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cherienymphe · 11 months ago

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Teenage Dirtbag (JJ Maybank x Reader x Rafe Cameron)

Warnings: NON-CON, DUB-CON, abusive relationship, domestic violence, violence (+ gun violence), gun kink, dacryphilia, attempted murder, mentions of blood, public sex, jealousy, manipulation, infidelity, underage drinking, drug use, canon ages, kook!reader

➥ banner by @vase-of-lilies | ➥ divider by @firefly-graphics

➥ series masterlist

summary: You’re charmingly spoiled. You’re too kind for your own good. You’re the princess of Figure 8 …and you’re way out of JJ Maybank’s league, but when he realizes that Rafe Cameron’s pride and joy is actually a bruised and battered damsel, he’s determined to save you.

Your rescue just comes with a price.

Your arms were crossed tightly over your chest as you walked down the street. It was late, much too late to be walking down the streets of Kildare County by yourself, but it was the only solution you could find to allow yourself to think. You just needed some time to think, that was all, and once that was over, you had every intention of going back to the party.

Most especially before Rafe noticed you were gone.

When you slipped out of the bedroom under the guise of needing to pee, your boyfriend had been snorting yet another line of white powder that was painstakingly familiar to you. You figured you had a decent amount of time before he pulled away from his conversation with Kelce and Topper long enough to take note of your absence. A shudder passed through you, and you swiped your tongue between your lips.

It was the middle of December, and even if you were actually dressed for the weather—which you weren’t—it was still too cold to be out and about like this. Your dress had sleeves, but little good they did you when the fabric stopped above your knees. Your pristine white converse did little to keep you warm too. A biting breeze from the ocean hit your cheek like straight ice, and you swallowed.

You welcomed the feeling.

Anything felt better than this aching and suffocating numbness you’d felt for months, now. The sting on your face was almost comforting in some way because the pain meant that you were alive. Beneath the loud buzz in your ears and the hollow feeling in your chest, you were still alive, and that was so relieving. Too many times you’d almost convinced yourself that you’d died and were living out the rest of your days in hell.

When your face felt even colder all of a sudden, you paused.

You were surprised to feel wetness when you reached up, staring at your fingers with something akin to disbelief. There was really only one reason you cried these days…so why were you crying, now? The ache in your shoulder from the other day had long subsided, so that couldn’t be it. You felt your face pinching a tad, brows furrowing as you just…stared at your fingers.

Only the distraction of headlights could pull your gaze away, and you were thankful that you weren’t in the road. You really didn’t think much at all of the approaching van, hardly sparing it another glance as you continued to walk down the street, telling yourself just five more minutes. Five more minutes, that was all you needed. Just…

Five more minutes.

To yourself.

Without Rafe.

You stopped again because you were once again pulled from your thoughts, but this time it was by the sound of a voice. Brows drawn together, you turned around, noting the familiarity of it. It was only when your eyes landed on familiar blonde hair did you finally give the van a double take, telling yourself that you’d seen it around town here and there.

Sarah’s boyfriend owned it.

“Y/N?” she wondered, both concern and disbelief coloring her tone. “What the hell are you doing out here this late?”

She was standing just by her open door, the van parked in the road, and she was rushing towards you before you could answer.

“It’s like forty something degrees outside,” Sarah breathed, reaching for her jacket.

You noticed that even underneath it, she was dressed more appropriately for the weather than you.

“Where’s Rafe?” she asked, handing you the thick coat, eyes still wide.

“He’s just…up the street,” you gestured. “I just…I just needed a minute.”

Your excuse was lame, and you knew it, and Sarah’s frown only deepened as you put on her coat.

“You just needed a minute at twelve o’clock in the morning? Are you crazy?” she chuckled, but you could tell it was a poor attempt to mask her worry. “Where’s the house? We’ll drive you.”

You wanted to protest, but you figured that Rafe would notice your absence soon—he always did—and you should be trying to get back to the party before he did. You couldn’t deal with his ire any day of the week, but there was something about today that was particularly maddening. If Rafe so much as raised his voice at you, you just knew you’d burst into tears.

“It’s really no big deal. There’s plenty of room in the back…if you don’t mind riding with a handful of Pogues, that is,” she teased, pulling you along.

She knew you didn’t care about that, but she liked to poke fun, anyway. However, her use of the plural had you faltering, and she noticed.

“Oh,” you said, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth. “Are Kiara and Cleo with you?”

“…and Pope and JJ,” she added, curiously eyeing you, now.

You were sure that your apprehension was all over your face, and you tried to weigh your options. There was no way Sarah was just going to let you walk back by yourself, it would be a losing battle that’d more than likely result in Rafe noticing you were gone by the time you finally got back. On the other hand, though, it would be just your luck to hop in after Rafe already noticed your absence.

Pope and JJ were names you weren’t all that familiar with a year ago, but you definitely were, now.

Even if they were Kooks, Rafe would lose his mind if he knew you were riding around with other guys. The guys in question being two people you regularly heard him complain about would only add fuel to the fire. One of them being JJ—a polite blond who’d smiled at you in The Wreck once—would send Rafe, and your physical wellbeing, spiraling.

The memory of that day had you blinking back tears, and you were somehow grateful when headlights blinded both you and Sarah.

Even if Rafe’s truck didn’t have a distinct sound, those obnoxious headlights were recognizable anywhere. As disappointed as you were that your alone time was officially over, you were relieved that you wouldn’t have to explain yourself to Sarah for the tears that were no doubt about to spill over. You’d seen the slight panic and shock on her face.

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

Those were the words that greeted you as soon as Rafe parked and hopped out of his truck.

“You said you were going to the bathroom and next thing I know, everybody I ask is saying they haven’t seen you for a while. Are you fucking-?”

“Rafe!”

Sarah’s tone was harsh, her tone incredulous, and she looked at her brother like he’d lost his mind. The eldest Cameron only just seemed to notice her presence—and that of the van—and you watched the way he snapped his mouth shut. By now, Sarah’s boyfriend had turned the van off, and you hadn’t noticed the door opening, revealing the rest of her friends inside.

They were anxiously watching the exchange.

“Sarah, it’s fine-.”

“It is not fine,” she argued, looking between you two. “Don’t talk to her like that.”

Her gaze was resting on her brother, now as he neared you.

“He’s just worried,” you defended him, attempting to placate her. “He’s right. It was stupid of me to be out here this late at night with no cellphone, no jacket…”

You trailed off with a shrug, leaning in to Rafe as he grabbed your hand and pulled you closer. Sarah’s expression didn’t change, and she fixed Rafe with a hard look to which he didn’t even acknowledge.

“I don’t care. There are nicer ways to get his point across to his own girlfriend,” she harshly whispered to which Rafe merely rolled his eyes.

He said nothing else to her, only choosing to pull you along instead. However, with another glance at you, he paused with a deep frown. You noticed that his gaze was on Sarah’s jacket, and so you were unsurprised when he reached for it. You tried to ignore the feeling of being watched.

“Take this off,” he told you, just loud enough for you to hear.

When you did, he roughly tossed it back at Sarah who struggled to not let it hit her face. He ignored her offended ‘hey!’, reaching for his own jacket instead and putting it on you. When your arms were through it, he pulled you towards his truck. You noticed how quiet he was the whole way, and you eyed him, knowing that a quiet Rafe was never a good thing.

As he helped you into the passenger seat, you could see that Sarah hadn’t moved, watching you two with her arms folded over her chest. By now, her boyfriend—whose name had finally come to you—had joined her, saying something to her that you couldn’t hear. Whatever it was didn’t exactly lighten her mood, and she only shook her head in response.

A somewhat familiar blond had joined both of them, now, saying something and lightly waving his arms about in a way that finally got them to move. John B. helped Sarah back into the van, but even as he made his way to the driver’s side, you noticed the blond still hadn’t gotten back inside. Just then, his blue eyes met yours through the windshield, and you didn’t hold his gaze for long.

Rafe finally joined you, and you lowered your eyes, resting them on your lap instead.

The last time you’d been face to face with JJ, it resulted in the one and only time you ever called the police on Rafe. That day felt like a lifetime ago, and it was something you desperately didn’t want to revisit. Rafe was jealous, always had been, and because that wasn’t changing anytime soon, your only option was to adjust and keep him happy.

“Anything could’ve happened to you,” Rafe finally said as he started the vehicle.

Taking a deep breath, you leaned back in the seat.

“I didn’t think I’d be gone that long. I just wanted some air for a bit,” you told him, looking at him, now as he started to drive.

He wouldn’t look at you, and that made your heart sink for so many reasons. One of his hands came up to rest at his lips, and even though his eyes were on the road…it still felt like he was looking dead at you.

“You lied to me,” he said after a while.

Your heart skipped a beat, and you sat up.

“No, I-I didn’t. I did go to the bathroom, but afterwards I just wanted some air. It was so loud, and everyone was smoking, and it was just too many people…”

Your words died in your throat when Rafe raised a hand, and you chewed on the inside of your cheek. When he didn’t say anything else, you settled for looking out the window. Despite being wrapped up in Rafe’s jacket, you still felt a chill go through you, and you rubbed your arms through the fabric. The silence in the truck was so suffocating and tense, and when you glanced at your boyfriend again, his gaze was still fixated on the road.

With anyone else…that would be normal, the right thing to do.

With Rafe—who was known to keep one eye on the road and one eye on you—it meant he didn’t want to look at you. You were internally cursing yourself…because you knew better. Leaving the party without Rafe, no matter the reason, was a bad idea, and you knew that…but you did it anyway. Everything had felt so suffocating, and you weren’t lying to him when you said you just wanted some air.

When you realized that Rafe was going to your house instead of his…

Your stomach flipped.

You looked at him again, this time with tearful eyes, but like before…he wouldn’t look at you. Furiously blinking, you tightened his jacket around you, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth. The world outside of the window started to slow as he neared the driveway, and you took a deep breath when he parked on the other side of your father’s car. When he shut the engine off, you both sat there for a few moments, Rafe only moving when you started to reach for him.

Swallowing down anything you wanted to say to make this better, you merely took his outstretched hand when he opened your door. His hold was firm as he walked you to the door, and you felt his heated gaze on you as you reached for your key. There was no doubt that your parents were asleep—the plan was to sleep over at Rafe’s, after all—and you were quick to put in the alarm code before it could wake them up.

When Rafe shut and locked the door, you looked at him.

“Are you staying over?” you quietly asked him, and Rafe didn’t break eye contact as he leaned against the door.

He merely gazed at you for what felt like a long time, slowly crossing his arms over his chest. His dark blond hair curtained along his forehead, and his blue eyes felt so intense in the low lighting. He took his time in dragging his gaze over you from head to toe, one brow raising when his eyes met yours again.

“Why wouldn’t I?” he wondered, tone even and dripping with sarcasm.

Swallowing down a sigh, you put the alarm back on, and it took no time for Rafe to reach for you, his hand resting on the back of your neck as he walked you upstairs. Both of your steps were quiet, neither one of you wanting to wake your parents, but Rafe didn’t want to wake them for a whole other reason.

“Have you lost your fucking mind?” he hissed as soon as your bedroom door was shut. “Huh?”

You stumbled when he shoved you away from him, and you fixed him with a look, taking off his jacket.

“I didn’t mean to be gone that long,” you quietly argued, and Rafe scoffed.

“That’s not the point, Y/N. You left the party alone in the middle of the night…no jacket, no phone, and with no one knowing where you went.”

Rafe spat the words at you, making you feel stupid—their intended effect you were sure—and you sat down on the edge of your bed. It was one of the rare moments where Rafe’s ire came from genuine worry…even if it was mixed with just a tad possessiveness. That was why his next words didn’t shock you.

You knew it was coming.

“…and what? Were you just…going to hop in John B.’s van before I got there?”

Rafe’s hands were spread out as he looked at you, waiting for the answer you both knew he wouldn’t like.

“Sarah offered a ride,” you told him.

“Sarah wasn’t alone.”

You clenched your jaw, looking away with a small sigh.

“So, what? You would’ve rather I just walk back to the party in the cold and by myself?”

His arms were folded over his chest as he looked down his nose at you, eyes hard.

“You left the party in that condition, didn’t you? That wasn’t too much of a concern then…”

This argument was going nowhere, and you knew you’d lose, so you simply held your tongue and fixed Rafe with a nod.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered.

You knew that was what Rafe wanted to hear, anyway—an apology. An apology for daring to go anywhere without him, for almost getting into a car with men who weren’t him, for running the risk of anyone knowing that your relationship with Rafe was less than perfect. When his shoulders sagged at hearing those words, you felt a little relieved.

“That was stupid,” he eventually said, nearing you. “…and I didn’t know where you were or what might have happened to you.”

His hand came up to brush against your cheek, and you reached up, resting your own over his. For just a split second, you saw the fear in his blue gaze, and it never not fascinated you. Rafe could be so horrible to you, sometimes…beyond horrible, but then in the next second, he was that vulnerable kid who just wanted to be chosen—favored. For whatever reason, he sought that in you, and the thought of losing you drove him mad. It always gave you whiplash.

…because you’d lost count of how many times he’d threatened to kill you if you ever left him.

He leaned down to press his lips against yours, and when you kissed him back, he rubbed his hands up and down your arms.

“Let’s get you warmed up,” he chuckled, pulling you to your feet and towards your bathroom.

As you turned on the shower, Rafe went to get clothes for the both of you. It only took a few seconds for the water to get hot, and when you pulled your hand from under the spray of water, you were startled by Rafe’s presence just behind you.

When the back of your head hit the wall, the sound of the shower drowned it out, and your eyes were wide as Rafe harshly pressed his fingers into your jaw. There was nothing unreadable about his expression. All of his anger and annoyance was plain as day on his face, blue eyes glinting in a way that was scarily familiar. When you reached up to grab his wrist, he only tightened his grip on your face.

“I would rather see you run down in the street like a dog than riding around with any of those Pogues,” he calmly told you, and you released a shaky breath. “Do you understand?”

He loosened his hold enough just to allow you to nod, and he ran his eyes over your face, seemingly satisfied with what he saw there before letting you go. You stared at his back as he turned around, furiously blinking away any tears that threatened to spill over. The chills that overtook your body were gone just as fast as they came, and you took a deep calming breath. You reached up to touch your jaw as he checked the water for himself, shakily starting to undress as Rafe did the same.

You stared at your window with the soft sound of Rafe’s breathing in your ear. His arm was haphazardly thrown over your waist, tethering you to him even in sleep. When you glanced at your clock, you noted that it was almost five in the morning, meaning you’d been up out of your sleep for almost an hour and a half. Once awake, you hadn’t been able to keep your eyes closed, and so you just laid there deep in thought.

Your jaw still ached a bit from Rafe’s brief but harsh hold, and you reached up to touch it.

Every fiber of your being had screamed at you to just stay at the party, telling yourself it was a recipe for disaster, but you’d gone against your instincts. Gone against what you’d been conditioned to do. Truthfully, the night could have ended so much worse, and you wanted to scream at how lucky you felt that you got off lightly. How lucky you felt that you’d only gotten some harsh words and a tight pinch to the jaw.

How lucky you felt that you wouldn’t have to put on any extra makeup for a week.

You could feel your eyes stinging, something that only happened in those moments where you let your guard down. When Rafe asked you out all those months ago—two years to be exact—you could never have imagined that this was where the two of you would end up. The beginning of your nightmare, your nineteenth birthday, was always on your mind, and you never not blamed yourself.

Rafe hit you…and you stayed.

…and now you were paying for it with your life.

You wiped your face, throat tight as you slowly sat up. Rafe’s arm slipped as you stood, and you looked over your shoulder at him, relieved to see that he was still asleep. You desperately clung to those rare moments of solitude, taking advantage of every second to just gather your thoughts and mentally prepare yourself for another day of lies.

Accepting that you wouldn’t be going back to sleep, you made your way downstairs.

Every time you smiled, you were lying. Every thread of your fingers through Rafe’s was a lie. Anytime your parents praised Rafe and gushed about him, you agreed, and that too was a lie. Rafe hadn’t been a good boyfriend in over a year, and you sometimes found yourself wondering if he ever was. After all, hadn’t it been four months into your relationship when he first started pressuring you for sex? It seemed like such a small thing then, something to overlook, and you wondered if anyone in the world was as desperate for a time machine as much as you.

Recalling what time your father usually got started with his day, you set about putting some coffee on. As much as you wanted to get started on breakfast to distract yourself, you knew how much your mother enjoyed that, and so you decided to leave that for her. Rafe had this strange way of sensing your absence in his sleep, so you weren’t surprised to find him awake when you went back upstairs.

“Morning, baby,” he mumbled, cheek pressed to the pillow and hooded gaze focused on you.

You were gentle in closing the door, not wanting to wake your parents before their normal time…but also because Rafe usually had one thing on his mind when he first woke up.

“Good morning,” you softly replied. “I was just making my father some coffee.”

Rafe’s eyes were on you as you rejoined him, hair going every which way as he shifted to watch you get comfortable under the cover. When you looked at him, he was smiling at you, soft lips turned upwards just a tad in the low lighting as the sun just started to rise. You couldn’t pinpoint the look on his face, and you were just starting to get a little worried when he chuckled.

