . Don't mean it's right."

Their conversation became indistinct until Tommy was leaving a few minutes later. 

Joel said, “I’ll leave it unlocked.  You can stay upstairs.” 

The front door opened and closed. 

—------

You weren't planning on it but as soon as the front door began to close, your legs carried you into Joel's bathroom, and your shaking hand closed the door. You sat on the tiled floor against the door. Your heart pounded. Joel would never do anything to hurt you. Why was your body reacting this way? Your eyes felt weak. You didn't want him to see you scared or upset, but this couldn't be much better. You closed your eyes and tried to get back to that place you were in the orchard where everything in the universe made sense. 

Joel came into the bedroom and shut the door behind him. "Aw, baby" he said to himself as he realized where you were.  He took off his pants and put the gun back in the drawer, then approached the bathroom door. "You in there, peaches?” 

“Yeah,” you managed weakly. 

“Can I come in?” Joel tried to open the door and found it was locked.

“Not now.” You wanted to stop crying first. 

After a moment of silence, he slid down the other side of the door and sat down.  “Can ya talk to me, baby?”

You sniffled, then whined, “I dunno what to say.” 

Joel sighed and you heard the soft thud of his head resting against the other side of the door. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” you whimpered.

“We’re a family now, baby. Gotta work through whatever you’re feelin’.” 

You scooted back and slowly opened the door. 

Joel came in and sat on the tile next to you, your backs against the door.  He stroked your thigh. His voice was soft. “Wanna come back to bed or wanna talk in here?”

“Here.”

“Okay,” he whispered. He was studying your eyes, desperate to read them. 

You winced with a cramp and put your hand where it hurt.  He went to get you a pill and came back.  He handed you the pill and a glass of water. “Want me to run you a bath?”

You shook your head no.  You didn't need a third bath.

“What’s wrong, baby?”

“What’s wrong?” you repeated. 

You looked at him, hating the fact that he was going to make you ask him. Earlier, you said you didn't want to know. You wanted it to stay an abstract, romantic concept that he would kill for you. But the way Tommy was talking, you felt like you needed something. You felt like you needed to know Joel better.

Joel took a deep breath in through his nose.  His voice was soft and careful.  “Tommy’s my brother, and I love’m, but .. .sometimes, brothers. . . .” He was searching for words, and at the same time, searching your face for an out.  He gave up and his voice dropped an octave. “What’d ya hear, darlin’?”

You heard the words come out of your mouth before you could stop them. "How'd you kill him?" 

Joel squinted and searched your face. “Who?”

“What happened to Jesse?” you asked. Joel looked up at the ceiling and his nostrils flared. His chest expanded with a calming breath. You continued, “I don’t care about him at all. I don’t even care if you killed him but I wanna know."

"Thought ya didn't wanna know."

"Now I do." 

“I dunno if that’s a good idea, peaches.” 

“You said you’d do anything for me. This is what I need, I need you to tell me.” 

Joel sighed and swallowed, then nodded.  “There was an accident.”

"What kind of accident?"

"He fell." 

“What? Like from a tree?”

“No, when he was diggin’.”  

You felt lightheaded imagining the garden beds, and the way Joel tucked the pumpkin flower behind your ear. Something told you he was still out there. You tried not to show anything on your face. 

You asked, “Why didn’t you tell anyone?”

“‘Cause it was my fault. I scared him. Didn't want ya to be afraid."   

“What happened?“

“Won’t do ya any good knowin’ that, darlin’.” Joel sighed.  “Might make ya feel bad.” 

“I don’t care, just tell me.” What bothered you was that it wasn't even serious with the boy. It was nothing like it was with Joel. So Joel didn't have to do whatever he did. All Joel had to do was love you and you would've dropped everything else in an instant. All Joel had to do was hug you.  You really believed that. 

“He was gonna hurt ya, darlin'."  You found that hard to believe, but heard him out.  You reflexively squinted but tried not to look too skeptical.

"Hurt me how."

“He was talkin’ like. . . he was talkin’ disrespectful.”

Your face burned, thoughts flying around in your head about what he possibly could have said.  

Joel did a double take at your face and noticed how embarrassed you were. “Darlin’, you really don’t need to be hearin’ this.” 

“Just tell me.” 

"So when he tried to touch ya. . .” 

“You were watching us?”

“I was worried, darlin’. Just lookin’ out for ya.” 

“So you saw me stop it, then.” 

“Sure did, and I was proud of ya.” There was nothing to be proud of.  It wasn't on any moral grounds, you were just nervous in Joel's orchard. And apparently, you had every reason to be. 

“So what happened?”

“So, next time we were workin', it came up again. . ." 

Your mouth felt dry. 

Joel continued, "I told him that’s not how to treat a woman, that you deserved better.” 

Your heart pounded. “And you were really mad, that's why he fell.”

Joel nodded, and you nodded.  You could picture the rest of it, but you didn't want to. You imagined that when he fell, that wasn't the end of it. 

You took his hand. “Thank you for telling me.”

Joel kissed your hand and breathed a sigh of relief. 

“And thanks for doing that," you added.

Joel squinted at you, taken aback. “Doin’ what, darlin’?”

“Whatever you had to do. . . for me.”

Joel studied your face as though it might have been a trick.  It wasn’t. He slowly nodded.  He kissed your hand again.  “You don’t hate me.”

“Of course I don’t hate you, I love you.”

Joel’s eyes watered.  “This is true love, baby. Unconditional.” 

You asked, “Can I ask you something else?” 

“Anything, peaches.” 

"Who else?”

"Uh," Joel squinted. 

"I asked you how you killed him, and you asked who." 

"Oh, darlin'," he chuckled. 

"Did Abe really leave?"

Joel inhaled then puffed out his cheeks as he let out the breath and hesitantly shook his head no.  

“He was in bad shape when I found him.  Gettin’ sick, talkin’ crazy..” 

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You were already scared. . . didn’t wanna make it worse.” 

You barely nodded, trying to process all this, wondering if there was more to it, but consciously pushing the thought away.  You wondered whether you would've been more or less scared if you knew something happened to Abe. 

"You're a smart girl, peaches." 

“What’d Tommy mean when he said you’re dangerous?”

Joel wiggled his jaw and looked away, then back at you.  “I’ve made some mistakes.  Used to let my temper get the best of me.”  He looked down. “Don’t drink like I used to.”  

He scooted around on the tile to face you. He picked up both your hands and looked at you with big, pleading eyes.  “But no matter what, you gotta believe I would never, ever hurt you, baby." His eyes were glistening. "There’s no part'a me that would. I’d sooner hurt myself.” 

You looked at his mouth and just as you saw the smallest quiver, he wet his lips and swallowed.

You whispered, “I know you wouldn’t hurt me.”  

“Good.” He sighed in relief. 

You took your hands away and tightened the flannel around you, then said, “and you wouldn’t hurt anyone I love, because that would hurt me."

Joel swallowed and inhaled through his nose, waiting uncomfortably for you to continue.  

You looked at each other for a few seconds, then you asked, “Are Bill and Frank gonna be okay here?”

He looked away, then back at you before muttering, “I hope so, darlin'.” 

“Even if we can't be together right away?”

Joel squinted at you incredulously.  “What're you talkin’ ‘bout, can’t be together?" He scoffed coldly, making your temples hurt. "I’m sure as hell not lettin’ Tommy tell me what to do. You gonna let them tell you what to do?”  

“No. . .” You didn’t know what else to say. 

“We talked about this, darlin’. You change your mind?”

You shook your head.  “Guess I’m still nervous. Thought maybe it'd take time." 

Joel clenched his jaw, opened his mouth to speak. Then closed it again. When he did speak, he was calm and measured.  “There’s no scenario where we’re not together, peaches." He raised his eyebrows at you and added flatly, "We promised each other forever.”

“I know,” you whispered. 

“And I meant it,” he added with a hint of accusation. 

You protested, “I did, too.” You did. 

"Well I still mean it."

"I do, too." You weren't lying. Somehow, you didn't want it any less. If anything, your heart wanted it more. You wondered if you went too far in your questions. 

He pried your hands off the flannel to hold them. You tried to relax but your hands were still tense. 

He dipped his head to make eye contact with you and didn't blink. “You and me together. No matter what.” He closed his eyes for a breath and sighed. When his eyes met yours again, he added, “No matter where.”

Your heart fluttered.“No matter where?”

He nodded with a deep inhale through his nose. His eyes wandered, then found yours again. “yeah, no matter where."

This tugged at your heart. Was he really willing to take you out? 

"There's another town . . . Ain't easy gettin’ there, but I reckon if we're real careful. . .”

You pondered it silently.  You wanted to see the world outside, but you never thought about moving. You wanted to live with Joel on this land forever, but you wanted your parents to be okay, too.  Leaving altogether seemed so sudden, so huge. 

You asked, “Really? You would take me out?”

“Scares me to death,” he admitted. "But I just wanna be with you, peaches."

You stayed quiet for a minute. 

"Ain't right they kept ya here all your life," he muttered. 

The thought of leaving forever was scary, but if that's what it took to keep your parents safe, you would. Joel was your home anyway. You could feel at home anywhere with him. 

You asked, “Would I get to say goodbye?”

His mouth tensed and he looked at the floor.

"Not out loud," you conceded. "But could I see them again first?"

He was quiet, reading your face. "If that's what ya need," he nodded somberly. 

“Spend a little time with them?” You asked. 

“How much time?” Joel countered. 

“I don’t know, a few days?”

“You wanna be apart that long?”

“No, but. . . no”

Joel sighed. “Let’s figure this out tomorrow, k?” 

He cradled your head and whispered, “We’ll figure it out.” He pressed his lips into yours, giving you the slowest, most tender kiss.  He pulled back and your eyes clouded up.  

“I love you,” you whispered. “More than anything.”

He nodded, tears in his eyes. 

You added, “And there’s no ‘but’. I’ll go anywhere to be with you.” 

He pulled you into straddling him. Your arms wrapped around him all on their own and you were soothed. It was true, you had given him everything. You were hollow without it, without him. But up against his body, wrapped in his big arms, you felt complete again. You felt safe. 

You could feel his manhood beneath you, warm and soft. He hugged you tight and drew in a ragged breath. He held you and stroked your head for a minute. His cock hardened a little with your crotch against it.  You were beginning to feel the painkiller. “Sorry, baby,” he whispered.  You yawned.  “Thought we’d have more time.”  The front door opened, and you flinched. 

“Just Tommy," Joel whispered. "He’s gonna stay upstairs tonight, okay?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Let’s go to bed, baby.” 

You braced yourself with your hands on his shoulders and stood up. He hooked his thumbs under the flannel collar to help you take it off, but you pulled it tighter around yourself.

Joel pulled his hands away, then rubbed your back. "Okay, darlin'." 

You got in bed, curled up on your side. Joel draped his arm over you and asked, “this okay?” 

“Yeah,” you nodded and loosely laced your fingers with his in front of you. 

“‘S’gonna be fine, baby. We’ll figure it out.” 

“I don’t wanna be apart,” you sniffled. 

“We’re not gonna be,” he reassured you.  “Ever.” 

-----

THIS IS NOT THE LAST CHAPTER. AND YOU WILL HAVE MORE SEX.

However, this is on soft hiatus until after Halloween unless i really feel like putting out the next chapter. Too many seasonal things to cook.

Thank you so much for reading and engaging <3

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[autisticrosewilson]

so I’m not a fan of Talia (this is important to my ask) but i see a lot of Talia fans. and i really want to ask, without anyone getting angry, why people are fans of her with her history?

the main things i know about her are how she drugged Bruce to make Damian in Batman and Son, and her relationship with Nyssa in Death and The Maidens.

is there more to it? i don’t want to explore on my own if its just that it’s never explained, is there an arc to reference or anything?

That arc is actually retconned because Grant Morrison admitted that it was racist characterization.

Talia had 30 years of characterization before Damian needed a sad backstory. She WASN'T raised as an assassin, she was studying to be a doctor when her and Bruce met. Because she was invented in the 70's she was modeled more after your typical bond girl, and leaned more towards spy than assassin. She hated killing and felt immense guilt the few times she had to.

Her and Bruce loved each other deeply, but Talia also loved her father. Ra's tends to get sanded down to "insane, cruel, and needlessly violent", but the whole point of the league is preserving the environment and endangered species. Talia agrees with his goal, but not his methods and this conflict is what allows Bruce to come between them.

For a lot of her history her main conflict is between the man she loves and the man who raised her, which changes in Damian's ORIGINAL origin, Son of the Demon. Bruce enthusiastically consents and is excited to have a baby with Talia, but Talia realizes that Bruce will never give up Batman and that whether she raises the child herself or gives him to Bruce he'll never get to have a normal life. So she tells Bruce she lost the baby and gives up Damian for adoption in secret.

The next big change in her character happens in JLA: Tower of Babel, explicitly said to be the FIRST time she's ever helped her father with one of his big schemes and she hates it. This marks her breaking point as she ditches Ra's entirely. This leads into President Luthor Secret Files where she takes over Lex Corp and GUTS it. Naturally Clark is suspicious of her, but she continues to help Bruce.

Then, Death and The Maidens happens. Talia is tortured and brainwashed. Batman, supposedly the world's greatest detective, explicitly said to LOVE Talia, sees this extreme shift in loyalties and behaviour, and leaves. Either not noticing or not caring. There is no resolution to this plotline.

Damian's nonconsensual origin follows this up on the basis that Talia's character after she's been brainwashed is just, who she is and who she's always been. Unfortunately it became her most popular story, and even though it's no longer canon it's done UNTOLD damage to her character.

Talia is so deeply compassionate and she cares so much for everyone and everything. She's endearing and she's insanely competent and her moments with Bruce are some of the most genuinely heart wrenching I've ever read. Batman Chronicles #8 continues to be one of my favorite comics EVER. I highly recommend you read her 70's-90's comics.

[on-a-lucky-tide]

Simon tricks Price into their bedroom after getting desperate for his attention. #GhostPriceWeek

Day Two: Heart/Alpha

cw: omegaverse, fingering, penetrative sex, eventual enthusiastic consent, Price's hang ups with his secondary sex, mating marks, knotting. ( @gomzdrawfr )

Simon sat on the edge of the bed and watched Price as he stood by the window, shoulders squared, his hands tucked beneath his arms as they pulled tight over his chest. He was tired and Simon had tricked him into leaving his office by saying he needed his thoughts on some performance data. Price operated better with pen and paper so he was used to being called in for a face to face. Emailing him was pointless at the moment anyway, because he had several hundred in his inbox from two days leave that he was working through, and the whole fuckin’ point was to pry him out from behind his desk. Bloody muppet.

“‘m sorry, know you’ve got a lot on, I jus’..."

“Ya coulda jus’ said, Simon,” Price said tightly, still chewing over his irritation. He didn't like being lied to. And he absolutely didn't like being fuckin' lied to by Simon Riley specifically. It bit at him in a way very little else did.

“Yeah, right, like you wouldn’t’ve made some shitty excuse,” Simon said dryly, folding his own arms now. In his fleece shorts, cotton t-shirt and bare feet, he looked no less broad than if he sat there in a carrier vest with an M4 cradled in his arms, but the soft fall of the material left far less to the imagination, and Price was staring out the window partly because he knew if he looked he would give in. He smelled bloody gorgeous too, warm and inviting, a scent that sat on the back of Price's tongue and made his mouth water. Simon sighed. “You don't ‘ave time, I get it.”

Price bristled. “I woulda made time.”

“Yeah? Bullshit.” 

“Ya givin’ me attitude, lieutenant?”

“Simon's givin’ ya attitude, ya lieutenant finished his fuckin’ paperwork an’ clocked out three hours ago.”

Price flinched and closed his eyes. There had been hurt in Simon's tone; subtle, no more than a tremor in his deadpan rumble, but it had been there. That was Price told; well and truly put in his place. Served him right for being a fuckin’ cunt, didn't it? He pinched the bridge of his nose, shoulders slumping forward. “Sorry, Simon, I… uh, that weren't fair.”

Price heard the bed creak, old springs sighing with relief as Simon's bulk left them, and in the next breath he felt all the warmth of his mate press up against his back. “Yer shagged, love. I can see that. Lemme hold ya, fuck… I'm gaggin’ for a kiss. Anythin’. Haven't even touched ya in weeks. My fuckin’ ‘eart aches.” 

“Sure it's not ya dick?”

“Fuckin’ ‘ell, you grumpy wanker… so, wot? Can't want both? ‘m a man with needs. An’ one is you. All of ya.”

“Didn' ‘ave you down as the hopeless romantic,” Price mumbled, blinking quickly as Simon's warm palms swept around his waist, his nose nuzzling into the fabric of the shemagh wrapped around his neck. “I can't… I've got..”

“Ya can, please, for me… jus’ one night, let me make ya feel good, an’ then fall asleep in my arms. S’all I need an’ ‘ll stop bein’ a needy twat.” 

“Y’ain’t a needy twat.” Price tilted his head against Simon's and let out a deep sigh through his nose. It felt like a ratchet strap had broken loose, his body deflating against Simon's chest. It was so difficult to let him take the wheel; the insecure, indomitable part of Price chafing at the mere hint of submission. But it wasn't submission, was it? It was letting his partner care for him. 

Unlearning the association in his head between intimacy and surrender was a long and winding road, and Simon was so fucking patient with him. So patient that Price felt unworthy of it sometimes. It had to be frustrating to be stuck with an omega whose first instinct was scepticism when offered affection, who had to be coaxed and gentled into spreading his damn legs. Simon could have had the pick of anyone, with the size of him, but he had chosen the scruffy, half chewed wanker in a boonie hat.

Price felt Simon's chapped lips in the bristles of his beard and knew he was desperate to go lower, to close his mouth over the mating mark hidden beneath Price's scarf. It was a level of intimacy Price had always sworn he would extend to no one and it still made him apprehensive in the moments before Simon got there, no matter how many times he proved to be a safe pair of hands. The complete opposite to what anyone would expect of a man that looked like him. Price figured Simon had seen so much brutality from others that he had made the conscious effort to be completely the opposite in his romantic life. 

“See, few weeks without some practice, an’ you're gettin’ anxious again.” Simon's hands slid up Price’s torso, nose tracing his hairline at the back of his neck.

“Not bloody anxious…”

Simon's hand pressed over the left side of Price's chest. “Yer ‘eart says otherwise.” Beneath the pressure, Price could feel it; the frantic thrum of his heart against Simon's palm. The stress of the last few weeks, several operations happening overseas at the same time, all the strings in his hand, left him on a knife edge. The exhaustion was bone deep, his nerves raw. He knew he had become waspish and short with his subordinates, his temper on a trigger even more so than usual…

Some time with Simon would be good for him. Even if his mind still struggled with it all, his body was bonded. Time with his mate would help his mind find the rest that had eluded it for days now, whether it liked it or not. There were some comforts only a bonded pair could provide each other. Price sighed, lifting a hand to twine through Simon's fingers. For fucks sake, it was Simon. This was how it was meant to be. Price was allowed to find comfort in him.

“G’won then. Feel dead on my feet.”

“No need to sound so enthusiastic,” Simon said dryly.

“Yer gonna whine more or you gonna get to it?” Price grumped in return.

Simon responded with a chuckle, rubbing the side of his chin against Price's shoulder. “Bad tempered old bastard.” He said it with such deep affection that Price’s chest felt a little light.

Simon hooked two fingers in Price’s scarf, drawing it off to expose his neck and throat to the cool air. Goosebumps erupted over Price's skin and his arms dropped to his sides, fingers flexing into his palms as he chewed the inside of his cheek. The first few times they had done this, Price had snarled and put Simon on his back, teeth bared, so his jittery anxiety now was progress.

Simon chuffed softly at him, soothing noises made to gentle a distressed omega, and it appealed to Price's base instincts, the ones already luxuriating in the scent of his mated alpha folding around him. His chin dropped forward and he drew in a deep, shuddering breath so that Simon's scent flooded his senses. Simon kissed across the newly exposed skin, palms pulling Price back against his chest so that his scarred lips could reach everything they wanted, and Price lifted unsteady hands to hold his wrists. 

“Breathe, John,” Simon whispered, breath tickling the little hairs on the back of Price's neck.

“Yeah… yeah, right.” As Price’s chest filled, Simon pressed close and dragged the wet flat of his tongue over the sensitive scarring on Price’s neck. Price exhaled with a soft noise, his eyes flickering back, his knees quivering as Simon lapped again. It was like a hundred gentle fingers stroking over his shoulders, down his neck and back to his navel; a tug of pleasure so deep, so instinctual, that it was impossible to resist. 

Damp lips parted, his body sagged into Simon's arms, and Simon chuffed his approval against his skin. Price, his mind eased into a foggy pleasure, offered his first faint trill in response. It curled up his throat, a soft purr, and Simon squeezed him fondly, kissing that mark until Price's knees began to shake again.

“Hmm, easy, love. I've gotcha.” 

Simon guided Price towards the bed and gathered him into his lap, Price's knees bracketing his hips, and Price sank down gratefully, the seat of his trousers pressing to the warm bulge of Simon's crotch as they kissed, Price's hands sliding around Simon's firm jaw. He stayed lost in Simon's mouth as Simon worked his boots and belt off, letting them fall heavily to the floor. His shirt followed, Simon's fingers working down the buttons before pushing it from his shoulders. He pulled it down until the fabric pooled at Price's wrists, trapping them just behind him so that his full chest was thrust out and Simon could kiss the newly exposed skin.

“Ah, Si…” Price gasped. Simon's mouth was bloody heaven; his agile tongue curled around a nipple, lips sinking down to suckle, and Price moaned softly, his hips rolling forward to grind down against the hard length pressed up between his legs. He knew he was getting wet, could feel the slickness in his boxers; it was easy to relax into it when Simon was being so gentle, and his body was so desperate to feel him, the promise of that hard bulge was enough to make him weak.

“Thassit, gonna make you feel so good.” Simon squeezed Price's arse and encouraged the slow rut as he worked over his chest to give the other nipple the same attention. Price squirmed when Simon paused to tug his own shirt over his head and Price shedding his own completely in favour of pushing his fingers into Simon's blond hair, clutching his face close.

Without the cotton barrier, Price could rub himself against Simon's soft body hair, the firm, scorching plains of muscle, the thick musk of his alpha scent coiling around Price's mind like a physical touch, coaxing him deeper into a foggy headspace. He settled into it slowly, reluctant to let his control and alertness slip, but their mated bond smoothed the process. The descent was irresistible when every part of Price, mind and body, wanted to purr with pleasure at Simon's attention.

“Doin’ so good, love,” Simon whispered, his breath hot against Price's sensitive nipple, puckered and hard. He plucked open Price’s fly and slid his hand into the front of his boxers, thumb reaching down to circle the engorged, eager hardness of Price’s cock before dipping into his slit. 