“Have I told you…how great you’re going to be with our kids some day?”

You let out a light laugh too, looking away and feeling your gut twist a tad.

“You do say it more often than I would like,” you admitted, and Rafe scoffed, leaning in some.

“What? You don’t want to have my babies? A bunch of spoiled brats running around and hanging off of your legs?” he wondered, pulling at the sleeve of your shirt.

You tried not to think about it for too long.

“No, I… I��m just saying we’re twenty,” you emphasized. “Isn’t that something we’re supposed to be thinking about a good six…seven years from now?”

When you looked at Rafe again, his smile had dimmed a bit. It was subtle, but the difference was anything but to you. You knew your boyfriend like the back of your hand, and you swallowed when he propped his head up on his hand. He stared at you for a good amount of time, lightly chewing on his bottom lip.

“Yeah, but…” he held your gaze. “How else can I guarantee you’ll never leave me?”

His tone was light, but there was a hint of something in there that told you he was entirely serious. Even when he suddenly laughed, shaking his head at you and taking your hand, you weren’t fooled. The glint in his blue eyes prevented you from being fooled.

“You know I’m just fucking with you,” he said. “I just like the thought.”

He suddenly exhaled, face falling a bit as he played with your fingers. His smile slowly dropped entirely, eyes dimming just a tad as he rested them on your joined fingers. So much of your time with Rafe was spent watching him, waiting for him to say or do something just so you could gauge how you needed to react. Gauge the choice that would bring the least damage. You watched him swipe his tongue between his lips, brows pulling together just a tad.

“About last night…”

You straightened, pressing your back to your headboard with a shake of your head.

“Don’t worry about it-.”

“No, last night…shouldn’t have happened,” he whispered to you, lightly tapping your hand. “I told both you and my dad that I was going to work on that.”

He did.

He lied.

Or at least…that was how it seemed. It wasn’t like you knew what was going on in Rafe’s head better than him, so for all you knew, Rafe was actually trying. That was the deal, after all. Ward saves Rafe from going to jail and Rafe works on his temper. With that being said though, you hadn’t known how to tell Ward that you didn’t think the problem was Rafe’s temper.

Rafe Cameron was a very calculating individual.

God knows he was a lot of things but dumb simply wasn’t one of them. Rafe was the kind of person who just always seemed to be aware of his actions—too aware. Truth be told, you didn’t even think he had a temper. He just preferred to react to certain things a certain way because every time he hit you…grabbed you…even when he was yelling at you, there was a certain calmness to his visage that clued you in on the truth.

The problem was never that Rafe couldn’t control himself…because he could control himself just fine.

Rafe simply liked scaring you.

“You don’t understand how terrified I was when I couldn’t find you,” he continued, and you nodded.

“It was stupid, I know,” you agreed, briefly looking at your lap.

“Anything could’ve happened to you,” he roughly exhaled, lying flat on his back. “…and then I saw you about to hop into John B.’s van.”

Rafe shook his head in disgust, gaze focused on your ceiling.

“I couldn’t think straight,” he murmured. “All I saw was…red.”

You didn’t know how to respond, mind lingering on what he said last night. Rafe’s thoughts seemed to stray there too, and he suddenly let out a bitter chuckle.

“You don’t know what they’re like…”

That was true.

Your parents had never let you associate with anyone or anything from The Cut, and that had stuck with you even when you became an adult. It wasn’t like you believed the same things Rafe and his friends did, it was purely about being respectful of your parents’ wishes. Besides, you never had any reason or opportunity to mingle with anyone from that side of the island—every party you ever went to was in someone’s fancy house.

…but then Sarah started dating John B. Routledge…and she seemed happy with him…and happy with his friends.

…and so you figured they couldn’t be as bad as Rafe claimed.

“All they do is go around fucking up their own lives…and then turning around and blaming us because they refuse to…I don’t know, get their shit together,” Rafe sneered, sitting up. “They’re a bunch of low-lives, and if I actually gave a crap about Sarah and what she does, she wouldn’t be anywhere near any of them either.”

You watched Rafe pull on one of his many shirts he kept in your room, one hand running through his hair.

“So, I promise I’m not being my usual asshole self when I say,” he paused, looking at you. “You really would be better off dead than hanging around any of them.”

You pressed your lips together, nodding when Rafe told you he was going to grab something to drink. When he asked you if you wanted anything, you simply shook your head, turning to gaze out the window the second he was gone.

Rafe’s hand was tight on yours as he walked you down the beach, keeping you as close as humanly possible.

You knew parties were held on the beach all the time, especially the annual big bonfire, but you just never had it in you to go. However, when Rafe mentioned he’d be meeting Topper and Kelce there later, you didn’t quite know what came over you to ask about tagging along.

It had thrown Rafe.

“Baby…that’s not really your thing,” he’d lightly laughed, resting his hands on your arms.

You’d thought about it, humming.

“Mm, no, but… It’s your thing, and I’ve never been, and it’s not like I’d ever go by myself, so why not go with you?”

You’d given him a pleading smile, something you’d learned to perfect with Rafe if you wanted any sliver of happiness in this relationship. It had taken him much too long to consider, finally relenting and going to his dresser to find you something to wear. As he’d helped you get dressed, he made his concerns clear.

“You stay with me the whole night, alright…?” he’d said, tying your shoelaces and glancing up at you. “There are a lot of…questionable people at these parties. You’re not just among friends.”

Once you arrived on the scene, it hadn’t taken you long to figure out what Rafe meant.

It wasn’t the kind of party that only consisted of rich kids you went to high school with and who you’d see at the country club. You were sure you’d never been to a party where you didn’t recognize ninety percent of everyone you passed your eyes over. It was one thing to know you were kind of sheltered.

Something else entirely to bear witness to it.

“You didn’t tell me you were bringing Y/N along,” Topper greeted, nodding at you.

You only smiled back in response, heart sinking a bit when Kelce barely acknowledged you. You supposed you couldn’t blame him for his behavior. Even if no one knew the extent of Rafe’s wrath when it came to you, everyone still knew how he could get, and you tried not to dwell on the fact that Kelce’s aloofness had little to do with respect and more to do with how he viewed you in relation to Rafe.

You belonged to him.

…and so you couldn’t be treated like your own person.

You remained empty-handed while Topper got drinks for the rest of them, forced to occupy yourself some other way. You opted for drinking it all in, eyes lingering on couples too wrapped up in each other or some girl who wanted to attempt a keg stand. You didn’t feel as suffocated as you normally did at parties, cramped into one building with far too many people and no hint of fresh air. Out here on the beach, it was actually enjoyable.

The ocean breeze wasn’t even as cold as you’d expect, but instead a welcoming contrast to the heat from the fire.

For a moment, you even thought Rafe might bring you along again.

At least…until he showed up.

Your boyfriend had only half turned his body from you for less than a moment when you heard your name being called by an unfamiliar voice.

“I got it right,” he praised himself when you turned to face him, a beer in his hand as he held it out to you. “Can I interest you in a tasty Milwaukee beverage?”

For his own sake—and yours—you wanted to pretend that he wasn’t talking to you, but not only had he said your name as clear as day, he was also looking straight at you. That was something you weren’t used to—guys besides your father or Rafe or even his father holding eye contact with you for long. You couldn’t tell if he was brave or stupid. Your heart was in your throat when he stepped closer, and you were quick to shake your head.

“No, thanks,” your answer was hurried, and the blond that you were unfortunately becoming more familiar with only smiled in return.

“Come on,” he chuckled, extending his arm and the drink. “What, is it not fancy enough for you?”

You could tell that he was a little drunk, so maybe that was where his courage came from, but the mischievous grin on his pink lips also told you he knew he was being a little shit, right now. If it wasn’t for the way your stomach violently twisted into knots, you might’ve laughed too as you attempted to turn him down again.

“Hey, you know what, you know what? I’ll take it.”

Your boyfriend’s voice descended over the conversation like a sobering fog, and you tensed, taking a step back until your shoulder was grazing his chest again. You shrank in on yourself, mood declining even further at the prospect of what was to come. The blond before you noticed.

“Thank you, man, I appreciate it,” Rafe’s tone was mocking as he reached past you for the cup.

Your eyes widened a tad when it was pulled out of his reach.

“That’s nice of you to suggest that, Rafe, but I didn’t ask you.”

JJ—the drunk blond who was hellbent on ensuring you never attended another beach party ever again—kept his gaze on Rafe, that taunting smile twitching a bit.

“If you said pretty please, maybe, but you didn’t-.”

“Oh, okay, pretty please,” Rafe evenly repeated like the words were foreign to him. “Pretty please?”

“Yeah, so, Y/N…” JJ’s gaze was on you again, handing you the drink. “You can have it.”

You were in the middle of shaking your head again, opening your mouth to tell him you were fine when Rafe rudely beat you to it, declaring for you that you didn’t want it all the while knocking the drink in the other blonde’s face. Your lips parted when he stumbled back just a little, but you weren’t surprised when he put his hands on Rafe, shoving his chest just as you hurried to step out of the way. Rafe—always itching for a fight—seemed oddly satisfied to have just soaked JJ in beer, chuckling to himself.

“Dirty Pogues,” he laughed with a shake of his head, and you didn’t have time to linger on your disappointment with him before Sarah’s friend was punching him square in the face.

It was like you blinked, and they were fighting, and when you blinked again, John B. and Topper had joined them. Having been on the other side of Rafe’s fist before, you didn’t envy the younger blond when your boyfriend hit him hard enough to have him stumbling back. Even though you had long accepted Rafe’s penchant for violence, it didn’t mean you relished standing around and watching it.

“Rafe!”

It seemed that you were one of the few who actually wanted this fight to stop, so many other people seemingly enjoying this. You weren’t for so many reasons, but most of all because if Rafe walked away from this with a broken nose or black eye, you were getting some of the blame. Your eyes briefly met Sarah’s when she ran over, your gaze pleading.

“John B., chill,” she screamed at her boyfriend, pulling on his shirt. “Guys, guys-!”

Sarah was joined by a familiar face—you were positive it was Kiara—and you watched her help separate John B. and Topper while Pope was trying to get Rafe off of JJ. You thought to yourself that he managed to pull that off much easier than you imagined, but one glance down told you why that was. As Rafe stood, your stomach flipped at the sight before you.

JJ’s eyes were squeezed tight as he held a hand to his face, but that did little to stop the blood from seeping between his fingers. You were no doctor, but if you had to, you’d guess that he had a broken nose. The only reason Rafe was even able to be pulled off of him was solely because your boyfriend was satisfied with the damage he’d done.

Pope was helping him sit up, and despite the blood that dirtied his face, JJ still laughed at something his friend said. In the back of your mind, you could register your name being called, but you were still too focused on trying to make sure Sarah’s friend wasn’t seriously hurt. You couldn’t help but feel a little guilty, and when he glanced up, already bruising eyes resting on yours, your guilt grew. You were forced to focus on more important matters though when a rough grip seized your wrist.

“Didn’t you hear me calling you?” Rafe hissed, his gaze questioning when you finally looked at him. “We need to go. Kelce called the cops to break up this sad excuse for a party.”

You weren’t given the chance to respond to that, held at his side as Rafe stomped away from the beach and towards his truck. Against your better judgment, you glanced over your shoulder, thankful that Rafe was deep in a conversation with Topper and Kelce. You weren’t surprised to meet an eerily familiar shade of blue as your eyes met his, JJ half distracted by a conversation of his own as Sarah and her friends stood around him.

When he reached up to swipe his thumb along his bottom lip, wiping away blood in the process, he smiled at you, and like before, you couldn’t decide if he was brave…

…or stupid.

#jj maybank x reader #dark!jj maybank x reader #jj maybank #dark!jj maybank #obx imagine #obx fanfiction #jj maybank fanfiction #jj maybank imagines #outer banks #outer banks imagine #outer banks fanfiction

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total-dxmure · 1 year ago

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✦ MARLEY AND ME →【ELLIE WILLIAMS】→ CHAPTER THREE

pairing: modern!ellie williams x single mom!reader

summary: you’re a single mom just doing the best that she can to make ends meet. ellie can’t help but think that you're the kindest, most beautiful girl that she’s ever met. compared to taking care a little girl that's in her terrible twos, coming to terms with the fact that you’re a lesbian is a walk in the park. awkward first encounters, ellie’s broken gay-dar, and her overwhelming urge to take care of the care-giver. . . the road to domesticity is a long one, but it’s well worth the pining that it takes to get there.

warnings: THERE IS SMUT IN THIS CHAPTER MDNI!!! fingering (r receiving), exhibitionism if you squint, eventual substance use, no use of y/n (you have nicknames/petnames), the reader is marley’s biological mother, talk of coming to terms with ones sexuality, mention of a shitty baby daddy ( though there is no co-parenting between them), ellie is a total girl mom, lots and lots of fluff, ellie is an anxious dork in this fic, reader is broke but happy, ellie takes pride in being a provider, this is going to be a multi-part fic, ellie is an absolute simp for the reader since chapter one and will remain her #1 fan.

⬶ previous chapter | next chapter ⤅

The female sat in a heap on the floor, staring intently into the oven. It was almost as though she was willing the cake to rise, trying as hard as she could to convince the damn thing to do what it was supposed to do. She’d already checked the recipe numerous times, trying to see where she might have messed up. Ellie regretted not just doing what Jesse had told her to do. Bringing you some flowers would be better than showing up on your doorstep with an inedible dessert.

“It’s not fucking rising.” She cursed to herself, grabbing a clump of her hair and giving it a sharp tug.

Dirty dishes littered her kitchen counters, batter still splattered on one of her cabinets from the earlier electric mixer mishap. The woman could have easily picked up a store bought cake when she was at the grocery store getting the stupid ingredients, but she had been dumb enough to think that something homemade would taste better. It would seem that the college student enjoyed making her life harder, because on top of what seemed like an impossible workload from her professors, she’d run straight home from her classes, hell bent on making the best strawberry shortcake you and Marley had ever tasted. She’d seen the strawberries in your shopping cart when she had run into you at the grocery store earlier and thought it would be perfect. Only. . . the rubbery cake that didn’t appear to be getting any fluffier was far from perfect.

She’d done everything that the recipe had called for. You would think that doing something as easy as baking a sponge cake would be a walk in the park for someone that was majoring in astrophysics.

The cherry on top was the fact that she only had an hour to get ready before she’d have to leave her house. Which meant that she didn’t have enough time to make another stupid dessert. She turned off her oven with a defeated grunt, angrily stomping over to her fridge to see if she had anything.

It was empty, just like she knew it would be. She doubted that you would appreciate it if she brought over a frozen vegetarian lasagna, but that was all that she had left. Ellie had run out of options.

The phone rang three times before the man on the other end picked up.

“Whatcha want, girl?” Joel’s southern twang sounded on the other line.

Her shoulders instinctively slouched, her rapid heart rate calming ever so slightly.

“Joel. . . do you know how to make a sponge cake?” She asked, opening up a cabinet so that she could start grabbing for the ingredients that she had already put away.

“A sponge cake?” He questioned. She could hear rustling on the other end, then the familiar sound of his reading glasses being placed down onto a flat surface.

“I’m having dinner with a friend, and I wanted to bring dessert.” She was mumbling now, she knew that. Ellie could just imagine the aging man squinting his eyes, pressing the phone harder up against his ear so that he could hear her better.

“Jesse doesn’t care if you bake him a damn cake or not.”

She should have been offended that he thought that her only friend was Jesse. . . but he wasn’t exactly wrong about that. She huffed, rolling her eyes before leaning her hip up against the counter.

“It’s not for Jesse. I’m hanging out with someone else.” She didn’t feel like telling him the entire story of how she had met you, nor did she think that he was ready to hear about Marley.

“Uh- alright. You got a pen, kiddo?”

The woman’s heart was pounding as she climbed the steps up to the small house. She’d driven through the neighborhood quite a lot over the last four years, but would rather die than admit to you that her plug just so happened to live just a few houses down. The bag felt heavy in her hand, embarrassment weighing heavy on her mind as she thought about the fact that she’d have to assemble the fruit and whipped cream after dinner, seeing as the damn cake was still cooling. If there was one thing she could count on Joel to get right every time, it was cooking something delicious. She’d seen the man make a drool worthy meal out of little more than a can of Chef Boyardee, a few onions and fresh parmesan.

Ellie wasn’t Joel though, and there was a good chance that you’d bite into an eggshell. She’d tried her best to fish them out of the batter, but she was positive that she missed a few. She debated just leaving the dessert in her car.

The woman’s feet faltered on the porch, the old wood creaking underneath her. The home was small, but it was obvious that you’d tried to make it nice. Freshly planted flowers were in a few pots right by the screen door. Ellie could imagine Marley’s dirty little palms stuck elbow deep into the pots, wanting nothing more than to help you. Her lips twitched upwards into a smile before she could even help it, because she could hear your voice behind that door.

“Marley Mae! Get your cute little booty over here!” A loud little squeal echoed around the house, followed by a giggle that would even make a weathered soldier’s heart melt.

The woman looked over her outfit one last time, then brushed her free hand over her lips to make sure she hadn’t nervously chewed all of the chapstick off of them. She was wearing the A-Ha band shirt that Jesse had given her last Christmas, and had tucked it into a pair of high waisted trousers. It was stylish without making her look like a try-hard. She held the screen door open with the heel of her boot so that she could knock on the brightly painted door.

Red. It was a nice color too.

You cursed under your breath as you heard the knock, your heart racing as you realized that your daughter was running around the living room with the shirt that you had neatly laid out to wear for tonight. Your nervous brain malfunctioned though- it must have- because you called out to her.

“It’s open!” You wished that you could suck the words right back into your mouth, because there you were, standing right in front of the opening door, in nothing but a lacy blue bra.

She was looking down at the small step up, a few strands of auburn hair falling into her face. She was wearing a pair of high waisted mens dress pants, and the sleeves of her band shirt was cuffed at the sleeves, which showed off her toned arms.

If your brain was malfunctioning before. . . now it has completely shut down.

Marley didn’t seem to care about the visitor. The little girl continued to run around, your freshly washed off-the shoulder top wrinkled in her hands as she ran in circles around the living room. She wasn’t quite sure what she was doing, so you couldn’t be angry. You’d reacted so strongly to her pulling the shirt off of the bed, which was your mistake. She thought it was funny when you chased her, and so you were the idiot for acting on your panicked impulses.

So here you were, completely topless and standing directly in front of Ellie, who still hadn’t noticed your partial nakedness seeing as she was setting the bag she was holding down by the front door. Was she too nervous to look at you? Or. . . was she usually this clueless about her surroundings?

“I was kinda scared that I’d driven to the wrong house-” Her eyes fell on the toddler running around with a shirt in her hands first, her eyebrows knitting in confusion. You could see her lips pull up into a mischievous smile, the understanding that the little girl was doing something that she wasn’t supposed to finally dawning on her.

Then she looked up at you, that same smile still pulling up at her lips and the corners of her bright green eyes.

But then she nearly died.

Both physically and mentally.

“Holy shi-” She stumbled back, throwing her arm behind her so that she could give you some privacy.

Because you were standing in front of her. In nothing but jeans and a bra. . .

And even calling that thing a bra was being too kind. The damned thing was merely pretty wire, polkadot mesh, and some lace. Ellie didn’t have to lay in bed and imagine what your breasts looked like. Not anymore. She’d gotten a full view of them along with your perfectly perky nipples, which was probably due to the box-fan you had turned on in the living room.

Ellie missed the panicked look on your face. She missed whatever words rushed past your lips, because she was too busy staring at your chest. You lurched forwards for her, and all the poor woman could do was stare at the way they bounced.

“Ellie, watch your arm!” You were stumbling forward, trying to yank her away from the old screen door.

You’d fallen victim to the loose metal grate too many times to count. The worst you’d gotten were a few cuts on your fingers that burned like a bitch. The fleshy part of Ellie’s forearm was headed straight for it though.

Ellie stumbled onto the porch, the terrible burning sensation in her arm not even registering.

“I-I’m so sorry,” She rasped out, eyes wide. Her cheeks were bright red all the way up to her ears.

Blood was dripping down to her fingers and splattering on the wooden deck, but she couldn’t hear anything over the ringing in her ears. Her whole body felt feverish, so the fresh blood went completely unnoticed.

You were covering up your chest with one hand as you hurried out onto the porch after her, using your free arm to grab her and haul her blabbering form inside.

“I-I don’t think it’s appropriate for me to. . . I think you have the wrong idea about me. Honest, I was going to tell you eventually, but I-” Ellie wasn’t straight, and it would be unfair of her to ogle at you under false pretenses.

It was hard to say anything though when you were rushing her into the kitchen. Ellie could barely keep up with you, stumbling a bit. Your eyes were wide for some reason. Maybe you were understanding where all of this was going. Maybe you were religiously straight, and she’d just ruined any possibility of a friendship. Had you noticed her staring? Holy fuck, of course you did.

“I’m a lesbian-” “You’re bleeding all over the place!”

You both went silent, staring at each other with wide eyes. Ellie’s gaze on your face faltered, and slowly she looked down at her arm, where you were currently keeping a firm grip. Your knuckles were practically white you were holding her so tightly. The athletic woman could understand why now. She wasn’t just bleeding but bleeding.

She was used to injuring herself. Ellie and Joel were outdoorsy people. She grew up learning to fish, hunt, and live off of the land. Which meant she had fallen out of a million trees, stabbed herself a thousand times, and has had more near death experiences than she’d care to admit. Her survival training should kick in. . . but it wasn’t.

Because your boobs were still directly in her face.

Honestly, there was no other way she’d rather die. It would take her a few hours to bleed to death from a cut like this, even if she had sliced clean through a vein. Maybe, if she were lucky, you’d feel bad for her and take off the pants too. She wondered for a second whether you were wearing a matching pair of panties.

‘Please God- if you exist- I hope she is wearing matching panties. I’ll make up for every rotten thing I’ve ever done if I could just. . .’

“Hospital.” You croaked, your lips going pale.

Ellie finally noticed the vein in your throat pounding away. Your eyes were beginning to well up with tears too. The woman swallowed thickly and painfully tore her attention off of your chest.

“I’m okay. I’m not in any pain. Let me see if I can wrap it up and stop the bleeding. I’ll drive myself to the hospital if I need to.” Her voice was steady. Her profusely bleeding wound was the only thing she felt certain and safe about in this situation.

“Don’t be stupid, Ellie,” You shook your head quickly, disappearing out of the kitchen. “I’m taking Marley to my mom’s house! Give me two minutes!” You sounded like you were on the opposite side of the house.

The front door opened and closed before Ellie could protest. All she could do was stand over the sink, her shaky hand reaching for paper towels in an attempt to wipe up what looked to be a murder scene on the tiled floor. She was bleeding all in your sink too, the smell of iron thick in the air. The blood wasn’t clotting, and it looked nowhere close to stopping. She twisted her forearm around, wincing when she finally noticed the cut. It was clean- deep. If you had the supplies at home, she could just stitch herself up here. . . but Ellie had a feeling that she’d terrify you if she tried that.

So. . . the hospital was the only choice.

You’d tossed a shirt over your head so quickly that you hadn’t even seen what it was. Your red converse slapped against the pavement as you ran across the street, Marley bouncing on your hip, babbling excitedly in your ear. You silently thanked the heavens that your daughter was a habitually happy baby and wasn’t feeding off of your anxiety.

You were nearly in tears by the time that you made it to your mother’s house. She answered the door almost immediately, her hair held up with chopsticks atop her head. She smiled sweetly at Marley, who held her arms open for her grandmother.

“What on earth is going on, baby-” She paused as she noticed the blood on your hands. “W-What. . .”

You shook your head, already stepping off of the porch. “I-It’s not mine. My friend accidentally sliced her arm open. I have to take her to the hospital. Can you watch Marley for me? Just until I get home.”

You knew your mother would agree. You were already running down the street, her hurried “of course” getting lost in the wind that breezed by your ears. Your hair was a mess, your cheeks felt hot, and you knew that you were crying.

Because of course you were.

Tonight was ruined, and it was all your fault. The pot roast that you had put on early this morning tasted perfect, the house was spotless, and Marley had actually gone down today for her two o’clock nap. This dinner had been terribly important to you. It wasn’t until you were stumbling up the steps of your own porch that you finally realized how much weight you’d put on this stupid little get together.

Ellie might not even be attracted to you. You could be reading the situation all wrong, but you were hoping that you could have a chance at love. Didn’t you deserve it? You tried and you tried for everyone else aside from yourself, and this was the first time you’d done something selfish in years.

The girl of your dreams was standing in your kitchen, practically gushing blood in your stainless steel sink, and you’d blown your chance at happiness. Your version of perfect was never going to be enough for anyone. Because you were broke with little to no education. . . and a child that couldn’t even spell her own name yet.

You sniffled, wiping at your eyes as you rounded the corner.

“Remind me to fix that door the next time I’m here.” Ellie wasn’t looking at you, which you were thankful for. She was too busy holding a wad of paper towels against the wound.

Your heart squeezed uncomfortably in your chest.

Next time. There was going to be a “next time”.

Ellie followed your gentle guidance out to your car, begrudgingly getting in the passenger seat. She felt guilty that you had to drive her all the way into town. That. . . and the fact that she probably traumatized your child, what with all the blood. You fumbled with the radio, trying to find a station that she might like.

“I like this song.” Ellie said calmly, and what do you know. . . your hand dropped back into your lap.

The car plummeted into silence, Depeche Mode playing softly over the speakers as she watched the sun finally drop behind the horizon, bathing the two of you in a blue twilight glow. Ellie was very familiar with Jackson.

It would be at least twenty minutes until you made it to the nearest Urgent Care. So she leaned back in the seat and tightened her grip on her arm.

“Can I see you again after this? Or. . . I understand if what I said earlier makes you uncomfortable.” Your silence was making her feel on edge.

Ellie had single handedly ruined dinner. She had a talent for ruining things, actually. Ellie Williams was the kind of person that should live away from other people. All she needed was a backpack and a hunting knife, and she’d feel safe. Safer than she would in a neighborhood full of people, really. Wild animals, deadly or not, were predictable. Bears and wolves attack, so you’ve gotta intimidate them. If all else fails, aim for the head.

Ellie couldn’t read you, and that scared her. Terrified her actually, because for some reason she was certain that being turned down by you would break her significantly more than any other rejection ever had. It would be the kind of pain that kept you in bed for days, overthinking every decision that had gotten you to that point. She didn’t want to be old and alone, thinking about the girl that she’d liked in her youth. It pained Ellie to even think about forgetting the exact color of your eyes, or the natural softness that your voice possessed.

Ellie didn’t know you well enough to be in love with you yet. . . but give her a few weeks, and she knew that she’d be a goner.

It wasn’t that you were the only person available. You weren’t in her friend group, so dating you wasn’t just what should be the natural progression of things. This wasn’t a small campus crush doomed to fail. Ellie hadn’t stopped thinking about you ever since you’d first walked into Tommy’s restaurant.

“Do you think I’m homophobic or something?” You spoke up, shooting her a small smile from where you sat.

“I mean. . . we live in Wyoming.” Ellie trailed off, but her lips turned up as you began to laugh.

“Yeah, you do have a point there.” Your shoulders began to slouch, an audible sigh of relief escaping you. “I was scared you wouldn’t want to see me again after this.” You admitted.

Ellie didn’t strike you as the type of person that liked to feel vulnerable, so you owed her some embarrassing truths. Even if it ended up mortifying you.

“I’ve had at least ten concussions in my life. Fifteen stitches is child's play.” She used the hand that wasn’t currently leaking blood to wave your worry off, sinking deeper into the old seat of your car. “Uh-” She sat up quickly, turning her head to look at the road that you’d just driven past.

“I think we should have made that turn-” “I’m a lesbian.”

Ellie’s eyes widened to the size of saucers, her neck nearly popping with the force that she used to look at your face. You’d sucked your bottom lip in between your teeth nervously, but your eyes were locked on the road.

“I know a shortcut. Relax, I’m not kidnapping you.” You added, turning onto a dirt road that she’d never seen before.

The hand that you had resting on your thigh was beginning to shake. You balled it into a tight fist, hoping she hadn’t noticed. That was the first time you’d ever said it outloud. Ellie was the first person you’d ever told about your sexuality, and you felt. . . liberated. And scared shitless.

“I’m not exactly too focused on the creepy backroads right now.” She mumbled, still staring at you.

The buttons on your dashboard were casting all sorts of shadows on your lovely face. Your eyelashes were so thick, and she was suddenly very aware of the fact that you’d put on makeup for her.

And oh god.

She really didn’t have a gaydar, because holy shit this was a date. She should have listened to Jesse and gotten you flowers. She should have put more effort into her appearance- slapped some clear mascara on at the very least.

If she wasn’t bleeding all over the white dish towel that you had wrapped around her arm, then she would have told you to put your car in park. The urge to kiss you was hurting her more than the gaping wound did. She bounced her leg, trying to distract herself from the aching need that was gnawing at the pit of her stomach.

“I mean. . . I’ve never been with a woman before, but all I know is that I’ve never liked guys. Not even a little bit.” You were spilling your guts now, and you couldn’t even stop it.

You’d been waiting to tell someone all of this since middle school. You were practically shaking like a leaf. It felt good to say all of it though, even if you were setting yourself up to get hurt.

Ellie thought back to what Jesse had said about lesbians having children. Never once had Ellie felt the need to force herself to sleep with a man to appear normal. Instead she just. . . hadn’t shown any interest in anyone. She was sure that Joel thought that she was asexual when she was growing up.

You. . . you had done something that had felt wrong to you, just so that others wouldn’t see you differently. Ellie wasn’t the type to get emotional, but she found her eyes getting a bit misty. Her small nose wrinkled a bit as she tried to fight the feeling.

“You’ve never even kissed a woman?” Ellie asked, finally recognizing the road that they were on. They were close to the emergency room. Too close, actually. She was hoping for a few more moments alone with you.

“No.” You were mortified to admit it, but you needed to.

You pulled into the parking lot and threw the car into park. That was enough embarrassment for one day. The sooner you could get her seen by a doctor, the sooner you could silently begin to come up with a plan to save tonight.

“How ‘bout I kiss you,” Her warm breath was on your cheek. You let out a small gasp and turned your head, eyes widening as you realized that she was leaning over the armrest, her hand gripping the back of your seat. “And then you’ll know for sure. It’s just a test.”

If God existed, Ellie knew that her being gay wasn’t the reason she’d for sure be sent to hell. She’d physically hurt a lot of people. She’d been expelled from just about every school she’d ever been in. For a while there, she and Joel were moving state to state for what felt like every school semester. She was sharp tongued and knew how to really lash out at others. She had two very capable, very dangerous hands. . . and she hadn’t been afraid to use them.

And here she was, using your own inexperience as a way to kiss you. She was desperate though. No matter how fucked up this tactic was, she would never come to regret it. You could rip her heart straight out of her chest for all she cared.

Ellie wanted you in every conceivable way.

She’d be your best friend if that was the only thing you needed from her. She’d fuck you every day of the week until you finally got bored of her and called her away. She’d wake up early just to make those pancakes your daughter loved in the mornings. . . All you had to do was say the word.

She was yours.

“What if,” Ellie could feel your breath fan over her lips. Her eyes fluttered, but she somehow managed to keep them open. “What if you don’t like it?”

“I will.” Ellie nodded gently, wishing she had two good hands to hold you with.

You were the one to press your lips to hers. You knew what you were doing, which partially shattered her heart into a thousand tiny pieces. Ellie wanted to be selfish with you. She wanted to be your first everything. She silently cursed whoever had come before her, but her brain shut off completely when she felt your hand move up to cup her cheek. The ear ringing from earlier resumed in full force the second your lips began moving against hers, your warm tongue brushing against her lower lip. Her grip on the back of your seat loosened, and instead she moved it to the base of your neck, pulling you impossibly closer to her.

She was in control of herself. She had kept the fact that the two of you were in a very public parking lot in mind.

Until the second you sighed into her open mouth. Game over. She was ruined.

Utterly ruined.

Her bloody hand reached over and yanked the key out of the ignition, fumbling to place it on the center console before she started pulling you over arm rest. She needed the weight of you on her lap. She needed pressure- sensation. She needed. She needed. She needed.

“How tinted are your windows?” She mumbled against your lips, her strong hands gripping your thighs so that she could help you straddle her.

You’d never actually been turned on by any of your sexual partners in the past. You usually just grinned and beared it, then laid awake at night wondering why on earth you weren’t like other girls.

All the two of you had done was make out, and your legs were already quivering. You were dripping wet, and was far too distracted by Ellie’s very pink, very kissed lips to think about the fact that you were wearing jeans.

“T-They’re legal, if that’s what you’re asking.” You could barely think, your hands already tangling back into Ellie’s hair.

She didn’t have time to whine out a complaint, because you were so pliant in her hands. You were this weak little mewling thing on top of her, and all she could do was grip onto you. Had either of you actually known pleasure before? Because Ellie was positive she’d never felt anything like this. She wasn’t even being touched, but she was certain that she could climax just like this.

Her hands gripped your waist, then brushed up your stomach. She didn’t ask for permission, which she’d apologize relentlessly for later. You weren’t stopping her though.

If anything, you were the one that had started the touching. You were currently stretching out the neck of her t-shirt, one hand gripping her chin and the other one spread out on her back, playing with the straps of her sports bra. You gasped into her mouth again as Ellie’s hand finally made contact with your breast. She remembered the way you looked in that bra earlier. Remembered how your tits had bounced- looked like they were practically going to burst over the thin bit of fabric-

“Oh, fuck.” Ellie cursed, hips moving upwards before she could calm herself.

“Doctor-” Your voice came out in a desperate little whine, and Ellie’s eyes rolled to the back of her head, her hips lifting up against yours again, the friction practically causing her to jump straight out of her skin.

“I’m- I’m not bleeding as bad anymore. Please. Please.” Ellie was pushing your bra up and over your breasts, lifting your shirt up with her bloody hand just so that she could look.

She’d fuck you right there in the back of the hospital parking lot. She’d never wanted anyone this badly before. This was just as new to her as it was for you. This felt. . . this all felt different.