The first touches sent sparks through Price's hips with such intensity that he growled, fingers tightening in Simon's hair. It had been so long. He hadn’t even touched himself in the interim; touchstarved didn't even cover the desperation currently bubbling under his skin. “Fuck, s���too sensitive.”

“Mm, you're jus’ turned on, need to relax. Here, get these off, le’s get comfy.” Simon tapped Price’s waistband and placed a final kiss in the centre of his chest, before relinquishing him. 

Price stood unsteadily, shoving his trousers and boxers to the floor until he stood naked before Simon’s appreciative gaze, his toes curled against the floor as he fought the urge to cover himself like some fair bloody maiden. “Wot?” Price asked, trying to come across authoritative but knowing it was somewhat meak given his flushed he was. He could feel the wetness between his thighs, and couldn't help how his own eyes wandered lower to Simon's crotch. 

“Fuckin’ gorgeous,” Simon replied, his low voice thick with desire. He shuffled back on the bed, creating himself a small pile of pillows to lean back on, and then patted his thighs. “C’mere, lean back. Still look like yer about to breach a room full’ve Al Qatala.”

“They'd ‘ave a nasty surprise,” Price murmured as he clambered onto the bed, setting his rear end down between Simon's legs, his knees gathered to his chest. Strong arms curled around him, big enough to make even Price feel well handled, and he huffed softly as he was drawn back into Simon's warmth. 

“Hm, dunno, think they'd see ya in a whole new light. Body as good as yours might bring world peace,” Simon said against the back of Price’s neck.

Price chuckled low in his throat, squirming a little as Simon's hands stroked up his belly to his chest. “I’ll ask Kate whether she thinks yer idea’s operationally via-ah, fuck, Sim-mmn.” 

Those soft lips had closed around his mating mark again, palms massaging his tits before fingers and thumbs began to caress the soft blush of his nipples. Price’s body relaxed in increments, the slow build of heat and pleasure as Simon stimulated two erogenous zones chasing away the last of the anxious tension keeping his back and shoulders stiff.

Simon slid his palms down the length of Price's body to his thighs, lifting them over his own to spread his omega open, and Price huffed in momentary discomfort. He felt exposed, vulnerable; he glanced at the door, tried to keep his eyes open, but Simon deepened his kiss against Price's mark as one hand returned his chest, the other sliding gently through the folds of his cunt. Three points of warmth, of being covered and protected by Simon's body, grounded in the pleasure and reassurance of his touch. His fingers were firm, possessive, rubbing over flushed, slick skin in skilful passes, thumb and the sides of his fingers circling up and down the glistening length of Price's aching cock. 

Fuck, when had he got so hard and so wet? When had his body become so desperate for Simon's touch that it now throbbed under his fingers? Price made soft, tortured noises of bliss as Simon played with his cunt, suckling harder on his mark to trap Price in a feedback loop of euphoria that overcame the momentary distress of being spread open. 

Simon's moan of appreciation rolled through Price's body from his shoulder, and Price curled an arm up to hold Simon’s head, lifting his hips in encouragement as he surrendered completely to his alpha's hands. Simon's mouth drew away from nursing his mating mark to nibble Price’s ear, muttering soft praise. “Yer so fuckin' sexy…”

Price huffed a soft, delirious laugh at how drunk Simon sounded, slurring out ‘sexy’ like it was treacle on his tongue. Suckling on all those omega pheromones had done a number on him. But Simon soon got his revenge, his second hand joining his first at Price’s cunt, a thick finger sliding inside.

Price lifted his head and looked down the slope of his body, groaning at the sight. There were few things hotter than watching Simon's big hands pawing at his cunt, spreading his slick folds open, teasing and squeezing with perfect pressure while his thick fingers plunged in and out of Price’s hole, glistening with evidence of just how fuckin’ turned on he was, how close to the edge as thrills of pleasure pulsed through his core like an electrical current. Price rocked up into it, throwing his head back as his orgasm tingled at the very edges of his awareness. “Ung, Si… fuck, gonna…”

“Yeah, g’won, don't hold back,” Simon said, and the long, slow lick over Price's mating mark was enough to finish him off. He was skilled enough to slow his caresses as Price came, his entire body tensing up, eye screwing shut as he gasped Simon's name over and over. It was intense, white light behind the eyes, his cunt soaking Simon's palm, and he gasped tightly until the swell of pleasure ebbed lower and he was able to slump, panting, against Simon's chest. In a haze, he watched as Simon lifted his hands away, only to slide his wet fingers into his damn mouth with a satisfied groan. 

“Ya filthy bugger,” Price mumbled, delirious. He flopped away, his cunt still tingling with the aftermath of his orgasm, the air cool against his sweaty back as he sprawled on his front. “Gimme a moment, I'll see t' you.” Simon’s cock was testing the fabric of his shorts, a damp spot soaking through at the tip, and Price’s mouth watered at the thought of the musky taste of it. 

“Oh, love, only one place I wanna be. Tha's knotted inside ya.” Simon lifted his rear and shoved his shorts, his thick cock flopping back against his belly, strong veins running its length from root to tip, ruddy and leaking. Price let out a soft moan, pressing his chest down and lifting his hips a little. The sight and smell of it in the mire of pheromones and arousal, the way he wanted Simon's heavy bulk over him, pushing him down… 

“Oh, fuck, yer wanna be bred, don’tcha, love? Desperate for a good fuckin’ knot, my hot load fillin’ y’up...”

“You got a filthy fuckin’ mouth, Riley…” Price growled, fuck… half moaned. Yeah, he wanted all of that. Every last word.

“Can't help it, seein’ you like this, so ready fer me, does somethin’ to my brain.” Simon rolled onto his hands and knees and crawled over the bed until he was sliding over Price's back, his knees either side of Price’s thighs. The slick head of his cock pressed into Price's slit, nudging the underside of his cock as it slid back and forth, teasing. “Tell me ya want me, John. Tell me ya want me t’ mate ya.”

Price clutched at the sheets, panting, as he felt Simon's huge cock grind against him. His heart hammered in his chest, not through anxiety, but raw, primal need and excitement. He could feel Simon above him, big, thick all over, his body glowing with the heat of arousal, the bulbous tip of his cock pressing insistently against Price’s entrance with each pass. He felt enveloped, overcome, and all he wanted was to feel his alpha inside him. “Yeah, Simon… please… fuck me, please, need ya…”

Simon growled possessively, his cock sinking into Price's cunt all at once, sheathing itself inside him in a single, fluid thrust that knocked the breath from his lungs. He felt so perfectly full, Simon's huge prick satisfying the clutching need tightening in Price's gut. Simon didn't give him a chance to grow used to it, the fullness, and withdrew for another deep thrust that ground his full, heavy balls against Price's slit.

Simon didn't need encouragement, his knees spreading, cock plunging deep. Price cried out as his body was made to yield over and over, relaxed muscles stretching wide, so slick that every thrust sent a hot swell of pleasure licking up Price's spine. Simon curled around his back, big arms bracketing Price’s shoulders as his belly bumped against the curve of his arse, cock welcomed deep inside Price's eager cunt as Price tilted his hips up, his knees digging into the mattress for purchase. 

“Yer so fuckin’ wet, fuck,” Simon groaned, hips slapping loudly, shunting Price into the bed with the force of his movements, strong arms keeping him pinned in place so his body couldn't be forced further away..

And it was so damn bloody good. 

Simon found the perfect angle, punching low moans from Price's chest, stoking a furnace of white hot pleasure in his gut that only intensified when a large hand folded over Price's jaw, thumb slipping between his lips like Simon wanted to possess every damn hole Price had. Demanding lips found his mating mark once more, teeth nipping and tongue laving, short-circuiting Price's brain as he moaned wetly around Simon's thumb. 

Simon was so hard, so fuckin’ big, Price was sure he could feel Simon's heartbeat throbbing through his cunt; a relentless, powerful thrum matching the frantic pump of his own. It was his only anchor, his mind soft, completely enraptured by his alpha’s body, his scent, the sound of his guttural snarls as he took his pleasure and promised to come deep inside his omega’s cunt. Price's body was like Semtex, manipulated in Simon's hands until the very moment he wanted it to detonate. 

“Harder, fuck… Simon, harder, yeah, yeah, like that, mmm, ahh!”

“Such a greedy hole, perfect fit for my dick,” Simon growled, his voice tight.

The stretch intensified as Simon's knot began to swell, forcing Price wider, and Price would have been ashamed of the wrecked wails breaking from his throat if he'd had much awareness left. Simon had fucked him senseless, his mouth hanging open, his hands scrambling at his sheets, his entire body numb and alight with sensation at the same time. Just a snug, wet, eager hole for Simon to fuck. He balanced there on the edge, his toes and fingers tingling, the intensity of the pleasure making his cunt spasm and flutter around the relentless piston of Simon's cock.

Price lost track of how long he was pinned beneath his alpha's body, gloriously helpless as Simon hollowed him out, wringing pleasure from him without mercy. Price needed that knot to fill, and each time it popped in and out of him was sweet torture. He needed it swollen in his cunt, locking his alpha inside him, needed to be filled so absolutely that he didn't have room to breathe, as Simon brimmed him with his seed. 

Such a desire would have disgusted him before he had bonded with Simon and perhaps, in the cold light of day it would again, but in the frenzied heat of their coupling, the thought of it made him almost mad with need. It was primal, instinctual, born from millions of years of evolution. 

Simon's hips stuttered, slapping hard in two final thrusts, before his knot ground into Price's cunt as his cock pumped him full of cum. Price moaned loudly as he was bred, Simon's teeth massaging around the scent gland beneath his mating mark to hold him still. Price's climax poured through him in answer to the flood of heat inside him, his channel clutching at Simon's knot, milking it in tight pulses as Simon rocked his hips in slow, lazy rolls, as if he could fuck his spend deeper into Price's body. 

“Christ, yer a fuckin’ dream…” Simon slurred, mouth drawing away to lap at Price’s mark between each word. His cock was still twitching, and he groaned when Price's body squeezed in response.

“Was so good, Si… so fuckin’ good…”

“My cock, my knot, everythin', s’all yours, ‘m yours… love you, John. Love you so fuckin’ much. Get so low when yer not here, when we can't be close.”

Price twisted as much as he could for the kiss, their tongues lapping together through parted lips. It was a promise. Price could do better. He could make the time. He had to. All they had was each other, and apart, without an opportunity to mate, to hold each other, their hearts ached. And he had been a prized fuckin’ wanker for being up his own arse about it earlier. It was hard enough for Simon to ask for things without Price adding to the hurdles. 

With a soft sigh of contentment, Simon nuzzled Price's hair after their lips had parted and Price's face fell back to the sheets. In the haze of fucked out bliss, Price melted into the bed, his alpha knotted deep inside him, heavy body draped over, protective bulk caging him in, Price closed his eyes and drifted…

When Simon's knot went down some fifteen minutes later, he withdrew gently, rolling Price onto his back. Price arched as kisses trailed down his chest and belly, moaned softly when those chapped lips reached his cock and sucked it hungrily, before that clever tongue slid into his cunt to taste their coupling. Simon's big palms rested on the inside of Price’s thighs, pressing them out, but Price didn't need coaxing; he threw his arms above his head and rolled his hips slowly against Simon's mouth with wanton abandon, gasping and moaning encouragement, his legs spread wide so Simon could tongue and kiss his sensitive cunt without restraint.

Simon was his, and he was Simon's, and for the rest of the night, that was all that mattered. Two lovers, one heartbeat.

[whiskeyskin]

Make Me Feel

Premise: What's that? The well trodden trope of weird potion creates problems of the - ahem - 🍆 variety? Well if you insist.

• Astarion x gn!tav • 18+ • E/M rating

They/them pronouns, Potion mishap!, interrupted masturbation, handjob, bj/deep throat, embarrassment, tone shift, mild canon trauma discussion, connection, enthusiastic consent, communication, dirty talk.

4.1k words

Edit: RAHHH! You're all so wonderful for getting me over 200 notes 😚 it may be a small number for some but to me it's a lot. Love you! 🥹🖤

Editedit: Over 400 notes?! Excuse me as I ugly cry 😭😭😚✨

Thank @northernolddragon for the beautiful screenshot 💜🥵

•°•°•

Tav was on watch with Shadowheart this evening, not that they really needed to with Gale's wards keeping an alarm on things coming in or out of camp but they all slept better with a night watch.

They'd enjoyed company and conversation as they spoke about everything and nothing. Mostly about Tav, since Shadowheart had very little memories to share.

A friendship had steadily grown with them, so much that she'd revealed herself a Sharron - which wasn't really a shock.

A low alarm pulsed and they went to investigate to the left of camp but after a little cooperation between Tav's survival skills and Heart's perception, concluded that an animal had triggered the alarm - hence the low pulse and the fresh animal tracks belonging to a rabbit.

Tav paused a moment, a thought flashing across their mind. They called to Shadowheart, "Hey, did you hear Astarion come back in from hunting?

"No, he didn't go out tonight. Said, 'he had something else to attend to'."

Again, Tav paused. Oh, shit. Had they promised he could feed tonight and completely forgotten?

"Are you supposed to be 'dining tonight'?" Shadowheart asked through a smirk.

"I don't think so.. maybe? Oh, gods. Maybe I did say." Said Tav, trying to think back on the day.

"Go check on him, see if he's waiting up for a midnight snack. I'll stay on watch." She pursed her lips and swished her long braid as she walked to do a patrol of the camp.

~~~

Tav quietly made their way passed the tents of their companions, who were softly - or loudly - snoring. Astarion's tent however still had a candle going and made no sounds of sleep, or revery but rather stranger noises. Hissing sounds from the side of his mouth and what seemed like a painful gasp.

Their brow creased with concern, Tav stepped up to the entrance of his tent. The noises intensified.

"Astarion?" Tav called through the fabric in a hushed whisper, "Are you alright?"

A choked noise of frustration replied to them first, "Uh-yes. I'm perfectly fine. Why do ask?" He retorted a little too sharply, despite his usual lulling tones.

"Shadowheart said you hadn't gone hunting and I couldn't remember if I'd agreed to let you feed tonight."

"Ah, you're such a sweetheart.. while I always delight in our little nightly visits, I've rather got my hands full with something at the moment." He strained, like he was in pain. Something wasn't right.

"Astarion. What's going on? I know something's wrong. What is it? What have you done?" Tav asked, exasperated.

"Ughh, it's nothing just-Arghh" he let out a muffled cry.

"I'm coming in." Tav announced, pushing their way inside the dimly lit interior.

"No, no, don't!" But it was too late.

Tav's mouth flew to their face, shocked at the view.

There, on the floor, in only his ruffled shirt and barely covered in his grotty blanket was Astarion. Although, the blanket was more of tent itself with what it was shielding.

"Oh! Oh, shit. Sorry-sorry! I'll leave." Tav blustered at the sight of the half naked pale elf on the floor before them. They'd clearly not been sounds of pain, and the frustration was aimed at them not leaving him to masturbate in peace.

"No, stay. Please." He croaked, desperate, "I don't know what else to do; I need your help."

"With what?" Tav questioned, averting their eyes to afford him some sort of privacy.

"I appreciate the gallantry but we can do away with the charade, you know what I was doing." He sulked, shifting his weight to sit up, the ruffles on his shirt bristling as he heaved himself upwards.

Tav's eyes tracked the movement and flitted down to the protrusion, unwavering in it's vigil against the thin protection of his grey comfort rag.

Hot flashes of memories seared their mind; remembering how it felt in their hands, hot and cool at the same time. Harder than rock as he'd moved within them, expertly stroking their sweet spot while feeding openly on their blood.

Tav bit their lip, then jolting back to the situation, looked away.

"Um, you said you needed my help. I don't know how I can-"

"I have been.. doing this to myself for the past three hours. It's incessant."

"Jeez, Astarion. I don't need to know that."

"Not for my own selfish good. I-" he growled to himself, it made Tav's stomach flip uncomfortably, "I drank something. It looked like a normal potion, but it tasted a bit off.. and now, this." He gestured to the distinct lump, "It's unbearable and painful if it's not being.. used." He paused, discomfort clear on his face.

A blush flooded Tav's cheeks, "Aaand, you want me to help by..?" They trailed, needing more explanation. Because if he was suggesting what they thought he was suggesting...

"Ugh, I don't know. This obviously isn't helping! Find something that can? Another potion, a spell? Anything!" He waved his arms helplessly into the air.

Astarion looked up at them; his shirt in disarray, his legs gently folded with the blanket tucked between them, with guilty but adamant eyes. He looked helpless and adorable.

A feeling was stirring in Tav's chest, something rumbling and loud but it wasn't arousal, it was laughter. They caught a snicker behind their hand, trying to hold in their amusement.

Astarion's face changed to surprise, with a big frown cutting across his beautiful features.

"Well, thanks a lot. Glad the bleeding heart thinks it's funny." He pouted.

"Oh, come on Astarion. It's pretty funny."

Astarion's eyes narrowed, "How precisely is this funny?" He demanded.

"It's so unfunny that it's funny again. It has to be laughed at how ridiculous this is. I mean, come on." They tried to explain, "you drank a strange elixir and now you have an erection that won't fuck off." Tav barely made it through the last word without sniggering, "You've been beating yourself stupid and it's not going anywhere. It's a fucking ridiculous situation to be in and if you can't laugh about it? Fuck." They shrugged, smiling brightly and encouraging him to see the funny side of this ridiculousness, "I thought you said Lae'zel was the one with no sense of humour."

"Actually, Lae'zel is hilarious. She just doesn't realise she's being hilarious," The frown on his face softened, a smile clearly fighting to spread across his face, "I suppose it is absurd. Most men would kill for this."

"Most people would pay good money for this problem!" Tav squeaked, "Oh gods, the old men that have given all their gold for this problem!" They whined out before coming down to kneel on the floor.

"All of them furiously masturbating to get rid of it after their mistress has left and their wife will notice." He chuckled.

"Oh, the scandal." Tav flourished.

"What would the neighbours say?" He jested, opening up to the idea that the incredulity of it all needed to be laughed at.

He mimed trying to push it down only for it to spring back up with a pop sound effect provided by him and they fell about cackling together.

It was nice. Seeing him smile.

~~~

They sat laughing for a while, trying to come up with unfortunate scenarios to find yourself in with this predicament. Each as hilarious as the next.

Howls turned giggles, and giggles turned to titters, until eventually they were all laughed out.

There was a comfortable silence between them for several moments. Tav glanced back at him.

"Did that help? Taking your mind off it?" Tav asked, hopeful.

"I'm afraid not. Still there. Although, it's taken away the urgency of needing that release."

"That's a start at least. What the hell's did you drink?"

"I don't know, it was in the pack from today's adventure with the hag."

"You drank one of the hag's potions?" Tav chided, incredulous.

"Of course not! What do you take me for?"

Tav raised their brows and wordlessly gestured to his lap.

"Point taken," he relented, "but, no it was a regular looking potion bottle. I needed a little healing, so I.." he trailed off, loosely waving a hand.

"You drank a random potion from today, before we'd had a chance to examine it and expected nothing to go wrong. You brought this on yourself." Tav pursed their lips mockingly.

"Yes, thank you for stating the obvious, dear. What am I going to do?" He asked, exasperated.

"Well, masturbating yourself sore hasn't worked, so it can't be about orgasming it out of you."

"Oh, I haven't orgasmed. That's what I was trying to tell you before, but in my feverish haze didn't get out into words properly."

"After three hours?" Tav asked, wide eyed.

"It was more stop/start than powering through. I'm drawing the assumption that while this potion grants me this bloody thing, it doesn't heighten the sensation much."

"Maybe it deadens it? To keep it going longer? That's why you couldn't.. yuh know." Tav mimed the action for affect. They shared a small titter through their noses.

"I haven't a clue. Although, I'm not really.. versed in this sort of thing. It's not something I do, not something I've done for centuries," he admitted, shrugging, "Self pleasure wasn't high on the list when the thought of touching anyone, let alone yourself made your skin crawl-" Astarion caught himself, his eyes widening.

Tav's mouth gaped, "What?" The question came out breathy and low. Hurt struck painfully into their heart, "So the night we spent together you were disgusted-"

"-No. No. Well, at first it I was a little but-"

Tav's eyed widened and they recoiled, wounded. He knew he'd revealed too much and Tav could see that flawless mask of his was trying to slot back into place after it's momentary lapse.

"Don't." Tav urged, "Don't pretend you didn't say it."

"It wasn't like that-I didn't mean you, you're wonderful. I meant in Baldur's Gate with Cazador. The manipulation, the deceit. I couldn't. I never." He stopped himself.

Tav softened, the harm still stinging but this was important. Astarion had never spoken about his time with Cazador apart from being a slave and using sex to lure people back. He hadn't elaborated more than those facts. Obviously, he would have sexual trauma.. and he'd opened up a chance at the conversation.

"It's alright. I'm here to listen. Go on." Their tone was low and understanding.

His face full of uncertainty and shame, Astarion shook his head and refused to look at them.

"I don't want to. Not yet. Not now. I mean.. I just want this thing gone." He motioned to his still swollen member.

Tav's brow knitted and they shrugged heavily.

"Apart from distracting you from it, I don't know what I can do." Tav raised their hands in exasperation, "I mean if you can't do it after three hours, what am I supposed to do-"

"Trust me, you'd be able to help." He said darkly, almost to himself. His gaze darted back, scared by another accidental confession. Tav's confused expression must have been clearly legible.

"What do you mean?"

Astarion averted his eyes, clearly debating on letting more of his secrets out.

"Shit." He cursed. There was a pregnant pause that Tav refused to break.

"You-" he stopped himself, "the other night at the party was- it was-" he shut his eyes and sighed through his nose, "I can't do this, you can leave. I'll just keep this forever."

"Astarion.." Tav said softly, gently reached a reassuring hand to the floor beside him.

He took a deep, cleansing breath and swallowed.

"It was the first time I've known actual pleasure in almost 200 years. Where I actually enjoyed myself, much to my surprise."

Suddenly feeling relieved and very flattered, Tav remained stone-faced silent, encouraging him to keep going.

"My existence has been about having my body used to lure back pretty things for him. To get them to trust me and let their guard down, then.." he trailed off, "I tried to make the most of it and relish in the copious amounts of sex I was having.. It didn't last long. I got extremely good at pretending I did, they never suspected a thing." He said with a sneer.

"I became numb to the entire experience. It was nothing to me. A dance. A deception. It became second nature and I got used to the disgust I felt, I used it to push through. To hold onto some semblance that I had one shred of humanity left. As long as I despised myself for what I was doing, there was still hope."