Because you were touching her back. You weren’t some straight girl looking to turn a boy on by telling him that you’d been with a lesbian before.

You were gay, and you were interested in her. Ellie felt like she had died and gone to heaven, because this was everything that she’d ever wanted. . . minus the wound.

It was her begging that had you leaning back on your calves, untucking her shirt so roughly that she questioned whether or not the two of you would have to fight for dominance. She tossed her shirt into the drivers side seat, smiling when your lips were back on hers the second she was topless.

Your hands were cold when you pushed them underneath the tight fabric of her sports bra. You took advantage of that, feeling her nipples hardening against your palms. Her muscles tightened in her shoulders as you pinched them between your pointer and middle fingers, gripping the small breasts a little tighter, wanting to feel the weight of them.

She moaned against your lips, eyes clenching shut so hard that fireworks exploded behind her lids.

It was too late now.

Ellie was on a mission to make you cum.

She felt guilty that the two of you hadn’t even been on a first official date yet, and here she was, planning to finger fuck you in a parking lot- but could anyone really blame her?

“I’m gonna fuck you,” Ellie pulled away from your lips, instantly recognizing that this wasn’t her asking for consent. She flinched, shaking her head gently. “Is that okay?” She rephrased it, moving a hand down to the waistband of your jeans. She gave it a gentle tug, letting you know that she was serious. She couldn’t stop herself.

“Y-Your arm, Ellie.” You moved to grab her injured forearm, but she gripped your wrist before you could.

“Let’s say I stop now. Even if we did that, I won’t get seen for another hour by a doctor. I’m going to sit there and think about this,” She cupped your sex in her hand, the tips of her fingers brushing over your clothed entrance. “The entire time. I’ll stop if you climb out, but if we stay in here any longer I’m not going to be able to control myself.”

You bit your bottom lip again, your eyes narrowing in concern. Ellie wasn’t bleeding as badly as she was before, but she for sure needed a few stitches. She didn’t appear to be in any pain though. If anything, she seemed more focused on you. You didn’t want to kill the moment, but shouldn’t you-

Ellie began fidgeting with the top button on your jeans, and that was all it took. You wordlessly climbed into the backseat, smiling widely as you heard her scrambling to follow you.

You thanked all that was holy that you’d taken Marley’s car seat out earlier that morning to give to your mother since she was watching her tomorrow. You had the entire backseat, and despite the fact that the two of you were still out in the open, you felt a little more hidden now that the two of you were ducked down.

Ellie was already taking full advantage of the added bit of privacy, the hem of your shirt already up to your neck. She was pushing your bra back up and over your tits, eager to really look at you.

She wasn’t sure what this meant for either of you, and she didn’t feel like ruining the moment by complicating anything. Ellie liked you, and she was willing to wait until you felt the same about her too-

Was she being overly self conscious and stupid right now? Wasn’t this. . . wasn’t this proof enough of how you felt about her? You’d been the one to take the reins during this entire friendship. You’d asked for her number and invited her over for dinner. All Ellie had done was kiss you, only after you let her know that you were interested.

Ellie moved her lips from your mouth down your neck, pushing her hands under your hips so that she could move down your chest. She paused though, looking up at you worriedly.

“Am I going to hurt you if I suck on them?” She wasn’t sure how nursing works. She didn’t exactly have an overflow of women in her life to tell her about those sorts of things.

You laughed, shaking your head quickly. You were panting softly, your cheeks deliciously flushed. “No, but I can still produce milk, so be caref-”

“Okay, that’s the hottest thing I’ve ever heard.” Ellie had to brace herself, green eyes fully zoned into your beautiful, full breasts. So. . . if she sucked hard enough-

“Is this when you tell me that you have a mommy kink?” You asked playfully, starting to sit up.

“I didn’t,” She assured you, shooting you a small smile. “Until now. Lay back down.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, but you practically swallowed the noise when she finally closed her lips around your nipple, her hands making quick work of your jeans. They were unbuttoned and pushed down off of your hips before you could say anything. She removed her mouth from your breasts long enough to look at your panties.

And if god was real, they had answered her wish.

Because holy fuck you matched. Of course you did. She bit onto her lower lip hard, closing her eyes for a second so that she didn’t rip them right off of you. They were cute, and she wanted to see you in them again. Ellie wasn’t very good at being gentle in any aspect of her life.

Especially with you, it would seem.

She wanted to be mean to you all of a sudden. Leave bruises and marks to be explored later. She wanted to bite into your soft flesh and see just how easy it would be to leave hickies, but she couldn’t.

So she needed to breathe.

She leaned back up, pressing her lips against yours. She brushed her fingers against your thigh at first, letting you get used to the idea of her touching you. She desperately wanted to become more than acquainted with your cunt, but she needed to be gentle with you. You wrapped your arms around her tightly, your bare chest pressing against her clothed breasts. She wished she was naked. God, she regretted not being able to do this in bed. She’d gladly bleed to death if it meant that she could take her time with you.

She wanted to press every inch of her body against yours, but now wasn’t the time for that.

Her fingers grazed over your folds, and if her eyes weren’t closed then she was sure that they would have bulged straight out of her skull.

You were dripping.

Pride and possessiveness threatened to crush her ribs as she gathered up your slick, using it to rub a lazy circle around your clit. You jerked against her, but she didn’t let you pull your lips off of hers. She swallowed the strangled moan, eyes fluttering open briefly so that she could look at you.

You were precious.

She continued to draw circles, knowing that it was what she liked personally. She switched up the pace though, moving her arm to get better leverage. This time you were able to pull away from her, letting out a cry, your eyes opening so that you could look at Ellie’s face.

She was beautiful. Even with that predatorial look on her face, you couldn’t ignore the freckles and flushed cheeks. There was something so oppositional about her- how dominant but unassuming she looked. Here she was, moving you around like you weighed no more than a doll.

And then she sunk two of her fingers inside of you. The stretch was glorious, but it was the look on her face that had your walls fluttering around her. Pink lips parted to reveal her clenched teeth. Like she was damn near close to biting right into you. She was holding herself back fucking you like this. You weren’t sure what that meant, but your eyes were rolling to the back of your head the more you thought about it.

And then she brushed her thumb against your clit, her fingers nearly bruising your cervix as she continued to thrust them into you.

Your name escaped her lips then. She said it like a prayer. Like it was a promise.

Ellie curled her fingers inside of you, pressing against a spot that your much smaller hands couldn’t reach.

“Oh, fuck!” Your eyes were tearing up, hands fumbling around for anything to grip. You needed to hold something in order to ground yourself, because you were trying hard not to get the two of you arrested for indecent exposure.

Ellie was busy watching it all. She was sitting on her calves, greedily turning her gaze from your fucking gorgeous expressions to your glistening pussy, which was currently swallowing her fingers. Your walls were satiny soft, and she could feel them flutter around her as she continued hitting the same spot that got such a loud reaction from you earlier.

You were quivering under her, hands moving from the carseat, up to your breasts, and then your hair. You yanked at your locks, the pleasure practically too much. Ellie was this beautiful, vicious thing on top of you. It was obvious that she wanted to wrench out every bit of pleasure from you, even if you said it was too much. Even if you told her to stop. There was a glint in her eyes that told you she wouldn’t be able to. She was just as hungry for your release as you were.

“Grip onto me, baby.” She moved to lay back on top of you, adding a finger for extra measure.

Your hands were at her back immediately, fingernails digging into her freckled flesh. She pressed her face into your neck, enjoying your floral scent- moaning at the pain and the pleasure that was building in her own abdomen. She almost laughed- finding her own impending release comical.

Because there was no way she was about to prematurely cum because she was touching you, a girl that she was pretty much head over heels for. The tightening in her abdomen was familiar though, and all she could do was lamely moan your name against your throat.

“You’re not gonna hurt me. Hold me tighter.” She mumbled, her hand moving quicker and quicker, the sounds echoing around your car bordering on illegal.

You were the hottest thing on the entire planet. She was sure of it. Her hands shook as your nails dug in deeper, to the point that she was positive she was bleeding. She wanted a physical reminder of what happened tonight. Scars and all. Whatever she could take with her later on in life, especially if this was a one time thing.

She needed every physical and mental reminder that you were willing to give her. So Ellie moved her face so that she was looking at you, even when her own pleasure was building to the point where her own knees quivered, finding it hard to hold up her own weight.

She watched you unravel. Felt your cunt practically swallow her fingers as you tightened around them. Your back arched, eyes pinched closed as your cherubic lips parted in a silent scream.

And then Ellie followed right after you.

She leaned her head against your chest, hips jerking forward as she continued to work you through the waves of your own pleasure, trying not to get drowned by her own.

“D-Did you. . .” You breathlessly started to ask, your big doe eyes practically the size of saucers.

“I promise, t-this is the first time this has ever happened.” Ellie admitted, feeling a touch of shame.

You wanted to take a few minutes to calm your pounding heart, but the sight of the bloody towel on the floorboard had you clambering to sit up, moving your bra and shirt back into their rightful places. Ellie was still trying to catch her breath, the muscles in her shoulders still twitching from her own release. You opened up the car door after snatching up the keys, and for a second the auburn haired girl felt terrified.

She bit her lower lip, wiping her dripping fingers off on her pants before grabbing her shirt and climbing out of the car. Alright. . . so this was it, right? You knew you were a lesbian now, and she would be left in the dust. It wasn’t such a bad arrangement, really. She couldn’t even be mad.

Technically, if she really thought about it, you’d been just as much her first as she had been yours.

Her boots crunched against the gravel as she followed you into the hospital, her heart still pounding in her chest. She shrugged on the shirt as she walked, careful not to tug at the wound in any way.

Ellie’s forehead was beaded with sweat, and she nearly laughed at the ridiculousness of it all.

She’d never gotten her heart broken by a gay girl before, and here it was. For some reason. . . she knew with certainty that this was going to hurt ten times worse than any of the other ones had.

But then the hand that wasn’t sliced open from elbow to wrist was being gripped.

Your fingers intertwined with hers.

“I’m sorry to break it to you babe, but you’re definitely a lesbian.” Ellie told you with a small smile, opening the door to the lobby for you.

“Oh, for sure.”

✦ message me about being put on the taglist!

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why not to buy tlou2 remastered (please read)

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adventuresofalgy · 8 days ago

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Fed up with the prospect of endless Scotch mist and rain under perpetually dismal skies, and the thought of even shorter, darker days to come, Algy had listened to the warbling of the robin and resolved to set out on a brave new adventure, in search of the light and warmth and jollity which he had once heard could be found somewhere deep in the heart of the darkness, even in the dreariest northern winter…

However, there was just one wee technical problem… Algy hadn't the slightest idea where to look, or which direction to take.

But as a fluffy bird is not easily discouraged once he has set his mind on a definite course of action, Algy didn't pause to worry about that; he simply spun himself round and round and round again, recalling his eerie encounter with the bat on the night of Halloween, and then set off in the direction he faced once the spinning in his head and body had finally stopped.

At first he made good distance, flying at some speed low over the ground, but despite keeping an eye open for any kind of clue which might help him in his quest, Algy saw nothing unusual at all, and when the night started closing in around him, Algy paused to rest in the crook of a battered old multi-trunk tree, having collided rather painfully with the branches in the encroaching darkness and bumped his forehead, as even the bravest will at times:

We grow accustomed to the Dark - When light is put away - As when the Neighbor holds the Lamp To witness her Goodbye - A Moment - We uncertain step For newness of the night - Then - fit our Vision to the Dark - And meet the Road - erect - And so of larger - Darknesses - Those Evenings of the Brain - When not a Moon disclose a sign - Or Star - come out - within - The Bravest - grope a little - And sometimes hit a Tree Directly in the Forehead - But as they learn to see - Either the Darkness alters - Or something in the sight Adjusts itself to Midnight - And Life steps almost straight.

[Algy is thinking of the poem We grow accustomed to the Dark by the 19th century American poet Emily Dickinson.]

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justauthoring · 2 years ago

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completed

*completed: make (something) whole or perfect.

pairing: satosugu x f!reader, past satosugu

a/n: i... i want them.

warnings: making out?

You’d had the unfortunate pleasure of being in the same year as them.

And unlike Shoto, you were ever present in the Jujutsu Sorcerer world as them.

Sure, you weren’t as strong as them but that was a pretty high bar to beat -- you were pleased with your level of strength and you had no complaints in the field of missions that were given to you.

It wasn’t that that was unfortunate.

It was the fact that despite all odds and despite the amount of times you’d made yourself swear you wouldn’t fall in love with them -- you’d done just that. And not just one. No, for some reason you’re selfish little heart couldn’t be satisfied with just one of them and had to make your life just all that more confusing by making yourself fall in love with both of them.

Gojo was funny in a way that could be annoying, but also endlessly endearing. He was all jokes and laughs, never serious and almost constantly teasing you one way or another. It ranged from a multitude of things, something always different (and honestly, you were impressed he’d not run out of things to tease). Sometimes it annoyed you, most times it just made you giggle.

And then there were the times were he was so uncharacteristically serious. It always shocked you, to the point you’d almost give yourself whiplash; and yet, he was ever unphased. He’d look at you with those eyes of his, because when it was time to be serious, somehow it’d always be without his glasses. You found it hard to meet his eyes at the best of times, the striking blue enough to pierce you straight in the heart and leave you breathless.

But he’d touch you so gently, skin oddly soft against your own, warm and comforting as he’d asked you - with no trace of a joke anywhere - are you okay? Are you hurt? Said in such a tone that your legs would wobble and any pain you felt would practically cure itself just at the tone of his voice.

Until he’d bounce back, a bright smile curling on his lips when assured you were okay, ruffling your hair on your head with a chuckle; “you ought to be more careful, y/n-chan.” Leaving you to blink yourself out of your stupor and ignore the heavy weight of disappointment in your chest that maybe this time would be different.

And Geto? Geto was all charm and suave. A single look would have you giddy, and he was ever the gentlemen. He counter-acted Gojo’s ridiculous need to always be the funny one, opening doors for you, pulling out a seat for you, making sure he was always the one walking next to the road. He was never protective in a way that was overbearing or insulting, and even if you knew you were more then capable, sometimes you’d just let him.

Because it felt good.

He’d say your name in that way that leave your stomach a puddle of nerves, butterflies racing through you. Look at you in a way you swear no man ever has.

And when he’d let his guard down, be vulnerable, share his worries and concerns about himself, about Gojo, about his friends... about you; it’d warm your heart to have him be so open with you. To trust you enough to share things he’d only share with a select few (and that honestly, only stretched to Gojo most of the time). But yet, you were included. He trusted you the way you trusted him, and it felt so incredibly endearing it was hard to even believe sometimes.

They meant everything to you. Together or individually.

And the worst part?

They were in love with each other.

Whoever was at your dorm door had been banging on it for the past moment. Non-stop.

“Just--! Give me a second--!”

You’re rushing to get ready, hastily pulling the blazor of your uniform over your head as you try to brush down the mess of hair on your head. You’d woken up late this morning, having come back from a mission extremely late last night - battered and bruised and so incredibly tired that the second your eyes had found your bed, you’d all but passed out in seconds.

And it had been such a blissful sleep, that was until the loud pounding against your door abruptly woke you up.

“Y/N-chan! Open the dooooor!”

Huffing at the sound of Gojo, your lips part to yell something back before another voice cuts in.

“Would you shut it? She probably slept in. She had a mission last night, remember?”

Smiling at the sound of Geto’s consideration, your movements slow in response.

“Still,” Gojo continues to whine, before you’re pulled from your thoughts at his once again rather loud banging against your door. “I wanna see her!”

Rolling your eyes, you finishing straightening your hair, making your way over to the door and finally, to Gojo’s great relief, opening it. Gojo instantly brightens at the sight of you, offering you a short wave before simply inviting himself inside, slipping past you; and you watch him walk by, lips parting to say something before Geto cuts you off.

“I’m sorry about him,” Geto offers, pulling your eyes on him. You blink at him, before smiling, shrugging your shoulders as you step back to invite him in. He takes the invitation with a small smile, slipping past you and making his way to Gojo who he promptly slaps on the back of his head for jumping on your bed while you shut the door behind you.

“Sorry,” you breathe once they’re both looking at you. “I didn’t get in until like... four in the morning. I didn’t realize how late it was.”

“It’s okay, Y/N,” Geto assures.

“Should’ve asked me to come,” Gojo grins, “I would’ve had you home by like... eleven.”

Scoffing, you cross your arms over your chest; “I’m perfectly capable of doing a mission on my own, Satoru.”

He just shrugs; “still.”

Shaking your head, you simply stick your tongue out at him, making your way over to them as you take a seat beside Gojo on your bed, before falling back with a huff. “So,” you call out after a moment of silence. “What brings the both of you? We don’t have training for,” you pause to look at your phone, “another half hour, no?”

You expect some joke or some sort of tease -- from Gojo’s lips no less -- but instead, both of them are eerily quiet.

Puzzled, you slowly raise your head, only to find the both of them looking at you already and with a rather intense look on their faces.

“What?” You call, laughing lightly to ignore the bout of nerves welling up inside of you at their rather intense stares. “Do I have something on my face?” You try to joke, brushing back your hair albeit somewhat self-consciously.

Then, Geto and Gojo glance at each other.

“We actually wanted to talk to you,” Gojo is the first one to speak, pulling your gaze on him. He’s staring at you just as before, and it’s then you realize he’s taken off his glasses, setting them aside as he meets your gaze head on.

“Something we’ve been meaning to talk to you about for a while,” Geto adds, pulling your eyes on him.

“O-Oh?” You breathe, moving to sit up, “is everything--”

You never get to finish your sentense as you’re suddenly pulled by the wrist into Gojo’s lap. It pulls a startle cry from your lips, the action both startling and confusing as your vision spins for a moment before all you can see is just Gojo staring back at you, his eyes having softened and a new... look on his face as he stares back at you.

“Satoru,” Geto hisses from behind you -- and it’s then you realize just how close he is, chest pressed against your back, towering over you. “We said we’d take it slow.”

“Sorry,” Gojo shrugs but honestly, he doesn’t seem really all that apologetic. “Couldn’t wait.”

“Uh,” you call out, unable to hide the shakiness of your voice. “Couldn’t wait for what? Just... what is happening right now? What did you want to talk about?”

Gojo lets out a snort; “one question at a time, baby.”

Baby?

A hand falls on your back before you can question it, it undoubtedly Geto as he leans over, causing you to strain your head back to meet his gaze. “We’ve seen the way you look at us,” Geto whispers, making your heart practically stop, breath halting. “Any time either of us give you even a little bit of affection, you’re a blushing mess, Y/N.”

“I-I--”

Gojo presses his hands to your hips, pulling your gaze on him; “it’s rather cute, Y/N-chan.” His thumbs are carressing just above your hib bones, threatening to peek underneath your clothing, and it takes all your will power to focus on what they’re saying and not the feeling of their hands on you. “All red in the face, stuttering over your words... kinda like now.”

“And,” Geto moves to hand, raising his hand to the back of your neck, “we think we’ve done enough teasing.”

“We wanna take it to the next level,” Gojo finishes.

You’re sure you’re still sleeping. You have to be. All of this is happening too fast, you can barely make sense of what they’re saying to you. The embarrassment of knowing that all this time they’ve noticed your less than subtle reactions to them and your very clear crush was enough to send you reeling; but the way they were touching you and caressing you... and having them so close...

It’s too much, all at once. You can’t think. Not clearly.

So much so that all you manage is a rather undignified; “huh?”

Gojo chuckles, but you barely can pay attention to that when Geto is grabbing you by the chin, guiding your head to the side and up where he is, face inches away from your own.

“Do you want us?”

You blink, slow, heart racing madly against your chest as you try to think of what to say.

But the only thought that comes to mind is; “yes.”

Geto is pressing his lips against yours in the next second, leaving you no room to say anything else. His lips are warm, pressing firmly against your own as his hand moves to brush your hair back, cupping your cheek. He’s all you can focus on, swallowing you whole as you return the kiss, letting his do as he pleases, poking his tongue through your lips, pressing against your own. He takes complete dominance over the kiss, making out with you in a way that makes you unable to think of anything but him.

Then; “not fair, Suguru! I want a kiss!”

Geto’s pulling away, leaving you breathless as he smirks down at you, eyes flickering from yours to Gojo’s; “go ahead then,” he nods.

Gojo’s hands are on yours in the next second, pulling you to face him and pressing his lips against your own. He’s rougher then Geto, one of his hands leaving your cheeks to grasp your waist, having the advantage of having you already on his lap, pressing you flush against his chest as he nibbles on your lips slightly, teasingly.

He only pulls back when you start to lose your breath.

Both of them are looking at you, grinning, as you blink, shaking your head.

“I... I don’t understand,” you breathe, voice breathless, chest rising and falling. “I thought you two... I mean,” you glance at both of them, “aren’t you two dating?”

“We are,” Geto answers with ease, nodding.

“Then...” You flicker your gaze from him, back to Gojo. “Why would you...? I mean, wouldn’t I just be in the way?”

Gojo’s grip tightens on your hips, “we love each other,” he says, and you hate the way your heart falls in disappointment at that. “But we love you too.”

Eyes widening, your lips part. You almost expect him to just be joking, but when you meet Gojo’s gaze, there’s no trace of any teasing on his face; he’s completely serious, eyes not wavering from your own.

When you turn to Geto, the expression on his face is the same.

“L-Love?”

Geto nods; “you’re it for us, sweetheart,” he leans close, fingers ghosting across your cheek.

“Our missing piece,” Gojo adds, and you’re surprised by the gentle notion to his tone. “If you’ll have us.”

You’ve wanted nothing more. Since you first met them in your first year, you’ve been more than just smitten with the both of them. You’d just never thought you’d stand a chance when they had each other, not to mention, that you’d get to have both.

You weren’t about to let this chance slip by.

“Of course.”

#jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen imagine #jjk #jjk x reader #jjk imagine #geto suguru #geto suguru x reader #geto suguru imagine #gojo satoru #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru imagine #satosugu

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unsoundedcomic · 29 days ago

Text

Whumptober 2024 - 08 - "Sleep Deprivation"

Once they were out of the city, the soldiers of Chinoll company made a great fuss over the deep blackness of the countryside, and their new ability to see the bright starfield above, undimmed by the pymaric glow of civilisation.

Lemuel didn't think it so special. The stars were faraway specks of indifference. They had as much to do with him as the diamonds on a rich lady's necklace. Once the sun was setting on another day's march south, towards some purpose no one shared with grunts like him, he kept his eyes on the dirt.

A few hours later, while they were trying to pull the great thirty-man sleeping tent upright and even on both sides, his friend Teeth asked: "Does Ssael ever look out the star holes, you reckon?"

Lemuel shrugged. "Isn't that why they flash? Him and the vaosa ducking their heads in and out?"

Some said the stars were punctures that Riv had stabbed in Yerta's round belly, when they'd fought their grand celestial fights over how long to grow the fur on mice or what colour the sea should be in the morning. But Ssael had ripped that belly away from her when He'd slain the pair. Lemuel guessed He probably hadn't bothered to patch the damage up since He was so concerned about not meddling with anything until He had everyone's say-so. Strange sort of landlord, really. Lemuel had never understood Ssael's choices, but who was a thirteen year old Soud to question Him?

Sartier, the Captain's porter, popped up suddenly and slapped Lemuel's rear end so loud that half a dozen men glanced over. Lem bristled. He burned hot in his face, but ice cold from his neck to his knees. The porter laughed: "The flashing is the vaosa throwing out all the pieces of the gods! They're mincing them up - chop chop chop! - and it'll be a million years until they've cleared that trash from the Outside. Airing out the smell will take another million!"

Teeth grinned merrily at the notion. The final tent stake was beat into the dry earth with the butt of a battered baton, and he smacked his lips in satisfaction. "Where do all the pieces wind up here Inside? In the sea?"

"In the hearts of men, darkening them with superstition and primal terror," answered Sartier, pounding his breastplate and assuming a priestly solemnity.

"Ahaha, you trying out for the clergy then?" asked Teeth, "That's a pretty turn of phrase!"

Sartier put a hand on Lemuel's shoulder. Lem bade himself sternly not to bite it; not to draw his sword and open up the Jet's sweaty neck.

"I've been reading letters from Lemuel's brother," Sartier explained, "He's attending Grattaerin, you know, there on patronage. He'll be a scholar! You tell me another tale of him tonight, goldeneyes."

"Duane writes to you?" asked Teeth, squinting. Lemuel wished he could be as stupid as his friend. It must be the most wonderful thing in the world to be stupid. To gawk up at the stars in the sky like one more goat in a herd of hundreds.

Sartier didn't answer. He whapped Lemuel in the ass again and vanished into the tent, his bedroll slung over one shoulder. Teeth grabbed his own from the nearest hound cart, and looked to his comrade. "I'm beat as a drum, pissmop. Thank the Godslayer we don't have a moonview tonight, my sore toe hit every rock in that road today."

"Go on then," said Lemuel, subdued, "I'm not so tired. I plan to take Eidlard's watch, I know he's been poorly with that hound bite."

"You're mad!" laughed Teeth, "That's your third night watch straight! I thought you didn't care so much for the sight of stars - methinks it a lie, you ever staying up to greet them!"

"Go on then."

Teeth waved a careless hand and was gone. Watching the dirt, Lemuel went to find Eidlard, his backside still stinging. What a privilege to be stupid. What a gift. One more that Ssael had decided he didn't need.

#unsounded #whumptober

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cafecourage · 8 months ago

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Part 3!

Wild, Four and Wind!

Wild:

- Wild is the type of person that also doesn’t mind hugs or surprise hugs. He really loves it actually. Like Hyrule he makes it into a game. But instead of paying the huge tax he literally will try to sneak up on you and hug you. It’s a hunting game so good luck on winning.

- There isn’t any rule or thought that goes into this other than the first person to catch the other off guard with a hug wins. Meaning that it’s all out war everyday.

- That being said there are moments where you have the advantage to a hug.

Settling down in Hateno was nice, the boys get a break from traveling and a chance to regroup. For you it’s the domestic life you were used to and slightly missed while being on the road for so long. When you got to Wilds home it was by lunch time so Wild went to straight to cooking while the other boys explore or just unpack for a moment. You had took a nap as you were just getting a bit tired. Though because of the battering of the pots and pans you couldn’t exactly fall completely asleep.

Peaking over the railing you watch as your boyfriend moves through the kitchen. A small plot comes to your mind as while yes by the end of it you’re gonna be roped into cooking with him. That doesn’t really deter you from doing it. Slowly and as quiet as possible you roll off the bed and move down the stairs. Ignoring the looks from the other links as they notice you moving towards the cook. You do have to wait for him to put down the knife before you pounce on him.

“Gotcha!” You rest your chin on his shoulder as your arms trapped him.

Wild had stiffed up as he genuinely was spacing out and didn’t hear you coming. But he smiles and tries to hug you back “I am still in the lead!”

“By like 3 points.” You poke his cheek keeping yourself clinging on him. He kissed your cheek and continues on cooking not even phase about the extra weight. Using this to your advantage you nuzzled into his crook of his neck. This was incredible hard for him to move around which was funny to watch as he slightly struggled. “Do you want me to help?” You asked.

“Please?” You think about it for a minute before pulling away from him reluctantly with a dramatic sigh.

“Fiiiiine.”

Four:

- Small spoon. Wait this isn’t cuddle head canons. Four is fine with hugs, honestly give or take really. You gotta remember Vio and Blue probably don’t care or want hugs, while Green and Red actually like hugs and would welcome it!

- In general he wouldn’t want surprise hugs he doesn’t particularly like it as he is probably one of the boys that don’t like PDA in front of others. If you do it in private thats fine. He just wants to not be teased by others tbh the guy is a bit self conscious.

- You do have conditions to surprise hugs as surprise hugs in the foraged is a huge no. He doesn’t want you to get hurt while he is holding hot sharp objects.

Four hasn’t seen you in a while which was normal the two of you aren’t always near each other. However he was suspicious at this point. It was too quiet for you to not be up to something at this point. It’s worrying.

Very worrying.

He heads inside as he goes to find you very much concerned with what was happening. He first checks the living room and kitchen first before going up stairs.

“Huh…” Well Four went upstairs to look in the bedrooms for you and they were empty. He was starting to think he was just going crazy. Walking down stairs he was going to head out again before, he heard small giggling before getting lifted. “ACK.”

“Hello Darling!” You were giggling as you hugged him while lifting him up. “I missed you!”

“So you hide from me?!” Four struggles to get out of your grasp but like a cat he was stuck with getting attack by your love.

“Yes <3”

Wind:

- My son is an older brother. He is no stranger to hugs and honestly is the person that does it the most out of all the chain. Wind is super family oriented and knows that some of the others don’t exactly know what having family is like. So he is taking the mantle of the annoying little sibling.

- It’s honestly nice to get surprised by one of his hugs because even though he literally calls out when approaching you really only have like a millisecond to respond before getting tackled down.

- However there is one person in the timeline that can fully catch him off guard because she loves her brother so much.

Being back at Outset Island was fun. It was a small island yes, so that means not much room for being alone to relax. But thats fine as it was still a time to rest and relax. Wind just wanted to be with his Grandma and Sister. He already leaves often to travel the world with Tetra, he doesn’t need more time away from them. That being said he does have homesickness which this is helping a lot.

He was going around saying his hello’s to everyone on the island but was missing his sister. Which automatically brought about a little anxiety as he continues down the bridge back home. Trying to think of all the places she could be hiding. He did crawl under the house as he had to get somethings down into the basement.

Wind did check the forest too as Hyrule wanted to see a great fairy for reasons. The outlook was also empty. Wind stops when he gets to the beach still trying to figure this out.

“BIG BROTHER!!!!!!!!” A weight launches himself at his back. Then another one joins in. Wind manages to wiggle and turn to see both you and Aryll laughing at him. “Welcome back!” His sister said still giggling.

Wind huffs but smiles and reaches up to mess with her hair. Aryll lets out a squeal but couldn’t escape it as Wind brings her to a hug. “To be fair it was her idea.” You said laughing before Wind drags you in the hug too.

#twilight (not lu) speaks #linked universe x reader #linkeduniverse x reader #london fog tea #luxreader #lemond aid #fruit cake #honey baked apple

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alaydabug2 · 1 month ago

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Here's another theory oneshot

Again, based on one of my theories for Unraveled.

(Keefe pov)

Keefe and his friend were driving to the store. Keefe hadn't been in a car very often, and it freaked him out.

Why would humans put their lives in the hands of other people in metal boxes on wheels going sixty miles per hour? Humans seemed way too comfortable with something that could easily kill them.

Milo wasn't aware that Keefe was an elf. So that meant Keefe had to keep his freak out to himself. Milo, unfortunately, just thought his driving was bad. He wasn't horrible. Keefe just didn't trust the other people beside them.

He relaxed when the car came to a stop at a red light. Eventually, the light turned to green, and their car started to slowly pull out.

Keefe relaxed into his seat. But both him and Milo screamed a moment later. A car came barreling out from the other lane. It slammed straight into the right side of the car.

The airbags went off. Pain shot through his body he was squished between the car. Milo beside him, let out a blood curdling screech.

Keefe's head rammed into the window. A sickening crack could be heard. Throbbing bloomed throughout his skull.

The momentum finally came to a stop. He fumbled for the car door. After struggling for a moment, he managed to get it open. He spilled out onto the concrete.

Sirens got closer and closer. But Keefe's head was getting hazier and hazier. It felt like he was somewhere else. And suddenly... he was.

He was standing by the British Library. He was at a street corner, his mom beside him. On the other side of the street, Ethan and Eleanor Wright.

His mother crouched down to his level. "Ok, Keefe. We're going to practice your telekinesis. When I say go, you're going to use it to pull that little girl closer to us."

Little Keefe nodded. He felt his past self's excitement of being able to go out in the Forbidden Cities was jittery. His present self felt nothing but bad omen. He could do nothing but sit and watch.

As soon as a big double-decker bus came by, his mom told him to pull. Little him followed orders while present him was screaming not to do it.

It was all in vain.

Eleanor was tugged out into the road. Ethan chased after his daughter. He grabbed hold of her hand and-

Screaming. Blood. Crying. Ethan had his head cracked open on the pavement, his eyes staring into the abyss. Eleanor had gotten run over by the wheel. She was so eerily still. It reminded him of the awful scenes he had seen of small creatures on the side of the road. It made him feel sick.

Little Keefe stared in horror at what he had done. Present him did too. Because... it was his fault, after all. He had killed them.

Little him screamed at the top of his lungs. His mother turned to hold him close to her as he cried at the horrific scene before him.

"It's going to be alright," she assured him. "The washers will be here soon."

The memory hazed back out, being thrown back into the present. He trembled at the uncovered memory. His throat was closing off.

He only realized he was laying in a sticky red substance when a paramedic rushed over to him.

He couldn't make himself speak when asked if he was ok. He just continued to shake and cry.

He hurt. His head felt like exploding. No doubt was he scraped and bruised and battered. But the worst part was the emotional storm going on in his brain.

My fault. My fault. My fault. My fault, was all that repeated in his head.

It had been his fault. He pulled Elenor into the road, and Ethan went after her. He let out a scream, putting his head in between his knees.

The paramedic waved others over. Keefe fought against them when they tried to help him, too disoriented from the trigger.

After plenty of struggles, they managed to get him trapped down to the gurney. He thrashed against the person who was trying to clean off his head wound. One of the others filled a syringe. He tried to squirm, but it was injected into his arm.

It made him start feeling dizzy and lethargic. The world started spinning, and he surrendered to the inky black pull of sleep.

When he awoke, he was somewhere unfamiliar. From the people walking around in scubs and the smell of anti-septic, he deciphered that he was in a human hospital.

His limbs ached. He reached up to his head and found stitches where he had hit it. If he was there, then.... where was Milo?

He sat up. One of the signs read, 'Trauma Unit'. He tried to get out of bed, but something kept him tethered. He glanced down where he felt a tug on his arm. Something was taped down inside his arm. He ripped it off

He hissed in pain immediately after, and a whole bunch of machines around him started beeping. The spot on his arm was bleeding.