"So imagine my shock when I actually felt something different with you. Something good." He finally looked in their eyes, "You are a bastion of firsts in this newfound freedom of mine. My first true blood, the first person who has let me indulge in my instincts and helped me grow in my power," Astarion swallowed, "the first person in so long to make feel something.. anything.. during sex that wasn't hatred and self-loathing."

Tav's throat closed and tears threatened to brim but they blinked them back.

"You offered your neck to me, your life blood to me and I felt something.. it wasn't like our usual feeds.. it was something immense.. something transcendant and I.. I lost myself in you.. wholly. Pleasure had returned to my body and I froze. I didn't know what to do."

"Nothing else existed outside us.. and I could have spent the rest of my life buried inside you," he paused, closing his eyes as if the memory over-powered him. Tav sat there, breathless, mesmerised by his beauty in the candle's soft glow.

"I think I came back to consciousness when I saw my seed over your beautiful body. You looked just as shocked as I felt. It was all over your chest, your mouth.." he was breathing heavily now and the air around them shifted. Tav swallowed dryly. They remembered.

The grunting, ecstatic moan he'd made just before he came over them echoed in their mind long after. They'd pulled back from lavishing his thick, pale cock to pause for breath and to whisper sweet words to him. He'd erupted on them with no more than a silent gasp and a hand fisted in their hair.

Staring deeply into Tav's eyes, Astarion continued, "You took me so well," he brought a hand to their bottom lip, grazing it lightly with his fingertips, "With your mouth.. with all of your holes, actually. Your wonderfully tight holes." He moaned through a sly smile.

Tav's mouth was aridly dry, as all the blood in their body rippled and pooled to their core. Heat radiated through them and quickly made breathing steadily a problem, and logical thinking was non-existent.

"I know you could do it again, if you wanted to." He closed his eyes and snaked himself closer against Tav's neck, inhaling deeply. His breath cool raising gooseflesh, as he pressed his lips against the shell of their ear, "You could wrap those soft lips around my cock and suck me like you did in the forest. So deep and so warm."

Tav's thoughts were like wading through thick, soupy mud as Astarion's words clouded their mind and flooded their body with desire.

"I've never been devoured quite like that, you fit yourself around me so well.. you were such a good f-"

Tav quickly brought their hand to his mouth. He had to be silenced. His seductive power was too much to leave unbridled.

Mentally shaking off his charms, Tav came some what back to their senses.

"In one breath you tell me how disgusted you are with sex and the next you say about wanting my 'tight holes'? What is it that you want, Astarion? You can't have it both ways."

"Of course I can, darling. Now I can. Things have changed. Lots of things. I have my body back and I decide what to do with it. And right now.." he moved with the lithe limbs of a panther to sidle himself beside them, the grey blanket gently pulling back to reveal his thick, swollen manhood. He exhaled at the softness leaving him, "I want.."

Tav swallowed hard, their lips parted. Another wave of euphoric desire swept over them as the cool touch of his skin ghosted against theirs.

Astarion reached over and grasped their hand and placed it on his engorged cock.

"This." He hissed as their skin finally touched, his cool hardness welcome in their palm.

Gods, he was so erect. The veins in his thick shaft pulsating. The velvet softness of him thrummed with desperate need.

He was so close to them, so close now.. they could kiss if he wanted them to. Astarion breathed against Tav's mouth, "Touch me."

He started to move both their hands in short bursts over the head of his penis, Astarion shuddered out a gasp and screwed his eyes shut, "Touch me. Please."

Tav willingly acquiesced, bending down to spit on his painfully erect cock and began to work.

He made a staggered, breathless moan as he leaned back on both hands, exposing himself to them. Tav pumped his rock hard length in a steady rhythm, remembering back to the Tiefling party that he had appreciated the gentle building of friction, to fruition.

His head was purple and looked sore from his abusing himself for so long in search of relief. Tav generated salvia in their mouth and spat on their other hand to use on him.

The sweetest moan they'd ever heard sang from Astarion's chest.

"Yes-yes-use your hands on me.. make me feel like before.. make me feel-" he gasped through the last word so ferociously he inadvertently bared his fangs.

Tav used their hands in symbiotic motion; pumping the bottom of his shaft with their non-dominant, while teasing and playing with the head between their deft fingers, all the while keeping his entirety slick in saliva.

Gods, they wanted to use their mouth on him properly. He looked so beautiful, unmasked before them. He had been so unexpectedly naked and raw with his past. Revealing hard and difficult truths regarding his lack of control, and autonomy of his own body.

And Tav had to respect that, no matter how aroused they were. They would show that his trust was placed rightly in them.

"Astarion?" They called softly to him.

He answered back with a broken, "Mhm?"

"Thank you for telling me what you did. I won't tell anyone else, you have my word."

"Mm-mm-thankyou, Tav." He managed, his voice tense.

Tav slowed their pace and Astarion let out a whine, balling up his fists in frustration.

"Don't pretend with me. Don't force it."

"I'm not, I swear." He gasped, looking directly at them, a light sheen of sweat appearing on his upper lip.

Tav smirked, "Promise you won't."

"Yes-yes, I promise. Please speed up again." He pleaded through gritted teeth, thumping his head back on the pillow.

"I will. But I'd like to use my mouth on you aswell, would that be okay?"

He let out a pent up huff of air, "Oh gods yes, yes, yes-please use that gorgeous mouth on me. Swallow me. Take me."

Tav smiled and quickly got into position, propped between his legs, "I'd also like to play with your testicles, if that's agreeable."

Astarion wrenched his red hot eyes open, making contact with theirs again. Tav irked a suggestive brow.

A devilish grin crossed his face, once again his fangs shone in the dim candle light, "Oh, my dear. That would be most agreeable." He purred through steadier breaths now they had paused.

"One request from me though; don't push my head down, I don't like it. I'll respect your wishes and you respect mine. Deal?"

"Deal." He smiled and reached down to collect his shirt up to reveal his pale, chiseled body. Tav looked hungrily at his toned flesh, desperate to snake it with their tongue.

They took a breath to ask but Astarion interrupted, "Yes, gods please yes! Lick me, kiss me, bite me, suck it. Do what you want with me.. I'll tell you to stop if it's too much."

"I'll hold you to that." They crooned with a serious edge, as they spat on their hand again, then manoeuvred themselves to be able to kiss his beautiful body, and pump the head simultaneously.

He twitched at the increase in contact and laughed hungrily through strained teeth, "Uhhgh, fuck yes."

Tav lavished their lips and tongue across the defined muscles, gently sucking and nibbling occasionally for added sensation. They kissed and dragged their tongue up and down the V in his hips, paying equal and excruciating mind to each side, making Astarion moan and buck.

Tav firmly pressed kisses on the creases of his pelvis, breathing hot over the area. They took their time, languishing over his form with their mouth, exploring the contours of his hips and thighs with their spare hand. Astarion groaned in vexation.

"Ooh, don't tease me. Please."

"The potion is making you impatient. You enjoyed this last time." Tav reminded him.

"It's not the bloody potion-Gods above-AUGH-I'm asking nicely. Don't keep me waiting any longer, I've already been edged enough. Show me-make me feel-let me feel-"

Astarion gasped as Tav collected the precum that bloomed at his tip, and licked their fingers clean, before deftly angling themselves to engulf his thick cock as much as they could.

The noises that were illicited from the pale elf were unlike any they'd ever heard before - strained and trembling, through gritted teeth and grounded fists - and the sloppy, wet sounds that their mouth made around his unyielding cock were intentionally and debaucherously pornographic.

Momentarily retreating, they began flicking their tongue over the slit, Tav moaned from the back of their throat like he was a tall mug of water quenching debilitating thirst. One hand holding his length steady, the other lightly grazing his testes.

Astarion's thighs fluttered and tensed, as Tav heard a smile through his own moan, "Ooh, that's new."

"Mhm."

Gathering more sleek, Tav ran the flat of their tongue up the smooth underplane of Astarion's cock from base to tip, and encircled the head. His member twitched unconsciously as he let out a warm, low rumble from his chest.

"Is that alright? Not too much?" Tav asked, checking in. They kissed the crease of his frenulum, while nimbly massaging and squeezing his sac.

"Mm-mhm-yes. I'm gaining quite an appetite for your skills in this area." He cooed, shifting underneath them, "but I remember a rather more deeper approach last time."

Tav grinned at his less than subtle request, "Oh, my darling. We're just warming up.. but if you're ready for more. I will, of course.. oblige."

Unhinging their jaw like a snake preparing to consume their pray, Tav gorged on the willing partner in front of them.

Astarion sucked in a gasp and Tav felt a hand on the back of their head briefly, before being removed hastily. Tav heard his fist pound into the bedroll beside him. They moaned in thanks, vibrating against his solid shaft.

He replied with a deep rumble from his chest, "Yes.. that's what I've been missing. This is what I needed.."

Bobbing and dipping, taking just a little more in their mouth each time. Sucking and stroking his perfect length. Their mouth salivated and filled with lubricant, anticipating the meal in front of them. Meeting their lips on their pumping fist, working together harmoniously.

Tav relaxed their throat further and began swallowing the last length of him, valiantly suppressing the need to gag until it would afford the most pleasure. They flattened their tongue and swallowed, sucked and gagged as Astarion whimpered and moaned, unconsciously jerking. Tav placed a hand on his hips to steady him, to not ruin the mood by choking unexpectedly.

They pressed down just above his pubic bone as their lips bottomed out against him, tears forming wet stains under their eyes at the challenge of taking his full size. Tav gulped and gasped against his cock, enveloping him with their tongue and throat working in tandem, coating him in liquid slick. The debased, vile sounds coming from their meeting wet and loud and hot as the hells; pushing him higher, dragging him under, coercing him to cum.

He gasped and raised his head to look down at them. Tav met his tear-streaked, claret gaze, with their own.

"Ohh-yes-yes-look at me as you devour my cock-take it all the way down your throat-such a good-nasty-AHH-YES!" He gargled the last word through moans and his hips pulsated and thrust wantonly as he bunched his shirt in his hand, the other fisted around his greyed rag blanket.

His brows creased, his face wracked with pleasure and pain. His face contorted and twisted as he writhed and moaned. He panted and heaved and shook his head from side to side.

Concern furrowed their brow at his expressions, while he seemed to be "enjoying himself", they were reminded of his words from their conversation, that his sexual conquests couldn't tell that he was pretending.

Tav pulled back to breathe through their nose. They reached out with the tadpole and gently stroked his mind, seeking reassurance that this was what he wanted. That he wasn't pretending. That this was real. That this was what he wanted.

"Yesyesyesyes-oh gods-please don't stop-choke on my cock till you can't breathe-ARH-going to cum down your throat and taste myself on your tongue-fuck!-fuck my hard cock deep in your throat-do it-do it-doit-doit-doit" he repeated, trailing off in whimpers against his soiled comfort blanket.

That enthusiastic consent was all they required.

This was a challenge that they would unabashedly attempt to conquer. They had no idea if they could; he hadn't fed on them this time and the potion was an unknown quantity for help, or hindrance. They had no idea. But damned if they weren't going to try. Tav steeled themself and took a deep breath.

They made no illusions at a slow build in tension, they went straight for the kill.

Straining down his hard length to the hilt, making the most illicit and disgusting sodden noises as they consumed him, squeezing him with the throat that tried to resist his intrusion.

Astarion growled and whined and shook with the tension in his body coiled so tightly.

Tav stretched their jaw to lap their tongue against his balls, which tightened due to the expected feeling. He rewarded their efforts with another mumbled, half coherent onslaught of praise and explicit desires.

They re-applyed the pressure on his pubus, pushing down firmly against his taut skin.

A breathless gasp shot from his throat as the hand bunched in his shirt now flew to grasp their hand with choruses of, "yes-yes-yes!"

He was so close, they could feel it. His precum tainted the back of their throat. His jaw was tight and his glistening fangs were bared.

Tav remembered back once more to what had unexpectedly tipped him over the edge when they'd made him cum the last time.

Concentrating hard on keeping the fast-paced rhythm, tears streaming from their eyes, they flipped their hand to hold his properly.

Tav reached out through their connection and whispered, "I've got you, Astarion.. you're safe. Nothing bad is going to happen to you, I promise.. I have you.. Cum, Astarion.. cum, my love."

Astarion stilled, his every muscle contracting and seizing, his chest rising off the floor as his spine curved.

A gentle, surprised gasp escaped from his mouth. He squeezed their hand so tightly as their name died on his lips.

Suddenly Tav felt warmth shoot against the back of their throat as he came hot and quick, filling their mouth and spilling out the sides and he thrust wildly, unable to control his movements. His cries of pleasure muted and gasping.

Tav gagged and slowed to a gentler pace, swallowing him down. Astarion twitched and quivered as they saw him through his climax; still holding each others hand.

His soft, whimpering groans dissolved into laboured heaves as he relaxed into the lull of his orgasm.

A moan shuddered from him as Tav expertly extracated his thankfully - slightly - softening member from their stretched throat.

They tenderly cleaned him up with their tongue, as there was quite a lot that had spilled from his heavy, metallic-tanged load, while Astarion lay there in stunned silence.

Tav dried their eyes and gently rested their chin on his thigh and sighed deeply, their hands still joined on his stomach.

They kissed his cool skin, "Are you alive up there?" Tav asked, jokingly.

Silence.

If he wasn't already dead, they'd have thought he'd died.

"Astarion?"

"M'alive." He mumbled in a stupor.

"Good." Tav said through a wry smile.

They looked to their left where his cock was already starting to swell again and sighed.

"I don't think it worked, you're getting hard again."

Still nothing.

Tav furrowed their brow, "Do you hear me up there?"

Still nothing.

Starting to worry, Tav raised themselves up and started padding their way one-handed up towards his face. His crimson eyes were fixed on ceiling of the tent, drying tears still streaked down his temples.

"Are you alright? Was it too much?" Tav asked, worried they'd gone too far.

He finally blinked.

"My body feels like it's.. weightless and.. empty. My head feels like.. I've been zapped with a.. shocking grasp.. and my ears are ringing." His tone was high and dazed. His every move tinged with exhaustion. His expression one of pure contentment.

He was fully in an afterglow bubble. That was better than potentially traumatised.

Tav pursed their lips with pride, "Sounds like a good orgasm then. Was it?" They asked, feigning innocence.

Astarion gave a long blink and turned his gaze to Tav, who lay to the side of him.

"You've rendered me paralsyed. I think we can call that a success, don't you?"

Tav chuckled, "Well, a semi-success. You've still got your problem." They gestured a thumb towards his now alarming erection again.

"Oh no, that's not the potion. That's me."

Tav jerked their neck in questioning confusion, "Eh?"

"I'm laying here sprawled on the floor after one of the best orgasms of my long life. Two of whom have been granted by you.. and the only thing I can think of.. is that I need to do that again."

Tav bit their bottom lip through a grin spreading across their face.

"But we said that that night was a one-time thing and this is an extraordinary circumstance.. this isn't supposed to-"

His pale pink lips came up to capture their first kiss of the night and from the passion and force behind it, it was not to be their last.

Astarion slid his fingers to their umber trousers and cupped them through the fabric. Tav gasped against his mouth as they twitched within his grasp, the damp spot of their arousal staining their clothes. They sucked in Astarion's bottom lip into their mouth and cursed.

"Well, apparently that arrangement needs to be renegotiated." He smirked, as he kissed them deeply, sweeping his tongue to taste himself there.

He brought his hand to the buckle, "And these definitely need to come off."

•°•°•

Psst.. hey..👋 you want some more smut? 👀

[bunny-jpeg]

night lights

george russell

tags: smut/pwp, weed consumption/high, established relationship, missionary position, high sex, protected sex, enthusiastic consent, bites/love bites

a/n: like the fic? leave a comment/reblog! really like the fic? suggest your own!!

"thanks for bringing her home, girls." george smiled as he kept you close to his chest. he waved your friends off before he closed the door to your shared apartment. you were wobbly, even in such short heels. it didn't help that your head was swimming from the amount of weed in your system.

it wasn't your fault technically, you simply wanted to have a good evening with your girl friends and one of them happened to have bring a joint with her. you weren't going to be rude and say no. but now you were a newborn deer on shaky legs as your loving boyfriend got you on the bed to take your heels and jacket off. he took it off your shoulders slowly and you giggled loudly.

"are you trying to seduce me, russell?" you purred as you crossed your arms cutely. which only pressed your breasts together further, 'i thought you were a gentleman!"

george only laughed and kissed you on the side of the head. he thought you were beyond adorable.

you refused to wear the pajamas that george laid out for you, you also refused to drink the water that he put on the nightstand. all paired with a certain bratty behavior that made george a little more excited than he anticipated. the way you crossed your arms and pouted, it scratched an itch in george's brain.

"what's wrong, honey?" he asked as he looked at you from the entry to the bedroom. you looked so mad, but not in a way that had him worried. you looked like when rabbits were upset. it was cute.

"you left!" you chirped and it only drew him in further. he admired you. you were stripped down to your underwear with the blanket around your waist. the bra you wore was cute, fairly plain but it made your breasts look amazing.

"i'm sorry, my love." he said as he put the water bottle on the night stand and sat at the edge of the bed close to you. he held your face in his hands and looked at you with such affection it made you melt a little. he said to you, "i wanted to get you some water, you've been out most of the night. do you want me to get you some make-up wipes too? clean your face." his smile was gentle and you nodded.

he kissed your forehead and got up, "then i'll be right back. i promise." then quickly made his way to the washroom to grab your wipes. when he came back you were in the same spot. he felt a twist in his stomach, still, even in the state you were in. you were still beautiful, stunning in a way that made his heart race.

and you only melted into his touch once more when he sat on the edge of the bed and slowly, carefully wiped all your make up off from the evening. he hummed a little and you smiled like a gleeful cat. it was cute, george couldn't help himself but leave kisses across your warmed skin.

you giggled a little when he finally got all of it off of you, the wipes were stained from your make up, but you were now fresh faced. and you could pull your lover in for another heated kiss. he chuckled into the kiss and pulled you in closer, he loved the feeling of you.

he laid beside you on the bed and you threw an arm over his middle and kissed him deeply once more. the kisses were sweet, but the more you got. the most heated they became. something inside of you yearned for your lover, even after a night of drinking and partying. you wanted george, and lucky for you, he wanted you too.

"can you fuck me, honey?" you asked, looking up at him with a pout in your lips, "i really want you."

he chuckled softly and cupped your face in his large hands, "how can i deny you something like that? not when you ask to pretty." he kissed the apple of your cheek before he got between your legs. you still were barely clothed and george's erection strained in his thin pajama pants.

you giggled a little and laid back in the pillows and george's finger ran down the slope of your nose. he eyed you closely, you looked beautiful. he licked his lips and then went in for another heated kiss. he took you by the hips and pressed your barely clothed bottom up against his cock. you wrapped you legs around his waist before he unhooked them to get your panties off.

"sadly can't have sex with you with these on." his voice tender and loving, it stirred something in you as you admired him. there was something about george that pulled you in. even after all the time together, his handsome good looks and kind personality stilled beckoned you closer. to be loved by him, cared by him. and when you were finally fully nude, he could only bask in your beauty. he ran a hand down the valley of your breasts and licked his lips, "look at you."

you shifted a little before you reached up to pull at his t-shirt. he slipped it off for you and then got himself out of his bottoms. with his cock at full attention, he rubbed it against you slowly. you moaned a little bit, the anticipation for what was to come only fueled an excitement in your core. you looked at your partner and he looked down at you.

"i'm going to ask this once because you're a little out of it." he pushed back your hair, "do you want it tonight, or do you want to cuddle? we can do either, or both." there was no expectations for sex with george, he wasn't the type to push it on you.

there you were, his high little girlfriend a puddle of giggles as you laid out on the bed for him. you licked your lips, you mouth was a little dry from the smoking but at that moment you didn't care. somewhere else felt painfully wet. you nodded and said, "please, honey. please, please, please. i want this. will you take me tonight?"

and how could george deny you that? not when you had such enthusiasm in your voice. he chuckled and leaned over to the nightstand where he grabbed a condom. he put it on quickly before he lifted your hips a little higher to meet his cock. even in such a basic position as missionary, you looked stunning. he could see every inch of warmed skin as you giggle a little.

"you're staring." you remarked with a giggle.

"how could i not? you look beautiful." he said as he rubbed his cock up against you for a moment. he looked down at you with such a tenderness and warmth. a silent promise that he would always love and protect you. you were his lover, his girlfriend, his partner. his world and everything in it.

"don't make me self conscious." you gave him a small pout before he sealed another kiss onto you. you moaned when he sank himself into you. it felt like a certain slice of heaven. he moved against you slowly, but he wasn't too rough.

his pace was steady as he rocked against you. he felt he swell of love for you as he moved against you. he licked his lips at the sight of you, and you could only moan.

the high in your body only made everything much more intense. you couldn't help it, it was like the buzz in your brain was heightened by his movements. it also didn't hurt that your boyfriend was a fantastic lover. he leaned in, braced his hands on either side of your chest and worked himself against you. he felt the fire in his belly as he moved his hips.

it was intoxicating too, even though your mouth tasted of the night you had. he didn't care, not one bit. as long as he could have you every way he could. he'd happily kiss the weed and liquor off your lips. he could feel the heat through his body as he moved. his movements were precise, there was a rhythm to them. short and slow, the kind of movements that made your head swim. he was met with such cute moans, such sweet sounds that fueled the feeling in his soul. he kissed you until you pulled away to breathe. when he kiss broke, his groans and heavy pants only go louder. he moved you up and down with each thrusts. he watched your expression change to that of total bliss as you enjoyed the feeling of his cock fucking you.

"i love you."

"and i love you, you've had quite the night. started in uncomfortable heels and ended up with my cock in you." he chuckled lowly as he craned his neck to kiss at your chest. he leave wet marks all over your skin and he loved it. if he was feeling a little more frisky, he would've decorated your chest with heavy hickies.

but there was time for that later. for now he wanted to feel himself against you. it felt amazing, it was the type of amazing that left him hungry. and it left you feeling the same way. he licked his lips and his eyes looked hazy with lust as he continued to rut against you. he said softly, "you feel amazing, my love. it's good to know this is all mine. fuck." he rarely swore, but when he did. it left shivers through your body as his thrusts moved a little faster.

"please, george. fuck, i saw my friend kiss this guy she just met." you held onto his strong shoulders, "and i thought about you. i wanted to kiss you." you moaned, "no one compares to you." your voice was near breathless as he worked your body.

"and i was thinking about you." he said softly in response, "thinking about all the ways i missed you. it's so different not having you here, all alone in the apartment."