Nurses came rushing into the rooms. They crowded around him with hands held out like he was a frightened animal.

"Where's Milo?" he asked before they could restrain him. "Milo. My friend that was also in the accident. Where is he?"

Keefe stood waiting for an awnser. After a couple of seconds, one of the nurses finally spoke up, causing his entire world to come crashing down

"Oh, honey." She gave him soft, sad eyes. "He was pronounced dead on scene."

#kotlc #keeper of the lost cities #kotlc keefe sencen

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pear1escence · 11 months ago

Text

Bedrotters

Keegan P. Russ x fem!Reader

Content Warnings: brief mention of weapons and killing.

A/N: Eh. Eughhhh.

⋇⋆✦⋆⋇

He was dead asleep as soon as his arms were wrapped around you. His head resting in the crook of your neck, taking in the scent of that sugary perfume he loved, deafening the soft snores that fell from his lips.

There’s a bitterness to his return, edging at the feeling of relief that had soothed your soul when his car had pulled into the driveway. A numb feeling of sadness, a trace of the worry that gnawed at you for every day that had passed since he was supposed to be back.

He’s okay. He’s safe, here, with you. It’s comforting, having his body pressed up to yours, a physical confirmation of the words you keep repeating in your head.

⋇⋆✦⋆⋇

Keegan’s still asleep by the time you’ve left the house, a quick run to the grocery store to grab your missing ingredients for tonight’s dinner. The man must’ve tired himself out to the bone, cause when you return and the house is still silent, no sound of his records playing some old song, no sound of metal scraping against metal while he worked on some repair in the kitchen, you find him sleeping in your bedroom.

His gear still in a pile on the floor, stained with dirt and blood. The digital clock on his nightstand tells you that you have more than enough time to get dinner ready. Enough time to have him in your arms for a little while longer.

The sound of one of your favourite CDs, a collection of slow, melancholic love ballads plays from your speakers on the dresser. The words sound from your lips, a lullaby sung softly for your lover.

You remain like that for a while, humming to the tune of whatever songs are playing. Your mind wanders on its own as you admire Keegan, looking so pretty even with his face still stained from his eyeblack. He’s lying comfortably in your heavy duvet with a soft expression on his face, a stark contrast to the hard image he splayed out for the rest of the world to see.

Your thoughts wander off on their own unmarked path, taking your watchfulness with them. Keegan stirs awake without you taking notice, pale blue eyes watching you as fingertips trace absentminded circles into his skin.

His voice brings you back to the main road, your eyes falling to him as he speaks. “Wish I could read your mind, know where your head goes when you zone out like that.” He sounds tired, voice scratchy from his slumber. His hand lifts to ruffle your hair, and just because you’ve missed him so much you let him, even though you’d otherwise flick his hand away in annoyance of him messing up your locks.

“Was just thinking about you.” You murmur, a genuine smile on your face as his hand moves to cup your cheek. He’s so gentle with you in these moments, when you’ve been yearning for each other for weeks and finally come back together. The roughness of which he handles his guns, the harsh grip he welds his knife with as it sinks into the flesh of an enemy soldier, is reformed so that he can touch you how he wishes. Smoothed down so that he can trace your skin and heal your scars instead of leaving you hurting from open wounds.

It’s difficult, leaving the rough environment of his work to come home to you, where he can be soft and gentle all he wants for a limited amount of time. It’s almost never sufficient, you want more, and you’re greedy for wanting more, but you know it batters him more than it does you.

Keegan’s body shifts upwards, his back slotting against the headboard as his arms hoist you up to hold your body to his. “Hey, stay with me.” He reinforces his words with a pinch to your side, causing you to yelp.

You glare at him, dramatically rolling your eyes at him before leaning into his chest and sticking your tongue out at him. “I am here. Haven’t gone anywhere, Keegs.” He scoffs, arms trapping you as they wrap around your body to pull you even closer, muscles tightening as if you would try to escape. “Y’know what I mean. Don’t like it when you slip away so easily.”

You could be falling asleep yourself nestled up to Keegan like this. A big hand slips underneath your shirt to squish the softness of your stomach, his head tipping forward to nibble at your shoulder. “S’long as you’re not getting stuck on stupid stuff, don’t put yourself in a bad mood, baby.” You hum in agreement. “Mm. Need to get dinner ready.”

He laughs silently, “Playing housewife?” He mutters against your skin, placing a loving kiss on your shoulder. You snort. “You need a shower. You stink.” You respond, feigning annoyance. You shriek as he turns your body to push your face close to him, “No, no! I’m not joking, I’m gonna need to change the bedsheets now, sweaty old man.” You giggle, glancing up at him and catching the sass of his eyeroll. “Mhm. Shut it.”

#Keegan p russ #cod Keegan #Keegan Russ #Keegan Russ x reader #Keegan p Russ x reader #cod x reader

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charleslee-valentine · 4 months ago

Text

Flesh and Blood need Flesh and Blood

For the Texas Chainsaw Massacre Disability Pride Month event: Day 6- Underestimated

Word Count: ~3,100

Warnings: Blood and violence. Accidental killing. Period typical ableism & ableist language. Mild panic attacks. Domestic abuse. Religious aspects.

_________

“Take him home. Now, boy.” Drayton Sawyer barks in his middle brother’s face, keeping his yelling hushed to avoid causing a scene.

“Y-Yessir.” Nubbins, for his part, gives a nod and takes off running, only stopping when his clammy hands wrap around the handles of a wheelchair.

Franklin’s wheelchair.

It’ll be a long walk from here, takin’ the road shoulder all the way from the gas station to home, but Drayton’s got a mess to clean and customers to serve that oughta take priority over drivin’ the boys home. Couldn’t be arranged unless it was planned, and nothin’ about today had been goin’ in that sort of direction.

The boys were all together in the station’s yard, running not wheeling or wobbling to the best of their abilities. Using whatever toys they could scrounge together they’d made a game, pitchin’ crushed soda cans, wads of dry gum, a bouncy ball, and so so long as they could smack it around with a bat. Ain’t no objective, though eventually they started trying to catch each other’s swings.

Bubba’s only nine still and learnin’ to upkeep all the things he’d been taught. It’s harder work for him to retain things in his brain, so he stumbles when he walks and struggles to hold a fork at supper, but that’s just Bubba. Mangled little face and all, that’s the Sawyers’ kid brother and he’s goin’ to be included in their play.

Ain’t up to no yuppie scum t’ decide who’s doin’ what and where. Don’t stop them from sharin’ uncalled for opinions.

“That boy out there, you ought lock him up ‘fore someone gets hurt. Teenaged, child, whatever. Don’t matter to them like that. Those are freaks of nature, ‘n whatever they are, they’s goin’ ruin it all the same. Comin’ after the comfortable. You know what I’m sayin’.”

The man wouldn’t stop lecturing Drayton about allowing Bubba to play in the yard with his brother and a friend, like that was the worst option. Like he had any clue of when Mama was perfectly willing to let the state take Bubba for a price, just before her disappearance from the picture. Had a lot of nerve bein’ so ignorant out loud.

Well thing is, Franklin was playing batter, and the man was storming over to lecture here too, and Drayton wasn’t quick enough comin’ ‘round the counter to stop it, and he just reacted. Swing the bat.

Broke the man’s nose on the first swing, saw blood and panicked. Kept swingin’ and jabbing with the bat ‘til his instincts told him the threat was gone and he could stop. Just like swatting a bug.

Except a man’s skull was spilling its contents all over the ground, and nobody even said a word. Nubbins went straight to helping his big brother carry it, Bubba took the bat and ran it inside. The practiced nature of what they were doing, hiding the evidence, didn’t really occur to Franklin just yet. His mind was focused on the trouble he’d face from the law or his parents or even God for this, nevermind if the Sawyers didn’t care.

Now Nubbins is just pushin’ him along like it’s not an issue in the world, and Franklin can’t help but worry out loud, “Oh Lord, why’d I do that?”

“D-Do what?” Nubbins tilts his head and leans down into Franklin’s line of vision, slowing their forward progress from leaning on the wheelchair so heavily.

“You saw me! I killed that man!” Franklin’s voice cracks harshly, his cheeks tinging pink from the embarrassment of that, as if that’s worse than homicide.

But Nubbins straightens out some and casually reminds him, “He was mean.”

Franklin blinks away the surprise of his casual nature and sputters, “Lots of people are mean! But I hit him ‘cross the head with a steel bat! That’s mean too, dontcha think?”

“Nawh.”

“Naw?! Nubbins I'm goin’ to prison. I beat a guy to death and my fam’ly gonna hate me, they ain’t never gonna let me back! Not even God’s gonna want me, it’s gotta be a sin to kill another man. Oh Lord I’m goin’ to Hell Nubbins!”

With Nubbins behind him and nobody around for miles, Franklin won’t deny he started crying.

Nubbins shocks him out of it again with a curious comment, “Wh-What’s it like?”

“What’s what like?” Franklin sniffles, picking at his nails nervously.

His friend downright giggles, “Hell. What’s Hell l-like? I-I never been there.”

Sometimes he forgets the Sawyers aren’t of the faith, seeing it’s so common in his own life. Had to lie downright and tell his mama that they’re church goers alright, just a different sect so they’ll never see them on Sundays. Think he said they was witnesses or somethin’. Sometimes it felt like God was more important to them than even he was, a lonely child ignored for the sake someone they don’t even know’s grace.

Now ain’t the time to be doubtin’ his beliefs, so he sticks to them, and explains, “Hell is where the bad people go when they die.”

“You isn’t a.. a bad people. That other guy was. H-He was mean to Bubba. Anyone m-mean to Bubba gots to sp-splatter.” One of his hands comes down on the rubber lined handle of the wheelchair, making a dull thud that rattles Franklin’s bones. Almost worse than his comment, “H-He smashed up r-real good too, Frankie!”

“Oh God, I’m gonna be sick..” Franklin gets overwhelmed until it tightens in his stomach and feels funny in his throat. He covers his mouth, “You got a bag I could throw up in?”

Despite Franklin’s urgency, Nubbins sounds so casual, “Jus’ lean o-over.”

“My spine is paralyzed silly, I cain't just lean any way I wanna.” Correcting him works to calm Franklin down some at least, staying level headed so he don’t yell at Nubbins over forgetting a good excuse to breathe normal.

“Oh. I c-can help lean ya.” He offers patiently, impressive for Nubbins.

Franklin decides a few deep breaths’ll do. “It’s alright- No I don’t think I’m gonna be sick no more. It’s alright.”

“My sick lasts a.. a l-lot l-longer than that!” There’s something like admiration there in his voice. Like it’s got nothin’ to do with Epstein-Barr and it’s just some talent Franklin has that makes him feel better.

He laughs softly, “That’s ‘cause you got a condition.”

“Nuh-Uh.” Nubbins argues, even though it isn’t true.

“Oh, alright.” Franklin just agrees ‘cause that’s easier. And things are good for a while, pleasant. ‘Til his worries come out again and the reality of running away from murder with Nubbins sets in, “You think your brother is mad at me?”

“N-No. Not you. H-He don’ hit no o-outsiders.”

“I ain’t an outsider. I’m your best friend.”

Switching to pushing the wheelchair with only one hand, he shakes out the other, happy from hearing Franklin say that. Nubbins wants Franklin to be happy too, “That’s true. B-But.. I won’ let him hurt ya! I-I’ll take the beatin’. It’s no t-trouble.”

Somehow, that brings more dread into Franklin’s heart, “Critter, that don’t make me feel better.”

Not knowing a better way to settle it, Nubbins just shrugs and keeps down the path towards home, imitating buzzing car engines as they pass, or the crunch of Franklin’s wheels along the cracking road. Ain’t all that worried honestly for the crime scene they’re leaving behind.

That’s when Franklin remembers that the second he had swung the bat, Bubba got overwhelmed by the confrontation and run off towards home. Can tell he’s in there from the curtains being drawn up tight when he knows for certain they was open when he got dropped off this morning.

Nubbins seems to remember about the same and takes off jogging a little faster down the rest of the drive, shaking Franklin’s wheelchair around accidentally. He lets it slide since it’s a big brother’s concern for his sibling causing the rush and don’t ask him to slow down.

After dragging him backwards up the stairs, Nubbins shoves the door open and calls out, “B-Bubba, you home yet?”

If they’re quiet, they can both hear a quiet chuffing noise deep in the house somewhere, Bubba making noises like a pig to soothe himself.

“C’mon L-Leatherface, answer me if- if you’s here!” Nubbins raises his voice some impatiently while pulling Franklin inside after himself.

This time they get some babbling in response, and though Franklin wishes he understood the little Sawyer’s language, he’s not a master yet.

It’s a good thing Nubbins answers his question just fine, “Yeh, I-I got Frankie with me. You c-come out. I need- I need helps with supper.”

Out of the basement he emerges, no sign of the distress beyond an extra layer of clothes, a soft jacket he wears when he needs the comfort. Don’t know who it belonged to for it to be so large, hanging down past his curled up hands and almost to his knees, but he loves that thing. At some point, Franklin realized it was a woman’s robe and thought it might belong to his mother, but she’s a mystery to Franklin too.

“Cook gonna be o-ornery when he gets home, so’s I-I want you to help make s-somethin’ good!” Taking on the big brother role, Nubbins bosses him around, “Me ‘n F-Frankie, we gonna clean up and get- get the house nice, s-so you gonna cook!”

All together they get it presentable, sweeping the floors and wiping down the counters. Franklin is assigned to the dining room only since he’s never been in the kitchen, setting up a fancy table cloth and some plates. Never seen the place look so tidy before, wonders if they only do cleaning up for the holidays or guests.

Somehow it all feels like he’s preparing for the gallows, sentenced to a hanging the very moment Drayton gets home and subjects him to whatever punishment he’s got to face. An eye for an eye, killed by the same bat maybe? The police called on him and shooting him blank in the head when he cries. Hopefully not one of the oldest Saywer’s signature beatings, he’d almost rather one of the other choices.

He’s shaking like a leaf by the time Drayton cracks the door open, talking to them at a low tone ‘cause he knows they’d be close, not stupid enough to hide after this.

“Boys. Today’s uh- been a big day, huh?”

Draytons words trail off into a chuckle, but everyone else stays silence. Franklin gives a wet sniffle, on the verge of tears again.

Putting his hands on the back of the master chair, he leans forward and glances down the table, showing a crooked smile. “Supper don’t look too bad. Uh. I brought you uh- somethin’ down from the station-“

Over his shoulder, he gestures to a grocery bag he left by the door.

Nubbins starts bouncing in his seat, drumming his palms against the table, “I-Is it the beeve!?”

“Don’t you go ruinin’ the surprise!” Drayton kicks the seat of his chair, all that modest cheer melted into fury in the literal blink of an eye, “Did you tell him?!”

Franklin swallows thickly, “Tell me what, sir?”

“About the meat!”

“No.. I.. No sir. I don’t got a clue what you’re talkin’ about. Either of ya.”

“In that case-“ He goes off to retrieve the bag and brings it to the table, raising it up along with his eyebrows at the same time, nudging it forward until he unveils what’s inside. Butchered meat, it seems, but the third piece comes out with lightly burnt skin left on, and a tattoo. “Congratulations, Franklin! You’re one of us now!”

“My- My firstie t-time was a long time ago. You’s jus’ a l-late bloomer like Bubba!” Nubbins adds, clapping Franklin on his shoulder over and over, like he’s petting a dog.

Franklin who’s mouth has gone so dry he’s got to down half his whole glass of sweet tea, “You’re talkin’ about killin’.”

“Uh-huh! Mine was a.. Bank man! B-Bank man come to take Drayton’s truck away, h-he put his hands on me, a-an’ I slashed his ugly neck r-right open!” Nubbins excitedly imitates an over-exaggerated spraying of blood by pushing air between his teeth and making the splatter with his hands.

It’s amusing, but the gravity of what they’re telling him holds Franklin’s joy down deep inside, “I jus’ don’t understand why. I never known anybody in the whole world to be like this. Killers this way.”

“We gots to eat.” Clearly repeating what somebody else told him, Nubbins gives a noncommittal shrug, “D-Dogs in the world ‘an stuff, w-we gots to eat each other.”

Ah. So he is right about that. Drayton cooked up the man he killed on accident and brought it home as some kind of treat for the boys.

Franklin tries to avoid havin’ to do the act by bringing up his own condition, diabetes type one, “Surely that ain’t good for my blood sugar. I got that disease you know, makes my sugar go up and down and I gotta watch it real close-“

“B-B-But you been eatin’ it j-jus’ fine all this time!” Nubbins interrupts him.

That’s when it clicks. He’s been doin’ what they do. Gettin’ so close to the Sawyers, the town loonies, was gonna end in somethin’ like this he s’posed. Everyone who said he’d always be a weak little baby, well they just didn’t know that he had it written in the stars he was gonna be a killer.

“Sally said the meat tasted rotten.” He comments vaguely, realizin’ he really is special this time.

Nubbins scoffs, never the biggest fan of Sally. “Sh-She would.”

“Oh hush. You aren’t to lay a hand on her, you hear?” Franklin scolds, but it’s just gently, just to make sure he isn’t doin’ the wrong thing by sittin’ at this table and not running.