"you had friends you could visit." you smiled brightly at your lover.

he pressed his forehead to yours as he shifted your hips and continued to work you body further. he said in response, "they don't compare to you. being with them with all the money in the world, is nothing compared to a night in with you and pizza." he then kissed you once more. you felt a flutter in your chest.

his words melted your core as his pace quickened. it felt erotic, it was hot in a way that made your pulse jump. the kiss was erotic, and you let george work your body until you were holding onto his shoulders tightly. the throb of want on grew.

you clenched your thighs around his waist as he moved against you. when he broke the kiss, you took him into another. it was addictive, a bigger high than any weed you could smoke.

"you have no idea how beautiful you are." he said lowly as he slowed down the pace a little but the force of his thrusts only became more powerful. you groaned as he held onto the covers tighter as he moved against you.

"please, george. i can't take anymore. it feels so good." you groaned as you shifted under him. you felt the hammering of your heart as you clenched onto him tightly. you looked into his eyes and you gave him a pleasurable smile.

and george couldn't help but kiss you once more. let his cock batter against the deepest parts of you. he hit all the right places, the blunt head of his cock hit your g-spot and you saw stars. there were nothing else, but stars in your eyes as you felt yourself hit your climax.

"beautiful." he groaned, "beautiful woman." he praised as he worked you through climax. you let him jackhammer his cock into you as pleasure hit you. you broke the kiss and tilted your head back which george took as an invitation to bite the soft flesh.

as he bit your skin, and left heavy hickies he soon finished inside of you. he finished in the condom and hissed against your skin. the feeling was intense and the pleasure filled his brain. he could only imagine what your pleasure must fee like with the heightened feeling of lust.

he slowed to a stop and admired his high lover. his eyes grazed across your sweaty skin as you panted heavily. he pressed a soft kiss against your lips and gave you bottom lip a small tug. he then pulled out and laid out beside you. he curled up around you and held you close in his arms.

he kissed at the back of your neck before you turned to face him. you admired his features before he kissed you on the cheek, "time for water, i don't want you to have a headache in the morning." even as he just made you experience such a high level orgasm, he still worried and fussed over you.

it made you blush. you felt giggly, the high still in your body as you remained close to him. the feeling would run through your body till you woke up in the morning. and if george wanted to spoil you with affection then you'd happily take it. <3

[kabr0ztrousers]

Kabr0z Writes episode 20: Your minotaur boyfriend

Find the rest of the Kabr0z Writes anthology here!

CWs: size-play; creampie; monster fucking; enthusiastic consent (for once); possible intox if you really push the definition

A/N: Well, it's official. I now give too much of a shit about this to just write any old bollocks and let it exist. Enjoy this shorter episode where I'm just gonna cut to the fucking and have fun.

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The minotaur towered over you, his huge flared cock in hand. You've been waiting for this all day. Butterflies filled you as you crawled over the bed to him. You stretched your mouth to fit the end inside, the strong musky taste filling your mouth as you worked his shaft. It's much too big to properly suck on, but jacking him off and working the hole with your tongue was definitely doing the trick, making his precum leak into your mouth. The taste was addictive, just a little sweet, coating your mouth as those huge hands stroked your hair and those big eyes looked deep into yours.

You kept going, lying back a little to tease his balls with your feet as your hands kept working him. You could hear him starting to snort and grip the back of your head, holding back his urge to thrust this monster cock all the way down your throat. His cock started to throb out more and more pre which you greedily swallowed down, coating your throat and making you long for your real reward.

His grip tightened. A groaning bray. His balls pulsed up into him as a stream of cum hit the back of your throat. You almost gagged with the force of it, before you regained your composure and swallowed as much as you could. There was just so much, it was leaking out of the corners of your mouth and flowing out of your nose, covering your face in his semen as he pumped into you. His cock plopped out of your mouth, drawing itself back into its sheath as it let more out to cover your body.

He relaxed in front of you, utterly spent after your expert attention, but you'd prepared for this.

You reached under your pillow and withdrew a phial of clear, pinkish liquid. Standing on the bed, holding his head in your hand, you uncorked the phial and gave him the potion. He had barely swallowed it when it took effect.

That huge cock stopped its retreat. Throbbing eagerly back to its full extent as the beast before you took you in its huge hands. One lifted you by the waist while another pushed a huge, thick finger into your soaking pussy. His fingers alone were as long and thick as any human cock you've taken, filling you up as he pounded you with his hand. Lewd slapping and squelching sounds emitted from your pussy as he fingered you, only barely audible over the moans and yelps coming out of your mouth as you rode the wave of your orgasms.

He positioned you over his cock, once again dripping a steady stream of precum over itself.

You spread your legs eagerly "Please, give me all of it"

He chuckled "Don't want to break you, love" and slowly lowered you onto him. It took a little force to push him in, even with both of your juices lubricating you. His finger prepared you a little, but it was still girthy enough to make you groan. He wasn't even halfway in when you felt him at your cervix, that familiar aching pressure as he pressed onto you until it passed by, sliding under the opening to your womb and into the extra space behind. You've done this enough it slides in easily, and you can start riding him even while being held up with one of those huge hands. You could see his jaw hanging open as you bucked your hips, massaging the length of him with your cunt. The sensation of being filled so deeply drowning out the ache and driving you again to orgasm. Your pussy clenching and pulsing drove him over the edge and you felt another load of thick cum flood your pussy as his grip faltered. You yelped as his cock was suddenly hilted in you, still being coaxed by the clenching and pulsing of your cunt into filling you more and more. You reached a hand behind you to cup his balls, already tight against him but still as large as kiwi fruit and pulsing so hard you thought they were trying to recede entirely.

He started softening again. Breathless you lay on your front, resting your head on his pec, relaxing on him like a huge mattress as his cum flowed in a rivulet on to his crotch, pooling under you.

You hadn't even given him the real potion yet.

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Post script edit: I'm still taking any and all suggestions, just send an ask, a DM, a smoke signal (note: do not send a smoke signal) and while I can't swear to writing it, I'll definitely put it on the list

[moodymisty]

Author's note: Feeling Night Lordish today <3 I'm not happy with this one, but I wanted to just finish it and work on requests.

Relationships: Shang/Fem!reader

Warnings: Vaguely nsfw, Shang uses derogatory language but you're very much into it and he knows it, Armor kink, Kind of voyeur? It'll make sense

Shang has a secret, and Sevatar has spent weeks figuring out what it is.

The Equerry was quite good at covering his tracks however, and it had taken quite a long while for Sevatar to wait for a slip up. If it wasn't for how keen the Prince of Crows is, Shang could very well have kept it hidden forever.

He tails Shang briefly, and in his security the equerry doesn't seem to expect it. He walks all the way throughout the pitch black halls of theNightfall to the neglected Librarium, and heads inside. Sevatar lingers by the entrance to listen, cloaked in darkness still. He doesn't risk getting any closer yet.

Someone else is in there already however, he can hear the heartbeart. It's quieter, only one- it's a baseline.

The Librarium however means it's more than likely not a serf. The rustling of fabric that isn't coarse and ragged supports such a thing. Sevatar picks a moment to slip inside the Librarium fully, disappearing into the darkness beyond the dim few candles that are still burning ever after so much neglect. He sees you huddled at one of the tables closest to a batch of old candles, and his suspicions are all proven.

It's one of the remembrancers.

Sevatar is confused for a moment, though he supposes Shang might have some business with you all as equerry. It however still seems off for him to come all the way out of his way here just to speak to a single one. Why wouldn't he just summon you to him?

Though Sevatar doesn't need to keep himself wondering for much longer, as Shang approaches you from behind. You don't hear him coming- Shang's blended into the darkness enough that your less than keen baseline senses don't even realize a Night Lord is descending upon you until he speaks.

"Busy?"

You suddenly turn and a deep inhale is caught in your throat, the chair you were sitting on skidding across the floor as the back of your legs push it away. Your heart has suddenly revved up in terror, but when you turn and see Shang, the expression that blossoms on your face is...

Joy?

"Shang!"

The armored Night Lord approaches closer and quickly you're trapped against the table, enveloped in his shadow. In one fell swoop he grabs the back of your thighs and plops you on the table, bringing you up closer to his face. If he hadn't, he would tower over you in his armor so much so that looking down on you would require a near hilarious tilt of his head.

You gleefully let yourself get thrown about, putty in his hands. Sevatar can see his gauntlet dig halfway up your blouse, firmly gripping your ribs.

"I'm going to rip their eyes out if one of them leers at you again."

Sevatar watches. He wonders who them is. One of his brothers, is his first guess.

"Don't you leer at me, Shang?"

You say it with a smile, letting the Night Lord lower his head deep into your personal space. You wouldn't have a choice to refuse- Shang is your master and more powerful than your delicate body to an unfathomable degree- but Sevatar finds your enthusiastic consent interesting.

"Perhaps," He says, his lips coming to rest just brushing over your own.

"Though I remember you saying that it makes you wet."

The look you give the Night Lord is cruel within itself. Pure unending want. The smell that begins to radiate from you is more sickly sweet than the wine that Sevatar gag at in the Terran Palace, bottles popped by the Phoenician Fulgrim himself.

"It does."

The noise Shang lets out is nothing short of an inhuman growl, holding your body tighter. The fear you feel of him only seems to make your body run hotter, as Sevatar can see your breathing pick up pace as your chest rises and falls beneath the fabric of your clothes. If your heartbeat is ringing in his ears, in Shang's, it must sound like a clock tower ringing midnight.

"You little Terran whore, do you know how many of my brothers I have to beat and kill to keep them from tailing that sweet little cunt of yours around and trying to get a bite?"

His mouth latches to your neck just underneath your jaw, your head tilting to let him access the pulsing veins. His tongue glides across your skin as he bites and kisses your neck; Your hands grip at his armor trying to find stability, gasping as he bruises your skin with intensity. Eventually they slip into his hair, fingers knotting into the pitch black strands.

"When, when will you be out of your armor again?"

You're mewling, and even in the pitch dark no less than a hundred feet away Sevatar can smell that you're still getting even more riled up. He isn't even pushing on them, but your thighs unconsciously spread wide, ready for him. You're either well trained- a mind broken baseline or Nostroman whore, or...

You want him.

The feeling Sevatar has in his chest is, unfamiliar; Watching you pull the Night Lord closer instead helplessly sobbing and crying while attempting to push him away.

"Soon. You can wait, you're not starving. Keep that cunt of yours under control or else you're going to have a squad of men wanting to tear it apart."

You whine, and again ever louder when Shang grips your hips, pushing his thumbs into the soft fat of your hips just above your groin. It makes you writhe helplessly underneath him, as he hisses at you.

"Even if they won't get to, because it's mine."

His lips roughly meet yours, a ruthless aggressive kiss broken up by his growling voice. Muffled against your skin it's a bit harder to hear, but he still manages it.

"Once I am out I was intending on fucking you within an inch of your life whether you wanted it or not."

You mewl for him, and even Sevatar can admit that the sound is delicious; Like squeaky, active prey. You attempt to pull your body closer to him, hands still deep in his hair. Shang sighs.

"I must return to Kurze. He'll return from his gallery soon."

Your hands linger on him, and the look of blissful stupidity you had on your face fades to one much more lucid and becoming of your station.

"I'll miss you."

Sevatar feels that thing in his chest twist tighter. The shadows around him almost seem to shake at his loss of concentration.

"Why do I think you're just missing one part of me, you hungry little bitch."

You pout at him, displeased by his overt implication; Your lips shift with a search for words.

"I'll miss you, Shang. I-"

Shang leans closer to you and your voice fades to something Sevatar can barely hear, but you do say something. He leans away once you finish, and his expression is much more neutral. The way Sevatar is used to seeing his ugly, scarred face; Stoic.

"Stay out of their sight."

You nod. Shang leans forward and kisses you again, a hungry gesture that has you moaning into his mouth. But the act itself is still, soft. Sevatar has never seen anything that gentle from one of his brothers- they don't even handle their few possessions with such care.

It, feels wrong.

Shortly thereafter Shang removes himself from you and pulls from your personal space, as much as your weak little limbs try and hold him close.

Sevatar moves to slip out before Shang does, but he catches the forlorn look on your face as this brief moment is cut.

When Shang finally leaves the librarium, he comes face to face with Sevatar a short ways down the hall. Sevatar can tell by how Shang reads his expression, that his knowledge of what transpired is obvious.

"You should keep out of equerry business."

Sevatar laughs, a full belly laugh that reverberates in the hall and mocks Shang to an insulting degree.

"Baseline cunt is equerry business? I was unaware."

Sevatar makes a crude mention of you, and he can see Shang bristle instantly. It's even easier to piss him off now.

"I didn't think you were so low as to go around peering in on others."

Sevatar crosses his arms. The plates of his armor softly knock against eachother.

"If you mind your business, I didn't see a single thing."

The equerry sneers and raises his voice, but it only makes Sevatar laugh. He couldn't find this intimidating now when not minutes ago, he was damn near trying to croon at you.

"You intend to threaten me?"

Once again the first captain laughs, rolling his eyes. The display Shang is putting out now is embarrassing for a Night Lord of his reputation, compensating for being caught in a situation far less that becoming of him.

"No. I am telling you. Stay out of my business, and I will not inform Kurze."

Sevatar isn't stupid. He knows that Kurze would love nothing more than to find a weakness in any his sons he could exploit, especially for a son such as Shang, who Sevatar knows the Primarch already sees as weak.

You would be gone in moments- stolen away and Shang would be forced to know in detail every disgusting and inhuman thing Kurze did to you. If he wasn't forced to watch it.

Judging by how possessive Shang clearly is over you if the mere idea of another's eyes on you sets him off, Konrad could quite easily break the man in one fell swoop- if he wanted.

If he knew he could.

Shang's nose twitches in his sneer. Sevatar hit a nerve; A deep one, the inkling that his affinity to you goes deeper than carnal is more than obvious. And he knows Shang will be easily manipulable because of it.

He could get another fresh cunt, if he wanted. No one would stare if he found a random serf and dragged them back to his quarters. But he wants you specifically, and Sevatar finds that interesting.

Not enough to pursue, but, interesting none the less.

"Very well."

Shang curtly decides to take his leave, pushing past Sevatar to make his way towards the front of the ship. Presumably to return to Kurze's side.

But for a moment Sevatar lingers in the comfortable pitch black of the hall, and considers going to speak with you.

A word lingers on Sevatar's mind.

They can't. Sevatar knows they can't, and Shang is merely indulging in some more primal part of his brain he and some other astartes have managed to unlock. Nothing more.

Sevatar moves on, wiping it all from his mind and returning to his duty. He'll honor what he said, as long as Shang does as well.

[peggyao3]

Night Crawler - Pt. 3

PAIRING: Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x f!reader / can be read as OC

SUMMARY: When Feyd badly hurts his companion's feelings, she knows which levers to pull to let him know how deeply he wounded her.

WORD COUNT: 3,8k

TAGS: 18+, smut, lactation kink 🍼‼️, pseudo pregnancy, breastfeeding (no baby involved only a big sexy egg man), mommy Issues, subby Feyd, she/her reader, AFAB reader, ambiguous relationship status, non-consenting drug use, dark undertones, stockholm syndrome-ish, dubious consent, angst, jealousy, handjobs, implied death of minor side characters

Reposted from my Ao3 💕| Masterlist under construction ⚠️

Divider by @saradika-graphics

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3 ↓

Blinking slowly, she makes the crossing from dreamland to reality. Something has woken her. At first she sighs, then groans with discomfort. A suffocating weight is on her, too hot when she's already a little overheated from sleep. Her hands grope the weight that's on her and find a smooth head and round shoulders. Feyd is in his sleeveless sleep shirt and must have snuck in some time at night.

She shuffles, pushes the covers away and Feyd's head emerges. He has pushed her nightgown down, lips wrapped around her left nipple. She utters another noise of complaint that is answered by a content hum and a twitch of pale, calloused fingers around her other breast.

Her nipples feel tender and her breasts uncomfortably full after a full night of sleeping, so she should be happy about the relief, if the memory of what she had walked in on yesterday wasn't still so fresh and piercing like a shard into her awakened mind.

Roughy, she shoves at Feyd's shoulders and his mouth pops off her nipple with a surprised grunt. Annoyed, he raises himself on his forearms, peeking up at her. She rolls  him off her like a sack of potatoes and he slumps down on his back, still glaring.

"Morning?" He purrs, already making an effort to unlace his pants. She's always a little more petulant in the mornings.

"You don't get to sleep around while keeping me as your pseudo broodmare for entertainment!" She snaps, yanking the straps of her nightgown back over her shoulders.

Feyd can only wonder if this is one of her hormonal moods. "You'd rather be my real broodmare?" He rumbles, brows quirked up. His eyes are still fixated mainly on her breasts.

The real answer is no, but she also doesn't want anyone else to be. So, she just keeps her mouth shut.

Feyd doesn't accept her silence and probes: "I didn't know you could be so jealous."

She lets out a humorless little laugh, holding his gaze. "You're right, you don't deserve my jealousy."

Feyd's eyes widen noticeably. This is more than just her morning petulance. It isn't his fault that she walked in on him and his darlings yesterday! He should have known something was up when she didn't show up for dinner, claiming to be sick.

"You don't enjoy being my pseudo broodmare? You get all of my special attention." Feyd-Rautha leers, folding himself back over her, one arm around her waist in a way that could be intimate, chest on her tummy.

"Don't," she warns him. Her eyes sparkle like ice shards and Feyd laughs away the little ball of unease in his guts.

"How do you think you can stop me?" Inky teeth catch the satin of her gown, tugging it down so her breasts spring free again. The nipple he's suckled on is still hard.

"Try it and you'll find out."

Oh, Feyd knows she will calm down in a moment. She won't admit it, but she likes it when he drinks from her. It makes her drowsy and content!

Chuckling at her strange threat, Feyd resumes what she's interrupted, lips wrapping carefully around the puffy bud, eyes closed. His free hand massages her right breast, subconsciously preparing it. Feyd is enthusiastic at first, a little flattered even that she'd be so jealous, but his elation quickly falters. She lies as stiff as a board, not moving a muscle, her lips pressed into a thin line. She doesn't stir when Feyd purposely tugs on her nipple with his teeth which would usually draw a squeak from her.

Not even when he bites her does she stir. He only feels the clenching of her muscles, but there is no push against his shoulders, no scolding.

At her breasts, he is vulnerable and today she leaves him floundering. There is no affection, no arms around his back, no gentle scraping of her nails over his head.

Feyd is palpably distraught, hands sliding over her flesh to get her attention, body shifting against hers. He breathes noisily through his nose, staring at her with beady, black eyes, but she stares at the ceiling, counting the tiles there. Her fingers are twisted into the sheets beneath her to mitigate the sting of Feyd's teeth.

Her left breast is empty and he tries to be more tactical about her right one, softly licking the hardened nub, kissing the surrounding flesh, squeezing slightly with his hand until a droplet of milk beads. Hopefully, he looks up but only finds indifference. Scowling, he begins to suckle on her nipple, trying to lull himself into the same kind of relaxed trance that she manages to induce with her gentle arms and fingers, but the only thing he can focus on is the absence of her. 

Her breast is empty and Feyd feels thoroughly unsatisfied even though he has a belly full of milk. He wonders if he should crawl between her legs and shove his head under her nightgown, because there's absolutely no way he wouldn't draw noises from her throat with his tongue on and in her cunt. But her icy tone cuts off the thought like a blade slicing through a thread.

"Are you finished?" 

Feyd glares. He has many things to say but none of them fit the turbulent unease that occupies his chest. When he says nothing, she pulls up her gown and slides off the bed.

"Where are you going?" 

"To the bathroom to throw up."

And so she does, throwing up noisily into the toilet. If she can get her hands on the Doctor who came up with the concoction that induces this faux pregnancy including morning sickness, she will throttle them with her bare hands. Feyd sometimes holds her hair, if he's present. Today he doesn't.

With her face cleaned and mouth rinsed with water, wearing a bathrobe over the gown, she returns to the bedroom and finds Feyd is still just where she left him. Sitting on the bed in an awkward half kneeling pose, torso twisted her way. He looks so frail right now, despite the lithe, rippling muscles running down his arms.

"You've had your milk, why are you still here?"

Feyd blinks, then his shoulders stiffen and he turns and  leaves without another word.

-

"What are you doing?" Feyd asks later that day. The glow orbs in her room simulate the warm reds and oranges of the evening hours on her home world.

"Pumping." As anyone with eyes or ears can tell, she is tempted to add.

She doesn't ask him what he is doing here when the answer is just as clear. Loitering in her room when he should be having better things to do than watching her relieve the ache from her breasts while sitting in front of the large hexagonal window that is actually a screen, showing a pleasant scenery of green slopes and valleys.

"I can do it for you."

"You want to pump for me?"

"No." Feyd glares. Of course, she knows exactly what he is suggesting. Staring across the lush hills and valleys, she can still only think of Feyd-Rautha's naked body being swarmed by three equally naked, equally hairless, slim women. Certainly slimmer than her. The artificially induced distension of her belly isn't drastic, but whenever the fabric of her gown brushes over her stomach where there shouldn't be one, her brain cringes.

"Fine." Ungently, she pops the cup off her breast. A few droplets spatter on her skirts. Feyd worries his bottom lip between his teeth, irritated to see her still so agitated when she's had a full day to calm down.

"But I don't want it in the bed," he declares.

She can tell from the way his veins bulge on his forearms and the way he carries himself that he must have spent a lot of time in the training ring today, probably sharpening his weapons on slave warriors to the point of exhaustion.

"Fine, where do you want it?" 

"There, on the couch." Feyd points at the black leather couch and waits for her to sit. She has requested a soft cover some time ago because the leather is uncomfortable to sit on, especially with bare skin, but her request hasn't been granted yet.

The na-Baron sits beside her, leather creaking. Maybe he waits for an invitation but since he usually takes what he wants, she's not going to give him one. Feyd hesitates for a second, then leans over her, bringing his legs on the couch so his chest is facing her and his back faces the room. Usually, she props her legs up so he can lean his back against her thighs. Usually, she holds him, supporting his weight with her arms, so he doesn't even have to strain a single muscle. Maybe a comical image, regarding his height.

But today her knees are down and her arms rest on either side of her body, so he awkwardly  has to hold himself up with one forearm reaching over her lap. This isn't how he envisioned it.

Her breasts are still out, a light imprint of the suction cups still on them. Feyd has the urge to kiss the imprints but he thinks she might laugh at him if he did. So he only carefully takes her left nipple in his mouth and begins to suckle. He feels that a good portion of milk must have already been removed and he is disappointed that he wasn't here earlier.

Sad eyes peek up at her from her breast, pupils large and vulnerable. He has such pretty lashes and she would have appreciated them any other day.

He is baring so much of himself to her, desperate to get back the soft hands on his scalp and to be held close, it doesn't even have to be sexual! But she gives him nothing, he might as well be a child she's never wanted at her breast. Feyd wants to cry, pressing his nose into her flesh to stifle the sniffling. 

He could just ask for her arms around his back or make her do it with a blade pressed against her throat, but it wouldn't be the same.

So much milk in a day probably isn't good for him but he knows no other way to be close to her, so he will do it, even if it gives him a tummy ache. Feyd gulps down the creamy liquid, drinking slowly so it lasts longer, softly massaging and twisting her other nipple with his free hand, striving for her attention, but her eyes are transfixed on the faux window, an angry scowl to her brows as if she sees something that isn't there.

When her breasts stop giving, Feyd carefully pulls back, missing her knees and thighs that he would have usually slumped against.

"Better now?" He rasps, meaning the aching fullness of her breasts that requires her to pump or request his help.

"Yes," she curtly confirms and slides her dress back over her chest, then determinedly pushes Feyd's arm away so she can stand.

Flabbergasted, he stares after her as she walks away. They always take a nap after she nursed him on the couch! He should beat her with the spiked whip for acting like this, but he doesn't usually beat her when she's indulging him in this fantasy, which is most of the time.

It hurts in a way he can't explain and the milk suddenly feels way too heavy in his stomach and he finds he has not much appetite at all.

-

Two nights later, the na-Baron's tall frame motionlessly occupies her doorway, lithe muscles covered by a suit. One sleeve is rolled up and the fabric is crumpled around where the belt with his blades sits. He looks like a child lost and searching for his mother.

"I killed my darlings," he declares and uses that as his entrance card to her chambers, lips frozen in an expectant pout. The door whirs shut behind him.

She, seated on the couch, tries to accept the news as gracefully as someone who is now Feyd-Rautha's only companion should. She tries to contain the wild beat of elation within her body where it is invisible to Feyd's dark, yearning eyes.

"Really? What compelled you to do so? I'm sure they have plenty to offer."

"They had, but… They were just pets, after all. Meaningless pets."

"And am I not just a meaningless pet too?" She bites, though her heart throbs excitedly against her ribs. It shouldn't, considering the needless death of three people in her name. Perhaps with every drop of milk he takes, he replaces her morals with rot.

"You're not meaningless." His raspy voice sends a shiver down her spine.

"But a pet?"

"Well… Yes." Feyd hesitates, having crossed about half the distance to her. Today he approaches her like a panther with a broken paw or a snake with freshly shed scales, all soft and vulnerable. She knows she expects too much from him in too little time. He's killed them for her.

"Come here," she finally says, uncrossing her legs.

"Have you pumped already?"

"No, not yet." She pointedly slips the bookmark between the pages of her book and puts it aside. Feyd's right foot twitches, moving an inch forward. His hairless brows shoot up hopefully, wondering if this is an invitation.

"Take off your belt first," she says, slipping the straps of her gown off her shoulder, though her chest is full enough to keep the gown up by itself. She doesn't want any knives near her when she nurses him, her mind still drilled into anxiety from the time when he left so many scars on her breasts, which have now faded into silvery lines.

Feyd obeys, dropping not only the belt but also the suit jacket and tunic. "Want it off," he mumbles and slinks closer, muscles moving like coiled snakes under milky skin. She sees the rise and fall of his chest and belly, clearly excited, clearly scared. Hesitantly, he sits next to hear, leather creaking. She looks at his stomach where a tiny fold of skin rolls over the waistband of his trousers. Spotting any signs of softness and humanness always excites her.

Feyd looks at her, jaws working nervously, shuffling an inch closer, then back. "Do you still…?" Like me, love me, care for me?

Finally, she smiles, leans over to him and wraps her arm around his muscled shoulders, pulling him down to her chest. She props her knees up so he can rest his back against them. With his height and muscles, Feyd is as heavy as one would expect, but she manages to hold him, even when he fully throws himself in her arms. His pale head is supported by the crook of her arm and her hand is sprawled over his shoulder blade.

He is waiting for her to pull down the dress, so she does and finds herself immediately wincing from how greedily he drinks. At least this means he desires her. Yes, he must be desiring her, despite how undesirably she's felt since seeing him with his 'darlings'. 

"Sorry!" He blurts around her nipple, spilling milk all over himself and her. Peeking up, he must have seen the bitter memories and self doubts swirling in her eyes.

"Don't talk now." She nudges his head closer to her breast, slipping her hard nipple back between his plush, parted lips and the black teeth that gleam there.

"But I-" 

"Sshhh." Nails gently scrape over his scalp and Feyd fully succumbs. Softly moaning, he returns his attention to suckling the warm, creamy liquid from her chest, finding peace there. His free hand comes up to cup her other breast. Tentatively, he rubs his fingertips over the plump flesh and lightly tugs on her nipple, elated to find her responsive. Her chest jumps with a little moan, legs shifting behind him..

"You're so pretty," she truthfully mumbles, regarding his softened features and the bone structure of his forehead, brows and cheeks. She is blushing from the gentle fondling of her breast and he is blushing from the unexpected compliment. Just for this, killing his darlings was worth it.

When he is almost done with her first breast, she reaches between his legs, finding his cock timidly half-hard. He moans the moment she pushes inside his trousers and wraps her hand around his shaft, stroking him to full hardness within a few moments. The imposing size and girth of his manhood doesn't want to fit the image of softness he is at her breast right now, but it matches his potential for violence. When he is with her, he is somehow man and boy at once.

Feyd's hips buck against her palm, mindless little thrusts which she attempts to soothe by squeezing the plump head, finding pre cum at the slit. Softly rubbing, she massages the inky beads over the slit with her thumb, teasing along the edge of the tiny opening with her fingernail. Feyd gutturally groans against her flesh, momentarily forgetting to drink.

Once his cock head is slicked up, her hand deftly slides back down the shaft, tracing the familiar veins. She smiles at his visceral reaction, biting her nipple when she rubs over his frenulum, the tender little patch of skin on the underside just below the head where he is especially sensitive. His hips greedily buck again, hand clawing at her tit, yet he makes no move to pin her on her back and have his way.

What a good boy he can be, she thinks while cradling his head and stroking his cock with quicker growing tugs. Feyd's breath is hot and labored against her breast which is empty but he still occasionally suckles.

"Take my pants off," he whines, but she only nudges him to her other breast and lets go of his cock which peaks past the waistband, the flushed, swollen head pressing against his navel. The pants stay on and her hand slides down to cup his balls which feel plump and full and it pleases her greatly to think that he probably hasn't cum since she denied him her affection.

Feyd softly groans, thighs parting wider to make room for her hand. His sac sits hot and smooth against her palm, vulnerable to her touch as she squishes and squeezes the tender flesh, feeling the weight of it. Pressing her thumb against the middle, she parts the two globes inside, squeezing the right one, then the left one before cupping all of him again. He is so smooth there. Somehow, she finds it so oddly pleasant and calming to fondle him there, and the area is similarly tender as her breasts, so they are quits.

A needy groan and a twitch of Feyd's pelvis reminds her of his neglected cock and she dutifully slides her hand back up, stroking up and down the plump head.

"Kiss me," she suddenly requests, which would require him to remove his mouth from her breast.

But he obeys, eyes darkening. Perhaps he is growing aware of how vulnerably he presents himself right now, how pitifully he's been moaning. He licks his lips slowly before slotting them against hers, lashes fluttering when their tongues meet, his tasting like milk. His head is still cradled by her, securely tucked against her clavicles as he kisses her - or she kisses him - and does it really matter if he sounds pitiful?

His hand reaches up to cup her head, feeling the comforting texture of her hair under his palm Maybe, maybe this is even better than drinking from her.

"My pants off~" He tries again, raspy voice mingling with her soft breath that fans his mouth. This time she acquiesces, whispering okay against his lips. Feyd's hand flies down, untying the cords and hastily pushing his trousers down to his thighs. Finally, he can see himself and how her smaller hand works the pre-cum up and down his glistening shaft. His head is flushed with blood and balls plump at the apex of his thighs.

With greater range of motion, she can stroke him more fiercely, squishing the blushing head with every downwards tug. He wants- He wants to cum. He wants milk. He wants more kisses.

"Thank you for killing them," she whispers against Feyd's mouth, then kisses him harder, whining when his fingers lock like vises around her skull, tethering her into the forceful kiss.

His pelvis jumps against her hand, his thighs are parted, one leg lying down, the other propped up for leverage. A low throbbing spreads from the pit of his stomach and reaches his balls. He is ready to spill when she suddenly stops stroking him and mumbles: "And there will be no new darlings?"

Feyd snarls an animal noise against her mouth, clutching the nape of her neck. "No new darlings," he confirms before assaulting her mouth and neck with spit-wet teeth. He's growing a bit too temperamental for her liking, so she urges him back down to her breast, wincing when he bites her nipple, but his raging fades as soon as he starts drinking. The ache between her thighs is fueled by the tender pain in her breasts.

Satisfied, she resumes tugging on his cock, gaze switching from how peaceful his head is at her chest, brows furrowed and twitching, and how needily his pelvis jumps into her hand. When his climax is nigh, he whimpers around her teat, spine curling into a ball. His cock throbs against her palm and she strokes him over the edge, letting hot, inky liquid spill over her hand, his stomach and trousers and the leather of the couch.

Panting, Feyd's head rolls back against her arm, being held by her. He regards the glistening mess on the leather cushions, knowing he should be more ashamed of himself for cumming all over himself and having nothing to say, nothing to restore the manly image he has of himself in front of her. But he feels so relieved and so raw, he only crawls over and pushes her down on the couch, covering her with his body.

"Feyd, you're getting me all dirty," she softly complains, trying to shuffle away from the cum, but Feyd smothers her with his weight. "You're too heavy! Wait, let me just - ouch, my stomach - go clean this up real quick."

"No," Feyd insists, tucking his head into the crook of her neck. "We're sleeping now. I'm tired. And when I wake up, I will, I will~" He yawns, hot breath tickling her neck and she wraps his arms around him. He mumbles contentedly, not finishing his sentence. When he wakes up, it could be anything from punishing her or crawling between her legs to pleasure her and all of that is quite alright with her.

[butterbabyflapjack]

✧˖° Brian Moser x serial killer fem!reader

✧˖° summary:

The Ice Truck Killer’s back in town, and somehow he's stuck babysitting you; Miami's newest would-be killer.

Helping you out wasn't at all his original intention–he'd rather see you dead, you know far too much–but he supposes he could spare an evening to undomesticate that hungry beast inside you. Show you how to really live your life.

In which Brian helps you kill someone who utterly deserves it, and the kill room turns into a horny sex-fueled bloodbath.

✧˖° wordcount (chapter 2): 17k

✧˖° chapters: one, two, three

✧˖° ao3

✧˖° taglist: @Impala1967 @fan-goddess @ireallydontknowohcrabs

✧˖° warnings: serial killer fem!reader, reader insert, explicit sexual content, rough sex, passionate sex, fucking in a kill room, dark romance, dark comedy, canon typical depictions of blood and gore, enthusiastic consent, mutual pining, impact play, playing with your food, serial killers in love, banter, dirty talk, voice kink, trauma bonding, babysitting a serial killer, implied sexual abuse of a child (you're killing this mf don’t worry), torture (you’re torturing this mf don’t worry), Brian is his own warning, enemies to lovers, biting, daddy issues?, blood play, a bit of angst a dash of bloodlust & a heavy splash of spice, Brian loves to fluster you and he won't shut the hell up going about it, Brian survives season 1 in this house

✧˖° author's note:

im having too much fun with this, but also editing chapters this long inflicts psychic damage so please forgive the inevitable rough spots. i’m sure there are some but i’m so over editing. i tried making it shorter but every time i tried it just got longer its 17k 😭😭

anyway hope you’re ready for your date with a wanted serial killer💕

(there’s a few nods to the books throughout, including Brian’s little red car)

✧˖° chapter 2

You still can’t believe you’re actually doing this.

Accepting Dexter’s brother’s help–the Ice Truck fucking Killer, which you can still hardly believe. Begging for it, even; for him to help you kill someone.

The Ice Truck fucking Killer…

Even now, you have a hard time wrapping your head around it.

You’d dedicated so much time and energy into catching that serial fiend, and now he was practically your mentor. So unlike his brother, yet so strikingly the same. Dexter was hungry to know everything about a person before killing them; performing weeks, even months of diligent research on every facet of their beings. 

But Brian…

He hadn’t asked a single question about who he’d help you kill. It could be your own mother, for all he seemed to care. A wolf with a scent for blood. He gets a whiff, he doesn’t hesitate, he comes running.

He’d agreed to help you so much more willingly than Dexter had, and for that, at least, you’re grateful. It remains to be seen if you’ll be grateful for anything else.

It doesn’t matter that this man that you’ll kill’s not a killer. He still has this coming. Has it coming from you, and doubtlessly deserves so much more, so much worse, and–

The whirlwind of thoughts inside your addled head will not settle, will not calm; battering the walls of your mind into harsh, jagged edges of unease and doubts and questions upon questions and–

Struggling to swallow, you once more do your best to ignore that storm inside you. Sucking down a deep breath. Forcing yourself to.

You can do this.

The cards of it are already falling out of place, all around you, and you can’t pick them up again, can’t shove them back into their previous shape.

You don’t want to.

This is happening.

You’re killing this prick tonight.

It’s too late now, not to, and you don’t want to turn back–

You can do this.

You can do this.

You…

You’re at the precinct…

On a Saturday…

Today is already going so wrong.

You just needed to submit a slew of paperwork for a court case early on Monday. Just in and out; it wasn’t supposed to take long. Yet now it’s nearly noon, and your partner–a thick man with a thicker mustache named Pérez–well he’s here, too. The pair of you without lives, always working. And he’s droning on and on about something–probably where the two of you should stop for lunch, as if you’ll be here that long (you already are), but you can’t hear him. Anxious eyes flitting from him and Masuka, who’s joined in on whatever this conversation, in checking the time on your phone.

Your anxious eyes grow wider.

Shit–!

You were supposed to meet Brian at the hardware store twenty minutes ago…!

Ignoring Masuka’s lame attempt at a joke, you focus fully on your computer. Sending off a few last emails, finger nearly breaking through your mouse with every click, before you’re grabbing whatever papers you were working on and even some you weren’t, scraping the mess of them off your desk, shoving them into your bag and you’re sure they’re all crumpled but fuck it, this can’t wait, Brian can’t wait, you should have left already–

“Hey!” Pérez calls as you abruptly stand, his deep voice following after how you speed-walk through the glass-enclosed walls of the precinct. “I was talkin’ to you!”

“Gotta go,” you shoot back bluntly. “Talk to Masuka.” 

“Bullshit,” he calls as you continue speeding off. “You don’t got nowhere to be!”

And you don’t know why you say it. You’re panicked, maybe–haven’t thought out a decent alibi like you really already should have. But either way, you blurt back on harried instinct, “I’m going on a date–you know, trying my hand at a social life? You should try it sometime.”

The surprise of that must shut him up–as it should, you don’t date–because he doesn’t yammer after you any longer as you push out of the room’s heavy glass doors. Impatiently stabbing the silver elevator button before you so you can fully escape, all while inwardly smacking yourself because now Pérez is definitely going to grill you about a date that never happened first thing on Monday–about a date with a serial murderer both he and you chased after personally, along with everyone else on your team–about a date where you’re going to fucking kill someone and fuck–fuck–!

You’re bad at this. You’re so bad at this. You’re a homicide detective, you should know better, know what you’re doing, know what to look out for to not get caught, but instead you’re leaving threads that anyone could stop in and pull at–

You need to calm down.

Why are you so nervous– you weren’t this tense before last night.

This is Brian’s fault, somehow, you just can’t place exactly why. Doesn’t stop you from blaming him, though.

Breathe.

In.

Out.

Slipping into your cheap, little car.

Driving out of the precinct’s lot.

In.

Out.

You’re meeting the Ice Truck Killer for a date where you’re picking out murder weapons. 

It’s not that big a deal.

Breathe.

In…

Honestly, you don’t even know why you’re doing this. The shopping part, at least; not the murder part. You have all the reason in the world to murder that vile excuse for a human being, but a shopping spree? 

Dexter’d left you a few of his knives. Not all of them, mind; just a select few, which was hard enough for him to do, you could tell as he left them. Those knives, what they do, what they have done… They’re an extension of himself. And you were grateful to him for having lent them. But when you’d received a call from an unknown number after leaving his apartment last night, you’d heard Brian’s deep, smoothly serrated voice on the other end.

“I’m surprised you pick up calls from unknown numbers,” he’d immediately teased, and just as suddenly you’d wanted to hang up on his smarmy, cocky ass. Only resisting because you do really need his help.

He’d said to pick a hardware store of your choice. To meet him there tomorrow, at twelve PM sharp.

“Why?” you’d asked, helplessly suspicious of him. Maybe because you knew what he was. Maybe because of something else you couldn’t quite name, just out of reach, its murky outline barely untouched.

“You want my help, don’t you?” he’d returned instead of answering, and you hated what his voice did to you. What it still does to you. Its silken roughness instilling fear and something else so very warm, unraveled and cloying and copper-sweet in the back of your turbulent mind. 

Luckily, your stifled lack of response must’ve been enough of an answer for him.

“You only get to kill a man once,” he’d purred in your ear, and you were glad he couldn’t see you worrying your lower lip. “You may as well do it right. Twelve PM. Don’t forget, my lovely protégé.”

But you did forget. Till twenty minutes past. And now you’re here, at Miami Lumber and Hardware, at 12:37 PM on the dot.

He’s going to kill you.

You’re halted a stuttered step whilst rushing through the parking lot as you think it, since it was only a figure of speech–but this is Brian Moser. He might actually kill you. It’s certainly not an improbability.

Once again reminding yourself to breathe, it still takes concerted effort to actually drag the air into your lungs.

You can’t help it.

Brian makes you nervous. This is just an unfortunate fact.

The man, is…

Cold. Calculated. Ineffable.

And yet, the way he’d held his brother last night, when Dexter had greeted him home…

Once you’d learned that Brian was Dexter’s brother, you couldn’t fully blame Dex for letting him escape Miami, not even after everything with Deb. It was fucked, but they were brothers; they were blood. But their closeness in that moment last night made you see, very clearly, that even monsters can have something resembling a heart.

And yet that heart is nowhere present when Brian looks at you. You can see that, too. The darkness of that viscid void which crafts him, reflecting light as a mirage, as a distraction; a light which from his dark cannot exist.

It certainly doesn’t make you any less wary around him. Not to mention how he might have some unpleasant feelings toward you for being part of the task force that ran him out of town, that even now would apprehend him. But it’s not like Dexter wasn’t part of that task force, too, so… 

Maybe he’d forgiven you.

You weren’t about to ask.

In any case. He’d agreed to help you. So maybe you should just be grateful for that and stop questioning everything ; just focus on the arduous task at hand instead of spiraling once again into doubt.

As you quickly approach the hardware store, you catch sight of a looming shadow standing just outside its wide, automatic front doors. A shadow you soon realize is Brian. Black buttoned shirt with the sleeves rolled up his lithely muscled forearms. Hands in the pockets of dark slacks. Onyx, browline sunglasses shielding his likewise onyx gaze, like he’s just too cool to give a damn, though really you suppose it’s just part of his disguise.

He looks good, just standing there. Effortless, modelesque. And the longish mess of curls that tease his jawline, along with the dark scruff of beard definitely suit him.

It somehow makes all of this so much worse that he’s attractive, and for a second you wish you were blind, just sightlessly bumbling into him.

His dark eyes must flit toward your slowing, cautious approach from behind his shades, because a cheeky half-smirk takes hold of one corner of his lips. Especially as his focus feels to drape over you.  Dropping languidly to the motion of your hands, unthinkingly clenching at your sides, which you immediately force to stop upon his notice.

“Look what the cat dragged in,” he observes as you finally reach him, low and smooth as ambrosia on an unpolished blade, its edges always rough. “Thought you might’ve stood me up. And on our first date, too.” His brows are tugged in a light crease of woe above his handsome shades. “I was this close to having my heart broken.”

It’s ironic that his ‘cover story’ for whatever the hell this is the two of you are doing is that it’s some sort of ‘date’, too. 

Does that make it official?

God, you hope not. You can’t break your dating dry spell with someone you’ve tried apprehending.

“Pretty sure that’d require something inside your ribs to actually break,” you return; his smirk rubbing you the wrong way. Like he’s endlessly amused by the tragically Shakespearean comedy that is you. “Unlike whatever cobwebs are probably hanging there.” And, brushing past how he idles there watchfully, you’re already halfway through the automatic doors beside him when calling, “You coming or what?”

You barely hear his little chuff; half amused, half something darker, as the tower of him turns to swim within your wake. So much like a shark stalking after you that you’re tempted to drop the ‘too cool to turn around’ act and instead keep your vigilant eyes on him.

You’re still debating whether to turn or not when instead you’re physically jolted by him suddenly appearing right beside you; his smooth and lengthy steps easily outpacing the rigidity of your own. 

“So, little killer…” he slowly muses down at you, with a glint to his side-long smirk. Slipping his shades from off the bridge of his nose, before folding and tucking them in his breast pocket. All while you do your best not to look at him since every time you do you seem to lose your train of thought like some kind of idiot. “Where shall we start?”

Steps slowing to a halt, you peer about the overwhelming vastness of the giant store around you.

You have no idea where to start–wasn’t this whole thing his idea?

“You’re the one who wanted us to come here,” you mutter. Biting the inside of your cheek to somehow steady yourself before meeting the intensity of his gaze. “I don’t know what we’re looking for.”

He seems to assess you a moment, before he’s sliding one hand gently around your waist, which straightens board-stiff at his brazen touch. 

His smile grows as he eyes you, though by all appearance he’s just cordially guiding you by the small of your hesitant back toward the slew of bright red shopping carts bunched up near the front of the store. And though you’d like to think you’d smack his unwanted hand off of you, seeing as how you don’t need his help to grab a goddamn cart, you don’t really know what to think anymore. Somewhere, just… secretly glad? That he’s taking your reins of uncertainty? Leading them through whatever daytime fever-dream this ‘date’ is turning out to be.

Whatever makes this nightmare end more swiftly.

“Your teacher to the rescue, then,” he says, oh-so-helpful. Ushering you toward a cart, which you’re too mired by worry and doubt not to grab hold of obediently. Following where he steers you further into the massive store, and he’s won you over that easily, you guess. He’s your shepherd; you’re his sheep. But what are you supposed to do? Deny the help he’s giving? At this point there’s nowhere to go but down whatever darkened hole he leads you. 

Still. You won’t follow him down undefended. Stealing a glance, as innocuously as you can, at the Glock openly holstered at your right hip as he leads you deeper into the store, past the rows of registers. Its weight resting on your jeans a boon against that ongoing storm howling within you.