Well, wheeling. He’d probably not outwheel Nubbins’ run, even if he’s got the arm strength to cave in a human skull.

“Never ever.” Making a cross over his heart, Nubbins declares it to him, “I swears, o-on my s-sick Granny.”

Dead granny. Franklin knows the woman ain’t still kickin’ no matter how much Nubbins insists she is. Though with this revelation he’s goin’ through lately, it prob’ly ain’t a lie that she’s in the upstairs of their house.

“Jesus. Well alright.”

The rest of the agreement is eat the evidence of his crime with the boys, then he’s free to go home. Seems so simple, it gets Franklin’s heart just pounding in his chest.

“I don’t.. Gotta keep up the killin’ now, do I?” He asks, on his way out to get driven back next door.

“Wouldn’t imagine.” Drayton is the only one out here yet while Nubbins runs around like a madman packing back up a bag of toys he’d scattered all around, forgetting Franklin wouldn’t get to stay forever.

“And I’m allowed to go home?” Franklin keeps asking, sounding feeble and scared.

This time he gets a scoff, like he should find that obvious, “Don’t do kidnappin’. Never let the boys keep one longer than a single night. After that- Lights out.”

One more, “And you really won’t hurt my family?”

“Not the girl, anyhow. No promises on your old man.” Drayton cackles, downright, like some kind of witch.

Franklin knows the bastard ain’t kind, certainly not to his own uncle Lefty or his wife, or actually his kids now that he thinks about it, but he’s not sure his Daddy deserves death over that. “That ain’t funny.”

“Wasn’t joking.” The oldest Sawyer assures him, cold smile dropping away again. “Siblings, they mean a lot more to the heart. You’ll understand that someday way I do.”

He extinguishes the cigarette he’d been smoking right in Franklins face by crushing it against a window sill, “That’s your little sister an’ I’ll respect it. Not a hair outta place on little Sally’s head.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“In exchange for that you keep your damn yap shut.”

Eagerly, to show he ain’t gonna two time, Franklin nods his head, “Yes sir! This stays between me and y’all and the Lord.”

He gets a disgruntled comment under Drayton’s breath that he doesn’t even hear, “Shit, you’re jus’ like your uncle, boy.”

His faith been tested today, but he oughta lean into it while he can. Keep himself from goin’ completely off the edge. Somehow the Sawyers seem to have managed that much, though, like Drayton said, they’ve got each other. God is so far away, nothin’ at all like a sibling he can hate or hold in his arms, depending on the day.

God severs the spine of a little baby and leaves him to die with prayers and prayers from his family that never quite reached him. Little babies grow up into boys in wheelchairs, who can’t even eat a handful of sweet berries without his body threatening to give up on him. Grow into killers, given the right support. Ain’t gotta let himself lose now.

Drayton seems to hear all that thinkin’ somehow, some twisted way of his, and goes back on his word on the truck drive. He waves Franklin away, “Go on and get. Nubbins’ll get ya back home. Tell ‘em I needed your help handin’ me tools down the station and lost track of time. They’ll believe that.”

A test of will or an alibi, he ain’t quite sure, but he nods his head. Just one thing he’s worried about, “If they don’t?”

“You tell me. We’ll do what needs done.” Drayton says it like it’s simple, and clenches one hand, bringing it up in the air and then back down. Franklin realizes he’s miming stabbing someone or beatin’ ‘em with a hammer.

“Um… Thank you Mr. Drayton. For not killing me too.” They both flinch when Nubbins finally slams the door open so hard it clatters against the wall, earning him a quick slap before they can continue on their way. “Um. Goodnight, sir.”

Halfway down the trail, Nubbins glances back at the shrinking house light.

“You scared of big brother, a-ain’t ya?”

“A little.” Franklin confesses.

Makes him a little sad when Nubbins whispers, “Me t-too..”

It’s them two that’re bonded. Theres bad on both sides, from a rotten temperament to a lack of care, to stuck up Sally and mean old Drayton. His home is with his best friend, in his heart, just as Sawyer as any of the others. That’s his comfort for a long time, knowing he’s capable, got backup when he needs it, and a dead body under his belt. Ain’t no invalid.

#tcmfanevent #tcmdisabilityweek #my writing #my fic #tcm fanfic #nubbins sawyer #franklin hardesty #franklin hardesty x nubbins sawyer #franknub #drayton sawyer #bubba sawyer #in this au franklin and nubbins are only like 13-14 #the title is a line from flesh and blood by Johnny cash which is a huge inspiration for this fic and franknub for me in general

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verdemoun · 5 months ago

Note

I can’t see all of them being able to drive well but I also can’t see that fact stopping them. Maybe for some angst, who is the first in a car accident?

oh two part-er

first while not technically a car accident kieran was very literally hit by a car his first day in timewarp, and not a light tap. he was thrown, broken arm, bruised ribs, head slammed into the asphalt so hard he saw spots and passed out. his introduction to modern era was the chaotic horror of an emergency room, searing fluorescent lights, the stink of disinfectant and strangers in alien hospital uniform repeatedly asking what his name was.

kieran duffy wasn't remembered as a van der linde. he wasn't remembered at all. bessie had no way of connecting the dots that so much of mary-beth's novels were true until lenny started reading them. so with the hospital mandated bare minimum to a seemingly homeless man who stammered about O'Driscolls and his gang, he got turned back out onto the streets with a few days of painkillers and a shoddy cast on his arm.

everyone else gets the comfort of waking up to the smiling faces of loved ones or at least a friendly mad woman chasing you down the street knowing your name. kieran sleeps rough for weeks, lurking around the modern era shady belle because it's the only thing familiar but being chased off the gated property the second he's noticed.

when hosea and lenny happen across him by chance, he's more bruised and battered than his corpse was riding headless back into shady belle, and more terrified than he ever was being their prisoner in colter.

it is months before he can get in a car without looking like he's being held at gunpoint

but the first van der linde car accident, hmm: well obviously the gang pick up driving very differently.

hosea is the perpetual old man driving 10 under the speed limit when you're already running late to work. but bessie lets him drive the chevy on sundays and they just enjoy one another's quiet company on the open road.

lenny is the only one who can drive without bessie clutching the door. he is also the first to buy his own car and understands they serve the same purpose as a horse. even forms an emotional connection to his car, is slightly upset it doesn't love him back like maggie did.

they put off teaching sean to drive as long as possible and true to form he proves their greatest fears being a horrible driver - but the pizzeria never had to pay a late delivery fee again.

kieran sat behind in the wheel in an empty lot, let the car roll a hundred yards before pulling the handbrake and having a panic attack. never again. passenger princess/walks everywhere.

as much as he loves learning about the engineering of cars, arthur is not a natural driver. he insisted on learning to drive in a truck because people already looked at him and assumed he had a truck. as a result, no parking lot trolley return was safe. his truck is as dented as his spine is ruined.

so no one expected it to be lenny who was running late one night: or a phone call from an unknown number, saying there'd been an accident. not lenny's fault, of course. another driver, too drunk or too tired to realize the light was red and slammed straight into the driver side of his car.

most of the gang have been lucky enough to avoid a hospital, and as a result it's chaos. bessie is so distressed worrying about her son that she forgets she's the only one who knows what to do. hosea is panicky asking reception what happened, where's lenny, where's his boy. and sean is just. silent. nothing. no bouncing. no anxious fidgeting. he's silent, and still.

and lenny's asleep. general anasthetic or some sort of sedative, unnaturally still and more bandages than flesh. just a strange, bulky hospital bed and blue hospital blanket. tubes and a heart beat monitor that they naively thought only existed on tv.

hosea chases bessie, who has to remove herself because she doesn't want to be the only one in the room crying. it doesn't seem fair how upset she finds it when she has known lenny for so much shorter than the rest.

just sean. sitting with unnatural calmness in a plastic chair beside lenny in a hospital bed. afraid to hold his hand in case he hurts him. cracks a few jokes about being glad lenny has always only ever loved reading, because if he wanted to learn to play piano he'd be mortified by his broken, swollen fingers.

lenny doesn't laugh. the heart rate monitor stays at a constant, steady beep.

some old, painful memory digs its way to sean's consciousness. he can hear bessie sobbing in the hallway, hosea bracing her weight in an embrace like she'll collapse without him. sean instinctively opens the windows and moves his chair so as to not be in between lenny and the night air. his eyes bounce for a moment between the clock and the heart rate monitor. he offers him confession, like a good catholic boy, and when no answer comes, begins to sing old irish blessings only loud enough for the two of them to hear.

lenny is fine and makes a full recovery!! discharged days later, recognises he's lucky and it could have easily been so much worse. he's more annoyed about the hospital getting his family worked up for no reason. whatever drugs they gave him, it was the damn best sleep he ever had. he's more upset over the hospital bill than his car being wrecked, and wasting a joke about 'all the bleeding was internal, that's where blood is meant to be' on sean, who doesn't get it

recognises the tune next time sean is humming irish blessings to himself. doesn't know where.

#rdr2 timewarp au #sean macguire #kieran duffy #lenny summers #macsummers

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aphroditeslover11 · 1 year ago

Note

the jealous oppie fic is def going to win the poll but you should still write him teaching the reader how to drive another time that idea is so cute!!! i adore your writing

Driving Lessons

This was very fun to write, I'm a horrendous driver and there is nothing like the fear of stalling in the middle of a busy road! Sorry that this is so short, but I hope we were thinking along the same lines.

As always, based on fictional Cillian Murphy Oppenheimer, if you don't want to read it you don't have to.

Oppie teaching you to drive would certainly be an interesting experience. His own terrible driving was legend, especially among his friends who had all experienced his habit of cornering at seventy, driving at break-neck-speed purely for the thrill of it and making them all fear for their lives. When he found out that you had never learnt to drive though he was insistent that it would be him who taught you, he thought that it would be something fun that you could do together at the weekend. Boy did he have no idea what he was in for!

Though Robert did have an old Buick that he drove around the base, he decided to steal one of the army Jeeps, making sure that he found the most battered one possible so that any accidents wouldn’t have too many implications. He started off by heading into the desert, him driving and getting you to watch what he was doing, explaining it as he went.

“I’m going to change gear, we’re only quite slow so I’m just going to go up from second into third. I’m taking my right foot off the accelerator, putting my left foot on the clutch and moving the stick right and straight up. Make sure you take your foot off the clutch before putting it back on the gas or all hell will break loose!” He carried on doing this until he got to a straight stretch, turning off the engine.

“Right, I’ll give you a go,” he said, getting out of the driver’s side, coming around to your door as you shuffled across into the seat he had just left. “Don’t worry, there’s nothing to crash into out here.”

All he asked you to do the first time that you took to the wheel was drive in a straight line and move from first into second gear, within moments you had managed to stall the damn thing, sending you into a fit of panic. You just sat there, ridiculous things about having broken the engine going around your head. Robert was quick to figure out what you had done wrong though. Gently encouraging you to start again. After a few tries you eventually figured out the gear change and he decided that your clutch control was good enough to try your hand at some steering. He set you off in second gear to drive around a sizeable boulder in the middle of the open area.

“You don’t need to panic, you can’t do any damage to anything out here, you just need to take your time and hold your nerve.” He was forced to eat those words when you panicked, completely mis-steering and careering off into the huge rock. He had tried to dive across you to grab the steering wheel, but it was too late and he ended up trying to shield you from the impact instead. You were both startled, taking a moment to breath before Robert immediately turned to you, making sure that you weren’t injured.

“Maybe that was enough for today,” he suggested, trying not to touch any nerves or appear as condescending - he knew that you would be absolutely furious with yourself. “We’ll try again tomorrow maybe, I think you probably need a rest though after that.” You let him take back the driver’s seat, putting the banged up Jeep into reverse and leaving the scene of the crime.

#cillian murphy #oppenheimer #1950s #american prometheus #cillian murphy x reader #oppenheimer x reader #christopher nolan #tommy shelby #peaky blinders #j robert oppenheimer #j robert oppenheimer x reader #fanfic #request #driving

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bamber344 · 2 months ago

Text

The Cost Of Negligence

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this chapter is a little over 4k words long and almost 3k of it is pure whump :3 I know y'all have been starved of some solid whumper-whumpee goodness for the sake of story progression but dw, here it is!

Feels good to actually have shit to put in the CWs lol

CWs: living weapon whump, controlling whumper, gun violence, knife whump, drowning whump, beatings, dehumanisation, belittling, conditioned whumpee, references to past torture (whipping), the inherent irrationality of abuse

poor jordyn :3

enjoy the chapter!

The Cost Of Negligence

The sound of my heartbeat echoed through my head. According to my visor, my BPM was sitting at around 110. Anticipation ate at my gut and sweat prickled along my skin. I could see my nerves reflected in the men around me; their hunched backs, twitchy fingers, and heavy breathing. In comparison, I must have looked totally stone-cold calm. I wasn’t, of course, but I knew better than to let my anxiety show. I was their rock; the one these men would be relying on above all else. To show any form of weakness would be tantamount to sabotaging the mission.

“Are you ready, Seven?” the team commander’s voice pierced in my ear, sharp and electronic over the comms.

“Yes, sir,” I replied. The men around me all tensed in response. It was time.

The command to breach sounded like a bomb going off in my head, and everything started moving at once. The man with the battering ram smashed the door open while another threw a flash grenade in through the doorway, giving the criminals inside no time to react before they were blinded.

They were scum. The worst of the worst; manufacturers of the sorts of drugs that have ruined countless lives on the streets of Tombguard. I’ve seen the result of their greed time and time again over my past month of patrolling; in the crumpled bodies on the sides of the road; in the people twitching, scratching themselves, making scenes over nothing but the narcotic-induced hallucinations and hurting themselves in the process. The source of all that pain could be traced straight back to this building, where a tip-off confirmed that a manufacturing plant of one of the city’s largest drug trafficking rings was located. They would get no mercy from me.

I charged forward into the fray, shadows lashing from my body as I took the lead in disabling the criminals. Most of them were completely stunned by the flashbang, so it was a cinch to run up and crack each of them with a well placed hit to the skull, sending them crumpling to the ground and leaving them for the SWAT officers to apprehend.

The door in front of me slammed open and a man ran out, pistol in hand. He zeroed in on me as the biggest threat and took aim. For a split second, I froze as adrenaline shot through me, but then my training kicked in and I threw my arm up, turning the darkness inside the barrel of the gun solid. He pulled the trigger and the whole thing exploded, mangling his hand.

I ran up as he screamed, slamming the palm of my hand into his nose and jabbing at his throat in quick succession before cracking my elbow against his temple. His knees buckled and he collapsed like a sheet of broken glass.

The clamour in the main room had become significantly quieter. I turned and surveyed the situation, pleased to find almost all of the criminals in handcuffs already, the officers sweeping the last few rooms of the house that held the source of all this pain.

“Is that all of them?” I asked.

One of the SWAT officers - Eyre, I thought his name was - did a head count of the apprehended criminals. “According to the tip we got, there should be one-”

The door next to him opened - the last door we had yet to check - and all I saw was the barrel of a shotgun before my legs were powering forward and I was shoving Eyre down.

The gunshot went off and the force of the impact against my armour sent me rolling across the room, the wind rushing from my lungs. Several more gunshots echoed through the small space as the other officers drew their weapons and returned fire, putting down the culprit like the dog he was.

“Anyone hit?” one of the officers called.

“N-no, no, I’m okay,” Eyre said, picking himself up off the floor. I did the same, wincing at the pain in my back. My armour was more than enough to prevent any real injury from such small bullets, but the shock of the bullets’ collision with the metal still transferred to my body, right into the scars that Father had left with his whip. Just my luck. It was definitely going to bruise, and those things gave me enough grief already.

“Seven? Are you good?”

I nodded, grateful for my visor to hide my grimace. “Yes.”

The officer turned away, seemingly satisfied. “Alright, let’s get these suspects rounded up so the evidence team can clear this place out.”

Relief flooded my system at the notion that we were finished. No more fighting for today; I could just go back to the facility and relax. Or, more likely, shadow Father after giving my report until he dismissed me. Still, that would be leagues better than the nauseating heat of battle. At least with Father there was a certain guarantee that I wouldn’t be suddenly inflicted with a head wound. I couldn’t say the same about joining SWAT raids, that was for sure.

The earpiece in my helmet crackled to life with the commander’s voice. “Lookout team C isn’t responding. Seven, could you go check it out?”

“Roger,” I replied, rushing out the door. The brightness of the midday sun glared in my visor as I ran, heading for the tall building across the street that housed Lookout Team C. There were several sniper teams set up around the area, keeping an eye on things in case any suspects made a run for it. They hadn’t been needed, thankfully, but it was still worrying that this team wasn’t responding. Hopefully, it was just a radio malfunction, but something in my gut was telling me otherwise.

The shadows in my armour wrapped themselves around my legs like springs, fortifying them and giving me the strength to fling myself and clear several storeys in one jump. I flew up through the air until I reached the apex of my flight, sending out a whip of darkness from my wrist which wrapped itself around the railing of the fire escape, keeping me suspended. The whip shrank, and I was pulled up along with it, slingshotting myself over the edge of the building and onto the roof, where I landed in a safety roll before turning to where the lookout team was supposed to be posted.