Brian seems to like the whole ‘obedient sheep to his shepherd’ thing, much to your chagrin. He smiles, anyway–a dusky crudeness to its soft shape–as his hand at last leaves your back, and instead he strolls alongside your cart casually.

You imagine the two of you probably look quite cute to someone who doesn’t know what the fuck is happening behind the scenes.

“Dexter told me he lent you some knives,” Brian says, conversationally. And he does make it sound so normal–like you’d borrowed them to fillet a fish, not a person.

This is the most fucked up small talk on a ‘date’ you’ve ever heard or hoped to be a part of.

He tsks his tongue in your silence, leading your way past a few aisles after glancing at their header’s above. And you don’t know what he’s looking for, but he’s your shepherd–you’re forced to trust him in wherever he’d guide you.

“Not exactly inspiring,” he muses. “He does get more creative, from time to time.” A shade of amusement hints his lips. “Very creative, really.” Though at length, he hums as if the state of Dexter’s a shame. “But he doesn’t play nearly enough with his food.”

“Is that why we’re here?” you finally find your voice. “Because you want me playing with my food tonight?”

He spares you a glance from how he otherwise scans all the inventory you pass. 

“It matters, how you kill a person,” he says. “At least, as I surmise, it does tonight.”

“What do you mean?”

He looks away, like he doesn’t actually care about this conversation.

“This person,” he says at last, as he leads where you’ll follow. “That you’re taking care of. He deserves this. Right?”

“Yes,” you respond without hesitation.

At that, he smiles his low, warm smile down at you. Allows its shallow warmth to burn through that storm you feel.

“Well… I don’t know the details–don’t need the details–but I’d venture further this is punishment…” The idea seems somehow amusing. “Am I wrong?”

No. He’s definitely right. Though you refuse to think about exactly why you’ll punish that bastard tonight. It always makes you see red, steals away everything else, and you’re already hopelessly distracted in Brian’s presence. So perhaps it’s lucky he doesn’t care, doesn’t ask, so that at least you’re left undistracted by that.

You’ll worry about making that fucker pay for what he’s done when you face him tonight.

How you strive to steady yourself is disjointed as Brian takes a loose hold of the front of the cart; escorting you down an aisle of hammers and other blunt-edged tools. 

“So shouldn’t however you kill this person be a punishment,” he offers mildly, “in and of itself?”

You don’t realize you aren’t responding; haven’t spoken in a while. Have stopped your cart from rolling for who knows how long while your knuckles begin to go numb with how tightly they cling to its bright, shiny handle–not until Brian’s shadow is suddenly so close to your side. And, blinking rapidly, you twist up just in time to see him lean down to your ear. Murmuring hushed words, just for you.

“Fuck Dexter’s knives,” he breathes, the heat of it sparking each hair on your nape to attention. “Whoever this bastard is, he surely deserves the worst end you can give him. A quick death is far too nice. Don’t you agree?”

He’s the devil on your shoulder, but you’re in no position to disagree.

A flash of that man you’ll kill, Gary, flashes through your mind before you can stop it. Shoved away with such nauseating hatred that you push forth your cart with enough newfound purpose you’ve left Brian behind. Vindictively eyeing each item as you pass, before settling on a box on one row. Judging its label with a tense jaw before tossing it into your cart.

Brian’s caught up in no time, though he strolls in no decided hurry. A low chuckle rumbled in his chest as he seemingly eyes the box of the belt sander you threw in.

“Well, that’s certainly creative…” he approves with a side-long grin.

“I’m not sure I’ll use it,” you admit, keeping your momentum forward. Focusing as best you can before his mere presence distracts you again. “I’m keeping my options open.”

And though you try desperately not to look at him, hindrance that he unwittingly is, you hear his smooth smile as he says, “A woman after my own heart. Maybe you’re not such a horrible student after all.”

Your cart wheels stop just long enough to glower up at him; annoyed by how his height always towers over you. “Since when was I horrible? I’m doing everything you ask.”

“After showing up here late,” he says, maintaining the affable bedside manner of the prosthetist he used to parade as. “And asking far too many questions.” 

Reaching for the small of your back again, his fingers steal away your objections as they curl so slightly into the curve of your waist, speeding your heart with their gentle pressure.

He leads you toward a row of rubber-ended sledge hammers. Leaving your side to take one off the rack. Testing its massive weight between his surgeon’s hands. Speculative, before breezily tossing it into the cart, which rattles beneath the bulk of it.

“So…” he drawls, too politely; changing the topic to something else. “Were you on the task force to bring me in…?”

The answer lodges somewhere in your throat. Caught there more and more the longer he passively watches you. And okay. Maybe he didn’t forgive and forget the whole ‘you trying to apprehend him’ thing after all.

“So was your brother,” you point out in lieu of answering, which in truth is answer enough, just the version with you too chicken-shit to answer directly.

You focus on moving forward; gripping your cart like a shield that doesn’t help at all against how you feel his little smile crawling over you. Focusing on your feet–on his feet, striding alongside yours. Staring at those burnished leather Elkans he wears, nearly black, clipping mute vinyl floors, and though you have no idea how a man on the run from the feds has the means to pay for shoes that nice you make a point of not asking.

“True enough,” he says. “Doesn’t make either one of you less of a hypocrite.”

Disgruntled, your gaze turns sharply up to him. “Would you rather I just cuff your ass right now and take you into the station?”

He seems to find the idea of that funny; suppressing a hum that’s not quite a laugh. 

“If you think you can drag me in.”

Idly, he unhooks from its post in the rows and rows of tools a pair of small, yet sharp needle-nose pliers. Eyes alight with something as he regards you; thumb roaming the instrument’s blunt, metallic edge.

“What do you think, detective?” he asks. “Could I have these jammed in your trachea before you pulled your gun on me?” 

The weight of your Glock feels to burn against your hip, itching for you to grab it, though you stiffly don’t move. 

“Maybe,” you admit. Not daring to pull your gun right now to even the odds of a hypothetical–or at least you hope it’s hypothetical. “But it wouldn’t kill me right away.” Your voice is hard. “I’d still shoot you in the back as you ran away in those fancy shoes.”

He does laugh at that. Strong and warm, as he steals a glance at his leather Elkans.

“Don’t you like them?” he wonders with a sly little smirk.

And of course you do, they’re handsomely crafted, but he doesn’t need to know that. So instead of answering, you just push off down the aisle with the cart.

“Can we just focus on the task at hand?” you ask as you hear his footsteps closing through the distance after you. Turning out of one aisle and into the next, with no destination in mind other than creating more distance between you. “I don’t exactly want to be caught in public with you.”

“Yes, that might ruin your reputation down at the station, wouldn't it?”

“Just a bit.” You toss a few items into the cart whilst assuring yourself that you’re making this rich bastard pay for everything. Tossing in a few more pricey-looking tools you probably won’t even use at the thought. “Especially when I told my partner that I was on a date right now.”

No sooner have the words left your mouth that you vehemently regret their utterance, cause why did you just admit that? And just like you worried, like you expected from Brian at this point, he smells the chum of possibly humiliating you on the water and slips forward for a bite.

“You’re already telling your friends about us?” he asks, a cunning fox, and maybe you will go for your gun. “How cute… It’s a little soon for me to be telling people about our relationship, personally, but… I’m glad you’re so enthused.”

Your ears burn for reasons unrelated to severe embarrassment, you’re sure. “He asked where I was rushing off to and I panicked, okay?”

You hear his little sigh. “Why doesn’t that surprise me?”

The cart rattles as you toss in a few more tools at random. “I’m new at this.”

“Yes,” comes Brian’s musing. “You’ve made that painfully clear.”

Desperate to ignore the awkward heat crawling up your face, you slow past a row of different saws. The wheels of your cart dragged to a sudden halt before a vast array of chainsaws, which admittedly seem a little heavy for you to wield, seem a little much and are surely overkill, but...

Still. You’re oddly drawn to them. One hand already reaching to test the sharpness of a bright, hornet-yellow one’s row of exposed teeth.

Time feels to slow as you study it. With you so distracted that you don’t even notice how Brian’s stopped his ever-incessant, clever commentary behind you; merely enjoying the merciful silence.

“What do you think?” you ask at last, unturning, as you mull the idea of you with a chainsaw inside your head. And it’s not a terrible image… “Too messy? Or…”

Silence, from your ever-yapping, homicidal mentor. And at last you glance back at where he stands, just behind you. His dark eyes, shadowed by dark lashes, trained to the blade-teeth you touch, yet as though he’s staring right through them.

As your expression grows inquisitive, he blinks, dragged from the seeming depths that leave him lost inside his own head.

“Hm?” he absently hums, like he hasn’t heard you.

Your interest curiously traces what little his expression ever betrays to you. “What?” you ask of his uncharacteristic silence, though he just impassively eyes you.

“What?” he returns; innocuous, mirroring you.

Your brows furrow up at that leaden mask he wears.

“Don’t what me,” you counter. “I saw you thinking about something. And if you don’t tell me what that is, you’ll swiftly learn how annoyingly persistent I can be when my bloodhound brain grabs scent of something.”

He regards you down the length of his strong nose. Seeming taller than he actually is, which is already imposing. Eventually carding back his hair; dark curls tangled in his fingers with his incensed glance away. “You really are a headache, aren’t you?”

“Absolutely I am. Now tell me.”

With mild exasperation, his dusky eyes return to you. Their grievance soon to fade in place of muted speculation. “I was just lost in memories. Private ones, I might add. Ones I’m guessing Dexter never told you.”

You’ve never seen him so… tentative. Not even in this miniscule amount. And your confusion, just like your interest, slowly rises. “What are you talking about?”

He eyes you a moment more. Unreadable. “I’m talking about our mother, Detective Nosey,” he says. Gaze assessing yours, as if searching for something there, weighing if he should tell you. And you’re not sure what he looks for, if he finds it, though eventually he continues.

“She was butchered with a chainsaw,” he says at last, far too casually. Reaching past you to drag one lengthy finger along that chainsaw’s serrated edge in the absence of your touch. His eyes gaining that faraway look again. “Right in front of us, when Dex was three and I was four. Dismembered limb by limb, as that engine echoed off the walls, along with her begging us not to look, to close our little eyes, and we were left in the mess of it. The blood of three addicts and our mother–two inches thick by the time that engine finally stopped.” 

His finger slowly drags down the jagged length of the blade, while you listen on in growing horror. 

“They didn’t find us huddled in that blood-damp, hellish dark for two days, and by then the only reason I cared was in protecting my brother.” He exhales a little laugh with zero humor to it. “Apparently that’s all anyone cared about. ‘Cause he was adopted by the first cop on scene, and I–decidedly–was not.”

His dark gaze turns to you, and you cannot comprehend what lie beyond its blackish surface.

“So, to answer your question,” he says, so nonchalant in your speechless shock from responding, “It’s not a bad choice. Though certainly messy.”

You can’t seem to think. The story he’s spun sinking a weight in you, dragging your stomach right through the floor. Left with not knowing what to say, blown away as you are by the cruelty held within such an offhand confession.

“Brian, I'm…”

Your tone is raw. Quiet. And he smiles at you unhappily; hand falling loosely to his side, away from the blade that dismembered his mother.

“Don’t,” he cuts you off bluntly. “What’s done is done. Pitied apologies never help.”

“I know they don't,” you counter, voice stricken, and you swallow with the effort to make it more firm. “But that's… That's fucked, Brian. And… I'm sorry. I'm so sorry that happened to you.”

For a moment, he merely eyes you. Every line of his handsome face meticulously sculpted in place, held perfectly still.

“Are you expecting me to thank you for that?” he wonders at last.

You hate how vulnerable you feel, when he’s the one confessing something so traumatic that it surely formed him. His and Dex’s extracurricular pastimes sure make a lot more sense now.

“No,” you say, feeling stupid, feeling childish, that you’re so unwound by such a ruthless tale while he clearly is not. And maybe you should just let it go, should just stop talking, but you can’t. “I just had to say it.” You meet his watchful gaze, your jawline hardening. “And if I could kill the fucks who did that to your mother, I would. I’d hunt each one of them down. And I know I’m not the one who should make them pay whatever price for what was done, but I’d still make them pay it.”

Some part of you’s already planning how you might, how you could–if they’re even still alive, or if indeed there was more than one person involved–it doesn’t matter, you’d kill them all, assuming Brian hasn’t already. Almost tempted to ask if he has, all while Brian just observes you in a silence which draws on. Something beyond the indecipherable veil of him fixed on you, keen at your edges, as if gauging your scent; toying the curious touch of his attention across your unseen depths.

Eventually, he subtly smiles, and you cannot comprehend that smallest stir half-buried within his gaze.

“C’mon,” he says, taking your waist again; hand warm and smooth across your lower back and he steers you further down the aisle. “We’ll save the chainsaw for next time. I’ve something more easily controlled in mind for a first-timer like yourself. And if you don’t like that, you’ll at least appreciate what we’re grabbing at our next stop.”

And surely you’d halt if he wasn’t more-or-less forcibly guiding you forward.

Next stop…? 

This nightmare date isn’t over yet?

Your arguments that there won’t be a ‘next time’ where you’ll be swinging around a chainsaw are effectively snuffed by the way his knuckles idly trace up the length of your spine as you walk together. The contact light, yet utterly fatal in regards to your ability to think in anything more than jumbled sounds that resemble language. And as he gauges a few items as you pass, he lightly ‘ ah ’s’ whilst nabbing a box one-handed; tossing it carelessly into the cart atop your already mountainous treasure trove of murderous hardware.

You glance from that box to him, already questioning, “A reciprocating saw?”

“A Moser favorite,” he says, roguish. “Electric. No outlet required. Perfect for when working remotely.” And yeah, it’s pretty obvious he’s done just that before.

He guides you toward the checkout counter up front before releasing you from the seeming hypnotism of his touch. Smiling at the college-aged girl ringing up your vast array of items, and let me tell you, your stomach shrinks upon seeing all that gear laid out in front of you, like a line-up of your potential crimes laid bare. Your insides cinching tighter with every item slowly rolling down that sluggish conveyer belt as he lays them all blasély upon it, like it moves that slow just to mock you, to shame you.

Pliers, hammers, a hacksaw. The sledge hammer you saw him throw in. Some sort of hose, a nail gun, a hatchet, a multitude of various saws and drills. Tarps, of course, and some kind of large metal clamp (what is that for?), a dremel, bolt cutters, the belt sander (you regret picking that out now), a motherfucking chain? A chain? What, are you beating this guy to death with a chain now?

It’s like a loony toon assortment of bullshit, only missing an anvil, that you’re sure will get flagged if the body is ever found hacked into a million pieces by every piece of hardware known to man. ‘Cause, oh, how convenient–someone purchased a million kill tools the night before the mysterious thousand-tool killer took someone out, and that person’s definitely been recorded on the store’s many security cameras.

You should’ve worn a disguise. You’re such an idiot.

By maybe the tenth item, the cashier seems to think this purchase is becoming somewhat odd. Go figure. And she eyes each item that she scans whilst stealing more and more weirded out glances at Brian and you. Which probably isn't a good thing.

You try to squeeze yourself out of existence behind Brian’s towering form. Let him take the fall for this.

Meanwhile, Brian flashes her his most charming grin. 

“We’re taking up woodworking,” he says, without a care in the world. “Gotta make sure we have all the right tools of the trade.” His dark gaze lowly glimmers. “What do you think? Did we get them all?”

It’s the lamest excuse, and yet the girl’s cheeks visibly warm and she giggles at whatever look he must be giving her.

The following conversation is perhaps the most shameless and painful thing you’ve ever had to stand there and witness; a form of torture in itself, when it’s supposedly you who was to do the torturing.

“Y-yeah,” says the girl, scanning a bit more absently. It takes her five swipes to get a claw hammer with a giant and completely obvious barcode to register, what with how her eyes are glued on the ‘date’ you’re hiding behind. “What kind of woodworking do you do?”

“Mostly construction, but I dabble in the arts. Walnut and pine sculptures, that sort of thing.”

“Oh really?”

“Really.”

“That sounds hard…”

“You just have to know what you’re doing~”

“You must be good with your hands, then.”

“Oh, I’m good with lots of things.”

“O-oh, like… like what? For, um, example?”

“I could offer a demonstration�� You’d have to come out from behind that counter, first, though...”

She titters again and you think a vein on your brow might be close to bursting, though admittedly you’re not exactly sure why–her laugh must be annoying. Luckily that’s when he swipes his card for the outrageous bill–the front of which you note bears a name that’s not his, so as far as covering your tracks goes there’s at least that.

You lug what feels a million heavy bags into the cart whilst patiently smiling (grimacing) at your flirtatious construction partner.

“C’mon, David ,” you read the name on his card, already pushing the filled-up cart to go. But not before seeing him toss the flustered cashier a little wink before following after you.

Ugh. 

Gross. 

You’re storming out of the store, out into the parking lot as the cart wheels rattle before your way. Barreling forth in no particular direction and for no particular reason other than what you just witnessed inexplicably making you sick, when Brian’s hand suddenly latches around your wrist, arresting you solidly in place, jerking you gruffly to a halt right before the speeding blur of a giant, blue truck flies past the front of your cart by maybe an inch; the speed of it whipping wind against your startled face.

Frazzled, you merely stand there while your racing heart tries to escape your chest. Blinking far too quickly, before twisting your gaze back to Brian. Undoubtedly relieved by how he just saved you from slamming into a car–seriously, he just saved you? Yet even then, you force annoyance to your tone; perhaps to hide your embarrassment at just how irredeemably unfocused you really are right now.

“What?” you ask him sharply.

His eyes trace your face. Seem to note how your molars are grinding. And as you glower, he slowly starts to smirk.

Gods, you hate him.

“You’re walking in the wrong direction,” he says.

Which maybe you were, though you find you’re not fond of him correcting you right now. “Where am I supposed to be walking?”

He nods toward a little red car parked off in the distance through the lot. Pristinely polished. Expensive looking. “That one’s mine.”

“Of course it is,” you nearly roll your eyes at him. Twisting your wrist from his grasp in heaving the heavy cart forward again–after glancing both ways in ensuring you aren’t about to be flattened by a truck, this time. 

“You know,” you grouse as he walks right beside you, “you didn’t have to make sure that cashier’s still daydreaming about you tonight, considering the actual boat-load of homicidal gear we’re carrying.” And seriously, he didn’t have to lay it on so thick. “There’s no way she won’t remember you after that performance.” 

He keeps up with you so easily despite how desperate you are to outpace him, until eventually you just give up and push the cart at a normal pace. 

“As distracting as you awkwardly standing there was, I thought I’d better step in,” he says. “I was worried you might blurt out some sort of confession for a crime you haven’t yet committed under the scrutiny of her tiny-minded gaze.”

You feel yourself scowling. “I’m not an idiot.”

His soft lips purse like he somehow doubts that. Though all he says is, “Would you rather I have just let her keep forming ideas about everything she was ringing up amidst your incriminating, nerve-bitten silence?”

You bite your lip. Finally reaching his expensive car. “I guess not,” you admit.

He smiles down at you as you do your best to ignore him. “Good. Then stop being jealous.”

Your brows cinch hard at that, with you tearing your gaze directly toward him. Scoffing immediately, “Jealous of what? ”

With the way he scarcely seems to register your overt revulsion at the prospect, you wouldn't be surprised if nothing in life ever bothered him.

“Of me flirting with our cashier,” he says. Fetching from his pants pocket the keys to his flashy car, which chirps before you as its doors are unlocked, its small trunk automatically popped open.  

You take the opportunity to distract yourself by cramming bags into the trunk as though doing so were a timed olympic sport.

“You’re so full of yourself,” you say over the sound of shifting plastic bags, the thud of metal on car-trunk floor. “I barely even know you. If anything I was trying not to cringe out of existence hearing how shameless you are.”

You’re unprepared entirely for how he takes your waist from behind in both his hands; spins you around without warning. Nudging the backs of your wavering knees against the bumper of the car while he smoothly steps in, cornering you there, with little room left between your body and his.

He smirks at whatever your floored expression, trapped beneath the looming of his. Leaning down to your ear, pouring wicked words inside it.

“So what if I’m shameless?” he asks, amusement curled through his inflection.

When his lips just barely graze your ear, purely accidental, it's like a basilisk's spiked you with venom. Turning all of you to stone, your lungs helplessly forgetting to function.

“Don't be jealous,” he murmurs. “As delightful as that is, I’ll spare you the torment. You need to be focused, my woefully inept student. And besides…” he sounds to smile, “she’s not my type.”

He leaves you there just as suddenly as he’d pinned you. So effortlessly snatching away your ability to speak, as he turns instead to filling up the trunk you’re still teetering weak-kneed against. Left with the realization that his dark, graveled voice is as much a weapon as any in his arsenal of toys.

You’re still reeling as he pauses loading to instead open the passenger-side door for you; the sound of it drawing your flustered attention. Looking at you expectantly as you just stand there, trying to dislodge your heart from where it’s leapt into your throat.

“I’ll load the rest,” he says, careless as ever. “Get in.”

But you still won’t move. By choice, this time, not due to his unwanted effect on you. Warily glancing from opened door, to him; the leashless animal offering it for you. 

“I have my own car.”

“I told you, we’re not done shopping,” he lightly puts forth. “And it’s easier if we drive together.”

But you can’t shake how that seems like a really bad idea. Being alone with him. But what are you supposed to do? If he finds you too difficult to deal with, he might rescind his help from off the table, and you are partners in crime for the foreseeable future… 

Perhaps most convincing of all, in the end–what has you finally ungluing your apprehensive feet from off the asphalt–is the comforting weight of your gun, still strapped at one hip.

He can pry that from your cold dead fingers should he ever mean to take it from you.

Masking your hesitance, you drag yourself from where he’d pinned you against his fancy red car toward the seat he now offers. Cautiously watching that little smirk of his that spells trouble in half a million ways as he graciously closes the door after you, with you running one hand across the cool steel of your firearm the second the car door blocks it from his vision.

Gods, what are you doing? Getting in a car with the Ice Truck Killer?

You shake yourself–no– no –you can’t keep questioning everything. He’s Dexter’s brother–you’re fine. You’re doing what needs to be done–what you have to.

You tell yourself this, yet still nearly jump out of your skin as the driver’s side door is eventually opened, with Brian sliding right in.

“Hope you don’t mind a little breaking and entering,” he says whilst revving the car, shifting it into gear. 

Perhaps you’re too distracted to outright ask what that fucking means. “I think as far as potential crimes go, I’m a bit past a misdemeanor.”

“Wonderful,” he returns, with all the charm of a murderous Disney prince. And it’s clear Brian Moser’s a bad influence on anyone and everything trapped within the incessant pull of his orbit. 

No wonder Dexter drove him away. He’s too much of a risk.

And now he’s back, helping you –Christ, maybe this whole thing really is a terrible idea. And again, a war’s waged within you; one that results like it always does, in you reminding yourself for the hundredth time not to bite the dangerous hand that offers to help you. 

The song Brian flips on the radio is about as cheerfully opposite a song can be from someone who bleeds their victims like cattle. And as he pulls out of the hardware store’s lot, you glance back toward the trunk of the car; envisioning the cartoonish haul of bloodshed tucked away inside it.

“Are you sure we need to grab anything else?” you ask, with a glance at him. Which you immediately regret, because his rugged profile is…

Goddammit, why does he have to be hot? 

You tuck your traitorous gaze toward the window, staring at the world rushing by outside it. Spared for a moment from whatever this offensively attractive man does to you by merely existing.

“I could likely make due with what we have,” he says to the road; thankfully otherwise ignorant of you. “But I’m not going to. Our current haul’s for you, my impromptu protégé. This next trip’s for me, though you’re welcome to play with what we’ll grab there. I need tools to dispose of the body, à la Dexter’s requested style.” He tosses you a look, one brow quirked as if to dare you. “Unless you’d like to fetch me my old ones out of wherever you stashed them away in evidence for me…?”

Which– no– you would not. There’s too much risk involved in digging through the many boxes of the Ice Truck Killer’s things, even when you don’t know what else he has planned instead, where he’ll otherwise take you. 

“Would the barbies we confiscated be part of the required hardware you’d need me to steal?” you taunt instead of answering.

He simply exhales a small hum of amusement at that. Eyes on the road as a faint smile toys his lips. And in the end you suppose that playing with dolls isn’t really the strangest thing about him.

“Can’t we just see what Dexter has at his apartment?” you ask, assuming that’s not where he’s already headed. “I’m sure he has the right tools laying around somewhere.”

And it seems, in the maze of his mind, something’s chewed before being left unsaid.

“This’ll be a whole lot simpler if you just learn to stop questioning me right now, instead of making me steamroll your objections over and over again like you have been,” he says. Glancing away from the road; challenging you with a look. “I know what I’m doing. Unlike all others present.”

And though you fold your arms against him, you don’t otherwise protest. He’s not wrong, after all.

It isn’t until the pair of you near a mountainous scatter of buildings, erected high with white stone and sea-hued windows, that you realize the next destination of your homicidal ‘date’ is Miami’s Jackson Memorial Hospital–how romantic. Which you don’t really have an opinion on, until shortly remembering, like a kick to the gut, that he intends to steal god only knows from its highly secured, extensively monitored halls.

Your limbs are all stiffened with nerves as you turn to him while he breezes in through the hospital’s lot, one hand on the wheel whilst carelessly searching for a vacant place to park.

“We’re breaking into a hospital?!”

“We’re walking into a hospital,” he returns, smooth as sin. Though his merriment’s short-lived as he looks at you; dark eyebrows squinching up at whatever your expression. “Stop looking so paranoid.”

“I am paranoid,” you shoot right back at him; like it’s impossible that he doesn’t feel the same. “There’s a lot of security here, way more than some random hardware store. And although your little–” somewhat erratically, you gesture at his entire person, sitting there with one brow raised in watching you, “– disguise –is okay, it’s not that okay when there’s an ongoing manhunt for you by the fucking FBI–! ”

After weaving his car effortlessly into a spot, he watches you for a moment. Though when he should be slowly nodding in agreement, instead his lax expression falls unenthusiastically dull.

“You’re overthinking this.”

“You’re under thinking it!”

“Just follow my lead,” he more or less commands his ‘protégé’. Already stepping out of the car. Standing just outside it, for dragging moments; door remaining ajar, with only his long legs and dexterous hands in view. Before eventually he dips his height in glancing in at you as you stare across the middle console staunchly, refusing to get out.

“The longer you sit there pouting, the longer this will take,” he patiently says.

“I’m not pouting,” you argue, though you’re already riled enough into stepping gruffly out of the car. Unbuckling your belt as you do; stripping your holster off its length, before hiding your gun on your person; tucked away at the small of your back. All before making your way to the front of the car alongside where Brian waits for you. “I’m trying to make sure we don’t get caught.”

“Let me worry about that part,” he says; smiling as you unwillingly fall in step with him as he leads you toward that high-reaching tower in the distance, its glass shimmering like azure gems in the afternoon light. “Just focus on playing your part. We’re headed to an appointment. You, my timid, bumbling girlfriend, and I your dauntless, dashing prince.”

“I think you’re closer to a homicidal imp on my shoulder.”

“The two aren’t mutually exclusive.” 

The closer the two of you draw to the hospital’s broad and bustling entrance, the more cameras you begin to spot at the corners of your vision. Hidden lenses high on light beams, tucked near the corners of what seems like every wall. This place doesn’t take its security as a joke, and more and more it feels your panic forms a fist within your stomach, its fingers slowly tightening.

“Look…” you hear yourself saying, as offhanded as you can muster in that moment. Trying not to sound like you’re panicking, which you are, more and more with each step ventured forward. “I appreciate you helping me in whatever morally questionable way this is, but…”

Uncomfortably distracted, your words cut short as you spot through the crowd an overweight security guard, meandering just outside the hospital’s doors. A guard who glances at you and Brian, pausing just a moment, before idling slowly on.

You don’t know when you stopped walking, but by the time you tear your eyes away from the potential threat of him, Brian’s no longer beside you. It’s like you’ve only blinked, and he’s gone.

For some reason that’s even worse than having him near you.

“Brian…?”

Shit– should you even say his name out loud…? It’s a common enough name, and you two didn’t discuss using aliases, but–

What if someone puts two and two together upon spotting you and him? Hearing you say his name? Internally prying the longer hair and dark scruff off him, leaving only Brian fucking Moser behind?

Airway feeling tight, you scan the loose crowd of people before you until catching sight of Brian’s dark, wavy curls looming over everyone else's heads, and for once you’re glad he’s so freakishly tall. But as you spring forth to catch him, your steps start to drag once more, as the closer you draw toward those impending hospital doors the more it feels the world shifts out beneath you, and…

You can’t really think… You can’t breathe, you…

Are you having a panic attack…?

Are you seriously having a panic attack right now…?!

“...Bri… David…?!” 

You say it like you may otherwise drown, like he’s your lifeline, but there’s no way he hears you from his place so far ahead, even in such a thin crowd. And you need to just breathe, you’re overreacting–need to rein in your tenuous gaze from how it darts from lens to lens of every security camera, as if they’re all watching you, piecing together the company you keep.

“This isn’t… This isn’t a good…”

You’ve started backing up, now. Still staring at those hospital doors that loom before you, all while your heart slams into your ribs.

“–Brian–?!”

All at once, a large hand wraps around yours, leaving you no time to react as you’re brusquely swept aside before you can call after him a second time. And you choke out a little noise of surprise upon seeing Brian there, expressionless, dragging you toward a less crowded side of the hospital’s entrance.

He hauls you toward a small, manicured cluster of flowers and small palms, before steadying you within what seems a disapproving gaze, which certainly doesn’t make you feel any less like a panicking idiot.

“You’re entirely hopeless at this.”

You bite your lip to keep from biting something out more spiteful at him; still struggling to breathe. “You think I don’t know that?!”

At your heightened tone, he steals a glance at the foot traffic beside you before ushering you a little further away, further into the quiet. His hand grasping yours sliding slowly up the length of your arm, finding purchase near the crook of your neck.

It’s an oddly comforting motion, and you find yourself helpless but to peer up into the stillness of his eyes.

“Calm down,” he says, slowly, like he doesn’t fully comprehend why you’re so anxious. Like he’s never felt the dragging claws of nerves in his life. And though you’d normally expect him to mock you for falling apart like a moron, as you undeniably are right now, he at least seems genuine in talking you down. That, or you really are just that desperate to believe it. 

“Take a breath.” His thumb draws a single line just below your clavicle, whilst you struggle to do as he says. 

And, oh, lovely; here comes that mocking part you were so worried about, accompanied by him hiking a none-too-subtle brow at you:

“Not to make a tense situation worse, but if you’re this much of a mess just strolling into a hospital, exactly how are you expecting to follow through with your plans tonight?” But that’s not all. “And how do you work in homicide, for that matter? Aren't detectives used to working under pressure? Or did you blackmail your way into getting what you want there, too…?”

You’re not sure if you're wincing, bracing for the impact of his words.

…Is that it…?

…

That’s it.

For now, at least.

And you find yourself scowling. Hurt, which is of course ridiculous; you don't care what this bastard thinks. Though as you try to upsetly twist away, he only tightens his grip in response, keeping you captive before him.

Your scowl deepens before you’ve given up. He’s a lot stronger than you, and the last thing you need right now is to cause any more of a scene by punching him in the throat.

“I… Look, this… This is just… A lot,” you weakly defend. Warbling. You hate yourself. Feeling even more small than you already do with the way he’s always towering over you, and so you look away, pretending he isn’t currently holding you hostage. “Everything. Tonight. You, especially, I…” Struggling, you shake yourself. Frowning at the ground. At the sturdiness of his lithely muscled chest. “All of it. All Dexter’s and my week’s of planning. It’s all coming to a head so much quicker than I realized it would, and there’s already so many loose ends, nothing is as foolproof as I wanted it to be, and…” 

Breathe.

Again, you struggle to shake yourself. To keep your voice lowered and calm.

“I can’t… I can’t fuck this up,” you allege at last. Willing yourself to sound firm in this. “I feel like I fuck up so much, but I can’t mess up right now–not with this. There’s too much on the line, and not just for me. I can’t… My sister, I can’t…”

You don’t even know what you’re saying, not any longer. Fail even to realize you’ve stopped talking at all, until Brian’s thumb smooths along the skin exposed just above your neckline.

Your eyes, as if with minds of their own, are suddenly trapped in the hanging darkness of his. And you cannot for the life of you read his watchful expression.

“Are you sure you’re ready for this?” he asks you quietly. 

After moments more of wavering beneath him, you slowly grit your jaw.

“I told you we had a deal, didn’t I?”

His hushed gaze passes across yours. “You did…”

“And what was your end of it?” you ask him–quiet enough to escape other’s attention, yet honed with accusation. “That if I changed my mind, you’d sit there and laugh at whatever that rotten bastard twice my size wants to do to me?”

He doesn’t respond. Merely watches, without denying, and doesn’t stop you as you finally succeed in shoving his hand away from you.

“I’m fine,” you allege; willing it with all your mustered strength to be true. “Sorry to disappoint you.” And with that, you’re already walking out from under the looming shadow of him. “Let’s just get this over with.”

The hospital’s lobby is a bright, massive dome poured through with natural light, filled by the bustle of so many people. Patients, doctors, nurses, social workers… Security guards…

You catch sight of the portly guard you spotted outside, now lazily surveying the trailing crowd of people who surround you in the lobby. Your footsteps halting upon once again spotting him, hands wringing helplessly at your sides, until you nearly chirp out some sort of half-choked shriek to have Brian abruptly swoop in, scooping your hand in his. Entwining his long fingers with yours like a lover in leading you forth before you can nervously dawdle there a second longer, deeper into the sunlit bowels of this place.

“Relax,” he says; guiding you toward a little gift shop. To a small, vacant table just outside the sandwich café that’s attached at its side. And as he pulls from it one of its metal chairs, ushering for you to sit, you obey only out of confusion whilst your mouth peters open to object.

“What are we doing?”

“Stay here,” he says, as gradually you bristle against how he watches you.

“You dragged me in here just to ditch me?”

He looks away. Barely paying you any mind as instead his interest travels across your surroundings. Seeming to take note of everyone and everything that passes through his vision.

“Would you believe me if I said I’m trying to protect you?” he asks at last, with barely a glance.

You stare up at him as he continues to ignore you. Not knowing what to say to that. Not sure if you believe him.

In the end, it doesn’t matter whether he’s genuine or not.

“I don’t need protecting,” you mutter at length. 

He’s studious as his gaze returns to yours beneath him. Weighing something unsaid behind the veil that leaves him such a mystery, before eventually offering you his graceful hand.

One corner of his lips hints up at how surprised you apparently look to have so easily convinced him.

“As the lady insists,” he says, quite simply. His hand remaining offered. “Off to our appointment, then, my love.” 

Even then, when he’s agreeing with you, you find you hesitate before actually accepting his help. Something just feels off about him, always – in some way hidden, with almost everything he does or says. But you have a part to play in whatever his plan in this hospital. The part of his girlfriend, so you take his hand like a girlfriend would and allow him to whisk you to your feet, his pianist’s fingers intertwining again with yours as he leads you through the lobby. Toward a broad, offshooting sunlit hall.

Down one hall, and then another, with your grip squeezing more and more tightly with every step he leads you toward some unknown end; one that might see you both arrested.

“Are you trying to make my fingers go numb?” he finally asks you, and you belatedly realize just how dry your mouth is, how tight you’re squeezing. Struggling to swallow just so you can speak.

“Where are we going?”

He slows a step in glancing at a directory on the wall, before ushering you down another hallway, and at this point if you were asked to escape this maze on your own you’d be too lost to succeed. 

“You’ll see.”

“Or you could just tell me.”

“That’d spoil the surprise. Besides, what did I tell you about constantly questioning me?”

Something changes in his gait, just a hitch, but it’s enough for you to follow his pensive eyes toward a man at the end of the hall; a man who is swiftly approaching. Wearing teal scrubs and surgical booties, and it’s clear he’s in some sort of hurry.

“Speaking of not questioning me…” Brian muses, eyes on the man and his brisk approach. “I promise I’ll make this up to you–”

“Make what up to me?” you already question beneath how he hasn’t stopped talking–

“–but in the meantime just try and trust me with this next part, won’t you darling?–”

And you definitely don’t trust him, that’s maybe the last thing that comes to mind when you think of him, but you don’t have a chance to say that before Brian abruptly pivots the both of you toward the bend of an offshooting hall; effectively slamming the two of you into the man rushing toward you.

The man grunts out in startlement as you choke back a cry of surprise–the brunt of impact tearing your hand from Brian’s, sending you careening to the floor. But before the tile floor can harshly catch you, Brian’s snaked his lengthy arm around your waist; scooping you up against his side again, like a small, baby bird beneath his wing. Coddling you there as though you’re hurt, as though you’re fragile; turning your harried face up to his with a gentle hand steering your cheek while he asks, with such a visage of worry, “Babe, are you alright?”

You blink up at him stupidly. So surprised to see such a convincing show of emotion you still somehow find hard to believe.

Brian searches your expression as though for wounds he might mend, before tossing a vindictive gaze at the frazzled man before you. “What the fuck was that?!”

He’s pissed. You’ve never seen him so irate. And the man in scrubs blinks just as stupidly as you do. His confusion transformed to concern, then shortly shifting till he’s tight and defensive. 

He doesn’t say a thing. Biting back, you soon guess, on arguing with a supposed patient.

“You need to watch where you’re going,” Brian again berates him, and the man at last succeeds in swallowing what seems his objections. 

“‘m… Sorry,” he puts forth gruffly. Like he’s too impatient to mean it; raring to hurry off again. 

Brian’s harsh expression eases just a touch whilst his hand around your waist gives your side a little squeeze, and you can’t deny you don’t exactly mind being this close to him…

“You know what,” he extends at length, exhaling a tautened breath. “...This place is pure chaos. I think we might’ve turned right into you–I’m sorry, man. It’s been a hell of a day.”

The man’s expression loosens somewhat in relief as Brian turns in gently assessing you. “You’re not hurt, are you babe?”

Gods, you hate whatever ingratiating, carebear-tone he’s using. But you roughly swallow down distaste before forcing out flatly, “I’m fine.” Very much hating whatever this supposed plan of his is.

There’s a glisten in his gaze, just for you; lost before he looks to the scrubbed-up man before you again. “You good man?”

The man nods, “Yeah,” clearly in a hurry to see this awkward situation end. And Brian, ever courteous, sweetly sends him on his way.

“Well…” he says, with a smile a touch too clever, his tone a touch too cloy. “Off you go, then~” 

The man’s jaw stiffens, though he doesn’t argue what sarcasm bleeds through Brian’s otherwise kind dismissal. Just biting it all back before bustling off again, weaving his way past the both of you, hurrying once again down the hall.

You glance back over your shoulder, watching and waiting for him to turn out of sight, before raising a glare up at your supposed prince charming. “What the hell, Brian? That hurt. ”

The curve on his lips is devilish. As, with the theatrical flair of a seedy magician, he presents to you a keycard with the scrubbed man’s picture on it.

“Borrowed this from our friend,” he says mischievously.

You kind of want to laugh at how proud he seems about that, but you stuff that down along with how you might be somewhat impressed with how quickly he was able to nab that while also catching you before you hit the ground.

“After throwing me into him,” you grouse instead of applauding him. “Like a human smoke grenade.”

He smiles at your pouting, not even denying it. Cooing in that fake boyfriend voice, “Baby, I said I’d make it up to you.” Regarding you with all the playful craft of the devil himself as you wriggle and twist out from how his arm’s snaked warmly around your middle, creating some much needed distance between yourself and him. 

“You’re the worst boyfriend I’ve ever had,” you sourly comment, to which he charmingly grins. Taking your hand again before you can stop him, steering you closer once more; your naval beneath his own, such is the height of him.

“Oh… Baby…” he croons, like he feels so bad for you. Smiling so dark and sticky and sweet down at whatever your flustered face is doing beneath his. “You haven’t seen anything yet. Our date’s barely begun, and I’m only going to get so much worse.”

Releasing you from the near-fatal enchantment of his grip, he wanders further down the hall without you. Tossing back a little look across one broad shoulder as you just stupidly stand there, too frazzled to move. Hiking a brow expectantly.

“Better hurry up,” he spurs you. “Wouldn’t want our scrubbed-up friend to find you here after realizing his keycard’s walked off all by itself, now would you?”

It’s enough to prompt your reluctance into moving. As, no, you certainly don’t want a stolen keycard being found in either of your possessions.

The further Brian leads you through the hospital’s inner catacombs, the less natural light there is, until there’s no light at all beyond the buzz of fluorescence overhead, washing out everything until your world is stale and lifeless. And as more and more employees brush by, all wearing surgical scrubs, the more querying glances you receive as you’re passing by. Yet still, no one stops you. No one questions beyond a glance. Something about Brian’s confidence stopping them. So it would seem you’re still allowed here.

That is, until you reach a set of heavy, double doors hewn of metal, slotted with miniscule square windows. A dead end, at which Brian flashes his stolen keycard without a moment’s hesitance; completely second nature to breaking in. Holding it flat against the little black box of the doorway’s electronic lock, which beeps and flashes green before those heavy doors drag silently, automatically open.

Stepping through them after Brian, who steals carelessly in, your nerves are met with a wave of cold air as you wrap your arms around yourself to keep from shivering. Trying not to look as apprehensive as you feel, to be inconspicuous. All while Brian skates down these sterile halls like a lizard on ice. Like to pretend is a familiar second skin, perhaps even more familiar than donning the suit of himself. 

He nods you toward a drinking fountain near a pair of wooden doors; one on either side of it. Pausing in ushering you near.

“Now, listen, my lovely pupil,” he says; a flute-playing charmer to his spiteful, sharp-fanged snake. “I doubt our friend has access to the women’s dressing room.” His voice falls to a low, gentle murmur as some type of surgeon walks by, though it doesn’t stop him from continuing. “And loathe as I am to leave you fidgeting in the hallway by yourself, potential mishap that you are, I need to fetch us our costumes.”

Your gaze darts nervously about. “Is all this really necessary?”

There’s no way this is necessary.

His eyes are on the passing surgeon’s back as he gently takes your upper arm, guiding you into that little crook within the wall which houses the doors and fountain, before he steals a glance about yourselves ensuring you’re alone.

“All these questions,” he lours, his deliberation back on you. “Sit. Stay. I’ll be right back–try not to miss me too much.”

You’re left to insipidly grumble, “Wouldn’t dream of it,” as he leaves to scan his keycard at the door for the men’s dressing room. Though he twists a clever grin across one shoulder before he departs.

“Oh, I think you might.”

You don’t have time to bite back with something witty before he’s gone, and he’s gone for much longer than you expected or are at all comfortable with, preferring to’ve never been dragged in and ditched here at all. Left with pretending to get a drink every time someone busily passes so they can’t see how out of place you probably look. Unable to come up with any clever reason for why you should be here, in what you guess is the OR. If anyone asked what you’re doing, if you work here, you’d have no way to prove whatever lie you’d spin that you do.

You’re about halfway convinced to just ditch this handsome fuck to whatever devilry he’s up to while you instead hide in the car, when the door he passed through is suddenly opened, and with a sharp glance at the sound of it beside you, you almost don’t recognize him.

He’s wearing cerulean surgical scrubs, which billow yet somehow accentuate his tall, leanly muscled frame. Sky-hued booties are tugged over his overly expensive shoes. A laptop-sized black bag beneath one arm, which you assume was thefted from some poor someone in the dressing room, the bulk of it stowed with something. And you can’t help but stare as he ties on the blue surgical cap around his messy web of curls, the jawline-lengths of which stick out at mussied angles. Because it's kinda dorky, but also kinda…

Cute. 

Okay? 

He’s fucking adorable right now. 

And you stuff away your thoughts on this disastrous fact as you can’t help but gobble down an unhealthy eyeful of him, before staring at the wall as though its blank canvas is the most fascinating thing you’ve ever seen.

He seems to take a moment to remember you’re even there. Though eventually he’s raised a brow at whatever your face is doing. 

Luckily, he doesn't further question whatever your discomfited expression.

“C’mon,” he says, leading your way down the hall. “Need to find you a place to get dressed.”

A small frown tightens your lips before you’re hurrying after him. “Why can’t I get dressed in the bathroom?”

“They’re attached to the dressing rooms,” he explains as you bustle to reach him. “I’m afraid we’ll have to get a bit more creative than that.”

Great.

Wandering through those chilled, barren halls, you try not to steal too many glances through the tiny windows of each operating room you pass, not wanting to look any more like a tourist. Morbid curiosity having you catch a few glimpse of surgical teams surrounding unconscious patients; short tapestries of teal and white and red.

Brian tries his keycard at a door opposite the rows of operating rooms, which flashes red, before he’s fluidly moved on to the next, which lightly beeps as he’s allowed entrance.

He sidles in just a step; gazing up, glancing down. And as you shift forth alongside him, you see a poorly lit stairway that seems a constructional afterthought. Quiet, empty, cavernous.

With a satisfied hum, Brian gives a small nod in motioning you follow him in. Leading your way down the stairs to a small, center platform. Both your footsteps echoing for many flights up and down this towering room, and the door feels to slam behind you with how hushed it is in here. And though you’re not exactly enthused at the idea of getting undressed in here, you suppose it's better than nothing, and does seem relatively unused.

Brian’s already shuffling through his leather bag as you meet him on the center platform, and he’s shortly offering you a pile of pilfered clothes the same color as his.

“Scrub up, doctor,” he says, with a playful lilt. “We’re expected in surgery.”

Though as you take the costume he presents, waiting for him to look away so you can do just that, you find he doesn’t move. Doesn’t turn from how you slowly, cynically eye him by even an inch. Appearing more expectant with every second, perhaps just as expectant as you, though clearly you’re expecting different things.

“Are you going to turn around?” you finally ask him.

His smirk’s so slight you barely notice it teased upon the softness of his lips. 

“What,” he says, like he’s harmless. “I’m surveying the scene. Making sure no one stumbles across you with your pants down. You’d probably tangle them ‘round your ankles and fall right on your face if that happened.” His handsome face dons a mockery of concern. “I’m protecting you.”

Heat rises up your cheeks. “Go survey the scene somewhere else!”

You’re both at once distracted by the sound of a door opening high above you, both your gazes jerking up as it sounds to creak open, then heavily shut. Echoing about these vacant halls without anyone actually sounding to step in. And after moments of you both still and silent, tautly listening in ensuring you’re still alone, Brian finally looks back down at you.

“Relax, will you?” he states. Grabbing the loopholes of your jeans; tugging you just a step closer as your eyes grow all wavery and big. 

Words are honey on his tongue as he asks, “If I turn around will you stop being such a baby about this?”

You bite your lip, hard, before grousing up at him, “Let go of me before I pull my gun.”

It might’ve been a joke, if you didn’t sound so serious. And though you’re not sure how a gunshot going off at Jackson Memorial is the best way to continue laying low, you could scrounge together some story of how you followed someone you suspected might be the Ice Truck Killer into this very stairwell, if you had to. Of how you had to kill that certain someone in defending yourself.

His expression doesn’t change as he seems to weigh your words, the possibility within them. The merest glint, like sun on black ice, reflected from the recesses of his ebony gaze.

“So touchy,” he slowly remarks, before eventually releasing you. Finally turning away; broad shoulders and slender waist facing the wall opposite you. “Hurry up.” And you take full advantage of the absence of his dangerous gaze to change your clothes as quickly as you can–shedding your pants down hasty legs, wriggling into the lower half of your scrubs and tying them round your waist. 

It isn’t ‘till you have your top pulled up over your head, bra fully in view, that Brian speaks again.

“You need to learn to loosen up, detective,” he says to the empty space before him. “All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.”

“Don’t quote James Howell at me,” you say, tossing your discarded shirt on the dirty floor before slipping the teal one over your head. 

He sighs. “Can I do anything without you being a bitch about it?”

When he glances back at you, it’s lucky for him you’re fully dressed, seeing as otherwise you would have slapped him. And you despise how your cheeks start to burn as his dark eyes trace over you, slowly down your form, stirring unwanted heat in their wake. As slowly, slowly, they fall to the bulk of your gun, tucked awkwardly beneath the waistband of your pants.

Eventually, his eyes return to yours. Somewhat playful as he asks, “Is that a gun in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?”

“The gun one,” you return without pause. “I’m not happy. Not to see you. Any more questions?”

He merely raises his brows like one might to an ill-behaved child. “You can’t bring that; it’s completely obvious you’re carrying. Someone will notice.” He offers his hand, nodding toward the clothes on the floor. “Give me your clothes,” he says softly. “And the gun.” He says it like an afterthought, but his eyes are intently on yours. “I’ll hold onto them for the time being.”

Yeah fucking right.

There’s no way you’re letting this wolf in sheep’s clothing disarm you.

“Not happening.”

His handsome smile transforms to something else. Something with less warmth reflected on it, though still genteel enough. “You're going to get us thrown into hospital prison,” he mildly jests, before adding more carefully, “Don’t make me take it from you…”

You're not even sure it’s a threat. It could just as easily be him joking. It’s impossible to tell with him, or with any beast who doesn’t bare its teeth before lunging.

You thumb up the hem of your shirt in snaking your fingers round your Glock’s grip. 

“How about I hold onto the gun,” you plainly suggest, “and you lead us the fuck on so we can get what we need and get out of here, hm?”

His gaze is a shadow. Something lurking in ice-carved trees, a prowling aura you cannot see through darkness. But eventually, that snow settles with the seeming warmth of his smile. The corners of his eyes gently creased.

“Can’t wait to see you on stage tonight,” he says. Giving you a courteous amount of distance as he’s smooth to brush right past how you warily watch him. Heading back up those steps toward the door you came in, taking them easily two at a time. “At this rate, you’re bound to give quite the performance.”

He lazily scans the keycard at the electronic lock pad near the door, which gains you access once more to the OR.

“After you, little killer,” he says; hands slipped nonchalantly in the pockets of his surgical pants as he leans back on the opened door in holding it open, carefully regarding you as you remain for a moment down the steps. 

His eyes never leave yours as you dip down to grab your clothes off the floor in stiff, wary hands. As you make your way slowly up after him, impatiently tucking away your hair within the sheer, blue hairnet he’d previously bequeathed you.

One lithesome hand is offered at your approach, to which you hand over your clothes, and you assume he stuffs them away inside his bag before following after you as you hurry out into the hall, anxious to have him too close at heel.

His prowling, lengthy steps easily catch up to you, and it’s clear you could never outrun him.

“This way,” he says, before leading you further down the hall. Mildly checking what lie past the windows of a few doors, while a surgeon and anesthesiologist pass making small talk. He pays them no mind, while you avert your gaze nervously, until at last he’s humming out a little, “Ah… Here we are.” Flashing his stolen card at a door which obediently chirps and pops open at his request, and he holds its way open for you.

“Ladies first,” he says, with the watchfulness of a wolf.

You wish you could grab your gun as you pass him, but you’ve made it this far without being caught, so you just swallow your never-ending nerves and hurry past him. Hearing his low, throated chuckle right behind you as he follows you in.

Even that drags its claws down your nape, leaving trickling trails of gooseflesh down your skin that tingle and tease until you haphazardly paw them off you.

You wander into some sort of sterile supply room; one with several operating rooms attached to it, divided off by heavy doors. Rows and rows of metal, rolling carts with shelving are laid out before you, along with white cabinets lining each wall.

Brian wanders in past how you stand there uncertainly like he owns the place. Like he’s been here before, though he hasn’t. Or, at least you don’t think he has. It’s impossible to tell with him; he's a night-drenched enigma.

He tugs open one metal drawer, which rolls fluidly forth, before he’s swiftly closing and opening another.

“Tell me if you see any hardware,” he says as his eyes take quick inventory of everything he sees. “Saws, drills–that sort of thing.” Pausing just a blip to regard how you’re just standing there instead of obeying your murderous shepherd, instead wavering in place, not knowing what to do. “Go on,” he spurs, the patient teacher. “Get looking.”

You glance around the cold, fluorescent quiet, before questioning in a whisper, “What if someone comes in here?”

“What if someone comes in here?” he returns, rather dull. Already focused once more on the hunt. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed this, but you look like a surgical tech. That was kind of the whole point. Just tell them you’re looking for saline flushes or a bag of dextrose or something.”

Saline flushes or dextrose?

…How many times has he done this before?

Cautiously, you get to searching, seeing no quicker way of seeing this perilous mission through. Unable to stop how you furtively glance around the too-bright silence at every little noise that isn’t Brian searching through drawers several shelves before you.

“Are you so familiar with this because you’ve worked in a hospital before?” you ask to distract from your nerves. “Or because you’ve made a habit of breaking into surgical units?”

You hear him slide closed a drawer and stride toward another. Completely heedless to the fully scrubbed male nurse who suddenly pushes into the room from one of the attached operating rooms.

The nurse glances at you both, before fetching a vial with a red lid from a cabinet right beside Brian. Walking back out again while you watch after him in anxious paranoia, and Brian seems not to notice him at all.

“Do I have to choose?” he muses, nonchalant, before exhaling a low and exclamative, “Ah- hah~ ”

You suppose he’s hit the jackpot, thank god–and, closing the cabinet you were sifting edgily through, you make your way over to see what he’s so happy about. Spotting him spare a short glance about before stuffing some sort of… is that a saw? –inside his opened bag.

He smiles at your questioning look.

“Oscillating orthopedic bone saw,” he explains, as though answering what you’ve failed to ask. As if that will suddenly make sense to you, when you still have no idea what an oscillating orthopedic bone saw is other than it’ll obviously make quick work of dicing marrow.

Why he couldn’t just use a regular saw for that, you fail to grasp. Then again, there’s apparently far more types of saws in this world than you’d ever realized before your adventures today. 

You see him grab a few scalpels. Some forceps of various size, along with some different metallic contraptions. One of which especially appears like some kind of torture device, and you expressely don’t question what it’s all for.

But he’s not done yet; by all accounts not having stealthed all this way just for nothing. He bags another sort of saw, like a thick wand with a small, circular blade at its fore, and something else you barely see beyond the tail of its electrical plug, before buckling closed his bag at last.

“I think we’re all done here,” he says. Motioning with his dark-scruffed, angular jaw back toward the door you came in. As if this endeavor was all so damn casual and not potentially life altering. “C’mon.” 

Your heart’s a skipping drum; your path from the hospital a restless dream. Neither one of you really talking as you follow him making his way so apathetically out of the hospital’s surgical unit. 

It isn’t until you’re out of the OR that he makes what you assume is the allusion of small talk whilst the both of you retrace your steps through this sprawling maze, which you do your best to keep up with as though not anxious at all about the slew of stolen medical gear you’ve got currently stashed away. And about halfway back to the gift shop (you think, such is your lack of direction), he nods you off to a patient bathroom to change, while he saunters off to do likewise.

You throw your scrubs in the trash, not knowing what else to do with them. Adopting once more your role of twitterpated girlfriend as he holds your hand and guides you, while you ignore how much comfort you draw from his touch. And by the time you’ve both finally breached the hospital’s doors, are tucked safely within the confines of his candy-red car once more, you’re so relieved you’re nearly giddy.

“Fuck I never want to do that again,” you exhale, while he gives you that little look you suspect is once more questioning why you’re such a headache about everything, which you promptly ignore. “Alright, drop me back off at my car.”

“Not yet,” he returns. Smirking at your incredulous glance. “We've still got some time to kill, amongst other things…” Gods, he thinks he’s so clever, doesn’t he? “And this isn’t a proper date if I don’t take you out to dinner before our show.”

Your stomach clenches at the mere mention of food, whilst he starts up the car beside you. “I’m not hungry, and this isn’t a date.”

“Oh, c’mon,” he says, lighthearted. “You can’t work on an empty stomach.”

“That’s precisely how I’d like to work tonight, thanks.”

“Why?” he asks, far too coy. “Afraid you might lose your dinner?”

Yes.

“No.”

A smile slowly spreads across his face as he shifts the car out of park; eyes on the road. “I know just the place. Reclusive. Romantic. ”

You feel yourself sinking lower in your seat as you stare desperately out the window.

Just what you need….

More time alone with this annoyingly good-looking freak.

“Fine,” you say flatly, but he lowers his lashes like that’s the most romantic thing.

“Are you always this in love with me?”

“I told you I’m not hungry.”

“Then you can watch me eat,” he returns, promptly ignoring your complaints. “I’m starving .”

The sun’s just beginning to set, molten hues burned against palm tree skyline, as Brian pulls into an alley lot beside some warmly lit restaurant and bar you’ve never heard of. The car wheels rumbling across old, cracking asphalt, before he weaves into a spot. Shifting his expensive car into park before getting out, and you sit there–tensely, silently debating in that war within yourself–deciding if you should just refuse to follow him on inside, only to jump as your door is abruptly opened for you.

How does he keep sneaking up on you like that?!

Lofting from on high, Brian offers you his hand, and he’s really going in hard on the date angle, isn’t he?

“Madam?”

Yeah. He really is. And he looks so cheeky about it, too.

But you just unbuckle your seatbelt and take his offered hand; adopting his beguiled tone as he helps you to your feet. “Thank you, darling.”

There’s the smallest blip before his smile spreads wider, showing teeth. 

It’s so disarming when he smiles like that. Like he actually means it.

“C’mon,” he says, good-natured. Ushering you on his arm through the dim-lit alley, out to where the front of the small establishment is radiating warmth and low, Cuban music. Its walkway strung rafters-to-lamp posts with strands of fairy lights that dazzle against the oncoming night. Muted laughs and clinking glasses gliding out into the night from inside.

It’s homey, this place. Like a hole in the wall where everyone’s a regular, and you just know the food is worthy of licking your plate. But it’s hard to enjoy the comfortable, intimate ambiance when it’s the Ice Truck Killer leading you toward the elderly hostess who pleasantly greets you both; who leads you toward a secluded corner of the room, to a booth procured for you at Brian’s request.

He doesn’t glance at the menu as he slides in opposite you, one arm spread along the ruby-pillow backrest of the seat you share, curved as it is around the darkwood table. “Ready to order when you are.”

You pick up the menu as if it might contaminate you, the idea of food so presently revolting. “I take it you eat here a lot?”

“You’d be hard pressed to find better Cuban food,” he says. “The pollo sofrito’s good if you’re in the mood for chicken.”

You never thought a wanted serial killer would be so casually recommending you meals like it were the daily special. And you don’t want to order a thing. But when the waiter arrives and Brian orders two pork cubano’s (guess he really is starving), you just read the first thing off the menu you see, not really registering what it even is.

It takes a long moment to notice the way Brian’s cleverly smiling at you across the table.

“What?” you ask, but he only shrugs. Arm still comfortably outstretched along the curving seat’s backrest.

“Nothing.”

Yeah fucking right he’s thinking nothing. You’re starting to suspect this man is always scheming. But instead of calling him out on it, you find you’d rather pick his labyrinthine brain about something else. Something you’re surprised you’re so curious about, the more it presses upon your mind, though you don’t know fully why. It shouldn’t matter, but somehow…

You’re just curious.

“Can I ask you something?” you wonder across the table, and he quirks a raven brow in your direction.

“Seems to me you already are.”

It’s enough of an invitation.

Still, you uncomfortably rub your arm. Tuck away a strand of hair to steady yourself, before pressing onward. All while he watches you with what seems a gentle, mounting interest.

“I barely knew who you were,” you say, “before… Well…” 

Before you were branded as the ‘Ice Truck Killer’.

You glance around, as if someone might be listening, might be privy to even your thoughts. Brian, meanwhile, doesn’t shift an inch from how his focus lies on you. And when at last your eyes return to his, it feels his own have never left you.

“I was at the hospital when Tony Tucci was fitted with the prosthetic you made him,” you say, in a slightly more hushed tone. Just in case someone might hear you, though you must admit Brian chose this table advantageously for a pair of would-be executioners like yourselves. “The grand reveal party, or whatever that was.”

His interest is visibly piqued; the curve of his rounded lips twitched in thought. “You were…? Huh… I don’t often forget a face.”

“I was only there for a few minutes,” you say, “and we never spoke.” Watching him closely as you add, “I saw you flirting up Deb, though.”

You pause, not sure if you’re waiting for him to respond to this, but he doesn't say a thing. And for a while, neither do you. The two of you merely observing one another from across the silent table. Attempting to peer inside one another, it would seem; to glean what secrets one’s words would keep out of reach.

“You guys seemed so cute together,” you murmur at length. 

His expression doesn’t change. He doesn’t comment, doesn’t deny, doesn’t agree with you. 

So you continue; left with no other recourse than to do so. 

“Was any of that real?”

Far-off dinnerware clatters lightly outside your mutual intensity. The soft chatter of restaurant patrons mingled with the low hum of Cuban music, drifting slowly past your ears. And it’s all you can hear for a while, as the man before you remains in watchful silence.

Eventually, he scarcely inclines his head.

“Not even remotely,” he says, with such bare conviction you find it hard to doubt his words are true. “She was a means to an end. Nothing more.”

Still, some part of you doesn’t believe that. Doesn’t want to believe that. You saw how much Deb loved him. What his betrayal put her through. Hell, she was engaged to the murderous bastard–was never the same after meeting him. 

He didn’t care at all for her? Not even in the slightest, most incomprehensible way?

“Why?” you ask, instead of denying what he’s told you. 

He barely moves. Scarcely appears to even breathe in how he watches you. “Why what?” 

Worrying the inside of your lower lip, you try again. Aren’t sure why this is even hard for you to word. “Why… How… How could you not care about her…? With how much she cared about you? She was completely in love with you.”

As you wait for him to respond, his expression slowly tilts into a frown. 

“She didn’t care about me,” he lowly says. “She cared about Rudy. A man who doesn’t exist. She cared for a ghost, whilst despising the animal hidden inside myself. The only thing she loved was my leash; the bars of my cage, and I don’t like hiding inside it.” His umber eyes trace across your expression. Calm. Unreadable. “I don’t want Dexter to hide, either. Nor you. Why lie to ourselves about what we are? It goes against the laws of nature.”

Some shade of discomfort, something sinister and tight, creeps up along your nape upon him placing you in the same league as he and Dexter.

“I’m not like you,” you faintly protest, and he smiles; a cruel, bare curve.

“Sure you’re not.”

You don’t know why that ties so many strings inside you, wrenching them all into knots. And as the food arrives, with you and Brian accepting your plates in polar opposite displays of enthusiasm, you’re still hopelessly unsettled. Toying with the pasta you apparently ordered, far from anything resembling hungry, while Brian picks up one pork cubano and eats in giant, animalistic bites like a man half starved, and if there was ever any reason to doubt he was a relative of Dexter, seeing him eat was all the proof you needed–better than a DNA test.

“You know,” he muses between wolfish bites, undisturbed by your previous conversation. “You keep saying you have to kill this guy.”

“I do,” you mull at the table, stirring your directionless fork across your plate, before glancing up at him. Seeing his dark brows lightly pinch for a moment.

“Why?”

For a moment, you can’t even register the question; confused, and surprised as you are that he’s asking. He’s always professed he didn’t care.

But now that he is asking, you’re hesitant to explain. Not wanting to relive what makes you see that vicious, unforgiving red; that makes you hollow and hateful and nothing else. 

You don’t want to talk about it. But words are already falling from your lips.

“My nephew is the cutest kid,” you say, sounding very far away to yourself. Still stirring noodles you no longer seem to see. “She’s six. Ava. Quirky in this dorky, fun-loving way.” Your little smile at the thought of her fades. “Honest. Trusting.”

Too trusting; you push the thought away. Try to focus past that red which already bleeds along the edges of your vision, poisons your every heartbeat until you can hardly think.

“Her mom, my sister,she… She’s a single mom. Always working. And I can’t babysit as much as I’d like.”

Your fork stops stirring; words ashen in your mouth. And you can’t seem to go on. Lost in a void of yourself.

In your silence, Brian’s nothing if not perceptive.

“What’d the babysitter do?” he quietly asks.

Your eyes flit up to him. Hand numb around your fork. 

You don’t want to think about it. Not until tonight.

“Does it matter?”

“Seems to matter to you,” he calmly returns; dark eyes never leaving you.

There’s a stone in your chest where your heart once lived. A foreign, ugly thing that doesn’t belong there.

“I found out he was… redefining the meaning of ‘story time’,” you hear yourself say, unwilling to go into detail. Such vile disgust raising its hands round your throat, smothering you, that feels like they could at any moment consume you. “Turned it into a game she didn’t like. One where he took all her clothes off...”

You’ve already said too much you don’t want to think about; you won’t continue. And Brian, ever watchful, doesn’t press for more. Though, after moments of dragging silence…

“You’re a cop,” he says. Hushed, yet quite bluntly. “And you and Dexter have been planning tonight for... what? Two weeks?” His expression is carefully unmoved. “Why didn’t you just arrest him?”

It’s like he already knows the answer. Just wants to hear you say it out loud. And though you’re loath to give him what he wants…

“Because I broke into his house, instead,” you find yourself admitting. 

Brian’s eyes are hawk-like. Perceptive to your every shift in expression. “Were you armed?”

You don't immediately answer. Or really answer him at all.

“It doesn’t matter,” you say. “He wasn’t home. But I found a bunch of hard drives under one of his floorboards while I waited for him.” You’re surprised your lip doesn’t bleed with how harshly you bite the inside of it. “One had my nephew’s name on it.”

You don’t know when you dropped your fork, only that you’re no longer holding it, and as you glare at the table it feels your jaw might snap.

“Turning him in is too good for him,” you murmur, so lowly you almost can’t hear how every word’s afflicted by hate. “I want that bastard dead. I want to feel the life stripped from his pathetic body, piece by excruciating piece. Want to hear as he chokes and sobs and gags and begs for mercy he never gave, and make him feel all those terrible things he made all of those little girls feel, and then I want to personally ship what’s left of him to hell.”

You stare at the table for a long time. So long you forget where you are, who you’re here with. And when again you look at Brian, it feels his study never left. Remaining ever-watchful as he takes another giant bite of sandwich.

It’s almost funny how he can eat at a time like this. There’s no way, in this moment, you could register what hunger even is.

“The belt sander’s starting to make a lot more sense now,” he remarks between hungry bites. 

He’s so calm…

You should stay calm, too. Like he is. You’ll have to be in order to get through what you’re going to do tonight. But even knowing this, it still takes substantial effort to somehow shake yourself from this ugly beast that’s crawled inside you. To shed its cruelly comforting skin and continue being human, instead of whatever vicious creature it would see you transformed to.

He seems to notice you struggling, or perhaps he’s just bored of your strangled silence. Either way, he swallows his next famished bite before you feel him reach beneath the table. His fingers just barely brushed across one of your knees, soft across the fabric of your jeans.

It makes you jump, not expecting his sudden touch; your eyes darting sharply up to his.

He smiles slightly to receive such rapt attention.

“Don’t worry,” he says. And you find the stillness of him, the firmness, oddly soothing. Infecting your nerves and rewiring them into something more at ease. “He may not know it yet, but his road to hell is coming.” Slowly, he smiles as he watches you. “So long as you don’t chicken out on me, that is.”

For a moment, you can only stare. But gradually, his taunting scratches through that stifling weight which feels to press on your every surface, until you don’t know whether to cry or laugh, to scream or scoff or slap him, it’s all so overwhelming. But in the end, you’re somehow smiling, just like him. Its barest curve a mirror of his own.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” you venture softly. “Seeing me fail. Watching what happens.”

You’re surprised when he doesn’t immediately agree. And you can’t deny in him a sort of avid curiosity. A sort of hunger. A primal thirst, as he eyes you quietly from across the table.

“Not as much as I’d enjoy watching you work,” he says at last.

There’s only you and him. This room, it’s noise, it’s chaos–all of it sinks away, far and deep into a void, until there’s nothing left. And all you see is Brian, watching you like that from across the table. And all he seems to see–right now, and since first sitting–is you.