Two people in SWAT uniforms laid sprawled against the lip of the roof, blood pooling beneath them. Their sniper rifle was nowhere to be seen. My heart lurched.

“Team C is down!” I shouted into the comms, rushing over. Maybe they could still be saved.

“What happened?! What’s their status?” The commander asked.

I reached the bodies, turning one over onto his back. His entire front was stained red, and his throat hung open and bloody like a gaping maw of flesh. I dropped him and stumbled back, looking around in case the one who’d done this was still nearby. All was still and silent.

“Th-they’re dead,” I replied. “Their throats are cut, a-and their gun is missing.”

“Shit!”

What followed was a scramble of orders too fast for me to process. I was too busy staring at the bodies of the two men who had been assigned to look out for us. When did this happen? How long have they been lying there, growing cold? From the looks of things, they didn’t even get a chance to react to whatever attacked them. One moment they were alive, diligently doing their duty for the raid, and the next, they were bleeding out on the concrete. I just… couldn’t understand. This sort of thing wasn’t supposed to happen to the good guys.

The comms crackled and Father’s voice suddenly appeared in my ears.

“Pick up that feather, Seven.”

His words kicked my mind back into gear. Sure enough, there were several black feathers scattered around the scene. I hadn’t noticed them before, and honestly, why would I? There were plenty of birds in the city, and plenty of birds meant plenty of feathers. They weren’t usually something to bat an eye at. That being said, if Father wanted a better look at the feather, he must have had a good reason for it. Following his order, I picked one up, examining it. It shimmered in the sunlight, long and full. I didn’t know much about birds, but this feather seemed healthy to me.

“Bring it back to the facility with you. I will be awaiting your report in your quarters. That is all.”

The comms crackled again, and Father’s voice disappeared, replaced once again with the Commander’s frantic yelling, trying to coordinate a search for the suspect who did this to his men. I looked back at the feather, considering it again. I remembered the words Father said to me on the day I was deployed, just after meeting Madeline for the first time. If the puzzle pieces connected the way I thought they did, the search wasn’t going to be successful, especially if they only looked on the ground.

“Kill the black-winged one on sight should you see it.”

I turned my gaze up towards the sky. That magnificent blue stretched onwards to infinity, dotted with clouds of varying shapes and sizes. There was no ‘black-winged one’; no crazed, knife-wielding killers darting through the air, silhouetted in the light. Just an endless expanse of blue. There was nothing. Nothing but a feather clutched between my fingers, two dead men, and a missing sniper rifle.

Why, then, did I still feel like I was being watched?

—

I sighed, sitting down on the end of my bed having finally stripped my armour off at the end of the day. I’d already given Father my report of the raid, and handed over the feather he’d been so interested in. He was silent the entire time, just listening, not even saying a word when he left my quarters. It worried me a little. Today was far from usual in terms of my activities, and adding in the huge loss of two SWAT officers, I could imagine that Father wasn’t very happy. I’d been doing good for him lately, but I knew well how easily his displeasure could turn around onto me. My bruised back throbbed in memory of the whipping I got all those months ago for failing at the obstacle course. I’d have to be on my guard.

Sure enough, the door opened again and I jumped back to my feet, standing at the ready. Father glowered as he walked over, the door shutting automatically behind him. Usually, he would've given me the command to be at ease by now. Something was very wrong. I didn't have my armour on anymore; totally stripped down to my underwear. The knowledge of how defenceless I was in the face of his anger was terrifying.

He stopped inches away from my face, towering over me. I averted my gaze nervously.

“Could you tell me, Seven…” he began, voice low and rumbling like thunder. “Why exactly two men under your protection were killed, and you have nothing to show for it?”

“I- I don’t know, sir. I was busy with the raid; I don’t know what happened to the lookout team. I… I didn’t think they would be in any danger.”

He struck me across the face with the back of his hand, and my head rang like a bell. My entire body tensed up so that I wouldn’t move from my position and anger him further.

“Two men are dead because of your negligence, do you understand that? Two good men, with families that we will need to notify. What am I supposed to tell John Benovich’s wife when she asks why her husband isn’t coming home? That we don’t know why? That the only reason her husband is dead is because you weren’t doing your job? Can you even comprehend the gravity of your failure today?”

As a matter of fact, I didn’t understand it. How could what happened have been my fault? Was there really anything I could have done differently to prevent it? I knew Father was right of course, but the thought of the blame falling on me when I couldn’t make sense of it rankled, and I felt the uncharacteristic urge to defend myself bubble up inside me. Deep down I knew I would regret it; I knew Father would punish me for my insubordination - and rightfully so - but some part of me just couldn’t concede until I really understood what he was trying to tell me. I looked up and met Father’s piercing glare.

“Sir, I’m sorry, but I don’t see how it was my failure. I had no way of knowing what would happen, and the lookout teams were far outside of the range in which I could reasonably protect them. I… I just don’t understand how it’s my fault. I- I’m sorry.”

The silence in the room boiled and I felt the regret wash over me like a humid wave; sweat beading across my body. Father’s face contorted, his pale skin growing splotchy and red. I saw the hit coming from a mile away as the world seemed to move in slow-motion, but my body refused to move out of the way; painfully aware of how much I deserved this punishment for what I just did.

His fist collided with my nose and I felt the cartilage crack under his knuckles. My head snapped backwards and I stumbled, the pain and shock filling my eyes with tears. My back hit the sink and my knees buckled, dropping me to the floor and leaving me half supporting myself against the cold porcelain as warm, coppery liquid dripped over my lips and into my open mouth.

Father shook his hand out, his face a mask of rage. He stalked over and grabbed one of the straps of my sports bra, forcefully pulling me back to my feet. Icy terror stabbed through my chest. I really shouldn’t have done that.

“W-wait! I’m sor-”

He struck me again with his free hand, still holding me in place. My head spun, and my mouth tasted like blood from where I’d accidentally bitten the inside of my cheek.

“How dare you talk back to me, you mangy little attack dog?! How many times am I going to have to beat this lesson into you? I own you. You are mine. If I say that you failed, you have failed, and the first thing you should be doing is getting on your knees and begging me for forgiveness, not giving me backtalk! You know nothing about how the world works. You are nothing. Without me, you wouldn’t be here; you wouldn’t get this freedom that I’m allowing you. You would be buried six feet in the dirt where you belong! And you’re telling me you don’t understand? Of course you don’t; you’re barely one degree above an animal. You’re lucky I’m even gracing you with my presence. Do you at least understand that?”

Through the hot tears on my face and the paralysing fear in my gut, I could tell he was looking for an answer. I nodded frantically.

“Say it!” he screamed, aggressively shaking me.

“I- I understand, s-sir!”

He leaned in close until our noses were almost touching. I tried to shy away, but my back was against the wall. There was nowhere to go.

“What do you understand?” he asked, his voice low and dangerous.

“I- I understand that I’m lucky to h-have you, F-Father.”

His eyes narrowed. “...And?”

I swallowed, trying to remember his exact words. “A-and… that I’m b-barely one degree above an animal…”

He tapped my cheek with his thumb. It was gentle, but it still made me flinch.

“That’s right, Jordyn. You’re barely even a person, and the only reason you get to be that much is because of me. You only matter if you’re useful to me. Remember that.”

He finally leaned away and I had to resist letting out a sigh of relief at getting my personal space back. My heart was still pounding in my ears and my nose throbbed painfully along with every beat.

“Now,” he said. “Would you like me to help you understand your failure today, as well?”

I froze. I wasn’t sure how I should answer that. With no words coming to mind, my mouth supplied the default before I could stop it.

“Yes, please.”

Father cracked his knuckles. “Good.”

He was coming at me again before I knew what was happening. His fist sunk into my solar plexus and I gagged, slamming back against the wall as the air rushed out of me. Father didn’t slow down, following up with an elbow cracking across my cheekbone. One left jab split my bottom lip, and a right hook blackened my eye. His fingers tightened around my head as he grabbed my face and drove my skull against the wall behind me. I felt the skin split and warm blood drip down my neck, but there was no time to focus on that as Father pulled me down into a knee that crushed my already broken nose.

The pain was too much, and for a split second, everything turned white. I felt my body go limp and the world seemed to slip out of focus as Father began kicking me in the gut over and over, not allowing me a second to suck in the breath that had been lost when this beating began. A sharp, stabbing pain that was definitely a broken rib shot through my chest, and black swarmed my vision. It all became too much, and my eyelids started to fall shut, unconsciousness taking hold.

Just as quickly as it had started, Father backed off, storming out of the room and leaving me in a heap on the floor, slowly coming back to myself. My chest finally untightened and I sucked in as much air as I could, panting and coughing and sobbing at how much breathing hurt. I still didn’t understand. What was the point of all that? All… All he did was hurt me, and I still didn’t know what he meant when he said that I failed. Was it even possible for me to understand? Maybe… Maybe I was just too stupid. That was why Father was always there to tell me what to do. Without him, maybe I would just be too dumb to understand anything. Maybe I really was just a dumb, stupid, barely-a-person animal, just like he said.

I clenched my teeth, trying to stop crying. Every sob was like another kick in the chest, and it was excruciating. I really should’ve tried to get up and treat my wounds, but the thought of moving right now made panic claw up my throat. At least there was the reassurance that I had nothing else to do today, so I had all the time in the world to just lie here and feel sorry for myself. There was no need to force myself up just yet.

I heard the door slide back open; heard Father’s footsteps across the tile floor, and cold dread washed over me like ice water.

My vision was still blurry, so I couldn’t quite make out his face as he approached, but I could see what he was holding. In one hand: a knife. In the other: a bucket, sloshing with liquid.

“Oh good,” he said, voice lilting with menace. “You’re still conscious.”

“Wh… Wha…?” I tried to speak through my busted mouth, but it wasn’t quite following my instructions. Everything felt too thick and heavy.

“Your lesson isn’t over yet, Jordyn. We don’t stop until you understand.”

Panic shot through me like a bullet, and I started hyperventilating. “P-please… N-no more…”

Father shook his head. “You need to know the cost of your negligence. You need to know what you put those two men through by failing them today.”

He put the bucket down and grabbed the back of my neck, dragging me painfully to my feet. I could barely keep my balance, but Father’s hand remained in place and held me steady as the world spun around me.

Something cold and sharp poked my belly a split second before a line of fire parted my skin; Father’s knife cutting a shallow slice into my abdomen. I screamed as the agony struck through my nerves like lightning, thrashing and trying to escape. Father’s hand maintained its iron grip.

“Because you couldn’t maintain protective vigilance over all members of the raid team today, both of those men had to suffer through the excruciating experience of having their throats slit.”

The knife came again in time with his last word, cutting perpendicularly through the previous wound. I dry-heaved. My hands remained at my sides, refusing to move and defend me no matter how badly I needed it. Father wanted to teach me a lesson, and I’d already failed once today. I could not disobey him again.

He let go of my neck and I dropped to my knees, clutching at the wound with blood-slicked hands. The knife clattered to the ground and Father dragged the bucket over until it was right in front of me. He got to his knees at my side and his hand returned to its place at my nape.

I had no strength left, and as such Father had no issues shoving my face down into the cold water filling the bucket. The shock made me suck in a breath, sending water shooting up my sinuses and into my lungs. I instinctively coughed and tried to get any air at all, but that only made it worse. Forcing back against Father’s hand did nothing. My hands still refused to do anything to help me, as if something was holding them back, keeping them from acting against Father’s will. It wasn’t a conscious choice anymore; I needed to get out of this water, but they just wouldn’t listen. Shadows wouldn’t amass and do my bidding. I couldn’t go against him. I couldn’t fight back. I was helpless, and it was going to kill me.

Finally, Father pulled my head out of the bucket. I coughed and sputtered, wheezing any air I could through my water-logged throat. Please, god, let it be over.

“Because their throats were slit, they died in agony, drowning slowly in their own blood,” Father said. “It’s not a good experience, is it?”

I shook my head as best I could with his hand holding me in place.

“Do you understand yet, Jordyn? Do you know how you failed, and what your failure put those men through?”

“Y-yes, yes, I u-understand, sir.” It was the truth. I understood.

He pursed his lips. “See, I don’t think you do. Until you’ve experienced both of their pain, I really don’t think you can understand. You’ve already been cut twice, sure, but the drowning? I just don’t think you get it yet.”

My eyes went wide. Father dunked me under the water again.

It was too much. I just couldn’t take it anymore. Every single part of my body was in pain. My face throbbed relentlessly. My lungs burned from the lack of oxygen and my abs burned from the effort of trying to fight back. Every movement still sent a spike of anguish shooting through my chest. My back ached from bending over. The cuts on my belly stung endlessly. I just wanted it to end.

Father’s hand wasn’t moving. This was it; I was going to die. After everything I’d survived, I was going to die while getting taught a lesson because I was too stupid to understand a simple concept. Maybe I just wasn’t cut out for this life. Blackness swarmed around my vision, closing in. I accepted it.

Once again, right as I was teased with some sort of release from this agonising consciousness, Father ripped it away at the last moment. My head was pulled out of the water and Father finally released his grip. My body went slack without his support and I collapsed to the floor, knocking the bucket over as oxygen and feeling slowly returned to my tingling, dying body.

“Now, you understand,” Father said.

I didn’t reply. I couldn’t. I was too busy trying to figure out how to breathe again.

“What do you say, Jordyn?”

Despite my overall lethargy, my brain kicked into overdrive trying to parse that question. Getting it wrong would mean this lesson wouldn’t be over yet. Father would still have to teach me more. He would have to take more time out of his day to discipline me for my stupidity. I needed to get this right; I needed to prove that I could be good for him in all the ways he deserved. I was lucky to get to even be in his presence.

“Th… thank you…” I rasped. “F-for… For helping me… u-understand…”

“Good girl.”

In the distance, I heard the door slide open. Mr. Sadler’s voice echoed around my head.

“Sir, we've finished- Oh. Sorry, am I interrupting something?”

Father stood up. “Just dolling out some discipline. Don't worry, we just finished. What were you saying?”

“We've finished analysing that feather from the scene. You were right, it came from G-5’s wings.”

“Thought so. Seems that girl is dedicated to being a thorn in my side. No matter, we'll find out where she's hiding eventually. Then, Seven will take care of her. Won't you, Jordyn?”

I was too stupid to know what they were talking about, but it seemed prudent to reply with an affirmative. Unfortunately, I seemed to finally have lost control of my body, and all I could manage was a moan that sounded vaguely like a yes.

“Very good,” Father replied. “Now, patch yourself up and take a shower. You stink.” With that, Father and Mr. Sadler left my room, and I finally, finally, passed out.

Taglist: @steelandblood @sapphicwhump @urnumber1star @alsolucakairomi @idkwhattodowiththisaltiamsorry

@iamheretohurt @anoyedartist @dontyoubleedoutonme

Hope all those work correctly this time! post creator is ass at telling you if your tags are actually functional. Anyone who has any advice I could really use it!

Huuuuuge shoutout to @anoyedartist who did some awesome fanart of Jordyn that you can check out here. Go and give them some love!

Thanks sm for reading :) Don't be afraid to leave a comment and let me know what you thought! It sustains me. Reblogs also very appreciated :)

gonna do another chapter of my book before the next one so it'll be a bit of a wait again. Stay tuned!

#project genesis whump series #whump series #whump #whumpblr #living weapon whump #living weapon whumpee #conditioned whumpee #controlling whumper #knife whump #drowning whump #whump writing #dehumanisation #power dynamics #creative writing #superhero whump

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hadesstan · 1 year ago

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June of Doom Day 20

"That's gonna be one hell of a scar"

| Cage | Pliers | Scrape |

Cw: The prompts above, rescue, implied abuse/ torture, self-sacrifice.

I'm actually really proud of myself for keeping at this so long. I fully expected to fail before day 15. I'm thinking I might start posting snippets from my whumpy novel once I get through this shitshow of a month. Anyway, enjoy some more hero/villain whump!

...

Villain sat in the cage, bleeding all over, but refusing to cower. They didn't huddle or hide in the corners of the cage, they sat, dead centre, and glared at the door, waiting for Supervillain to return.

But when the the click of the lock echoed through the room and the scrape of the dopr opening grated their ears, it wasn't Supervillain coming through the door. It was Sidekick. The very last person they'd ever expect to be here.

"Sidekick?"

Sidekick raised a finger to their lips. "Shush". Villain understood the message and chose to watch out the door as Sidekick pulled a pair of large pliers from their jacket and began to cut the wires on the cage. One by one. Snip snip snip. It took way longer than was comfortable for Villain, and they grew more paranoid with every snip of a wire that Supervillain would arrive.

But they never did, and soon, there was a hole large enough for Villain to crawl out.

As soon as they were out though, they couldn't stand straight. The cuts crisscrossing their legs made it impossible to rest their weight on their legs.

Sidekick hissed when they saw the wounds.

"That's gonna be one hell of a scar," they muttered. The first thing they'd said since they arrived. They didn't say another word as they looped Villain's arm over their shoulder and carried most of their weight as the pair limped out the door.

They approached the front door but Villain began to panic. Where was Supervillain? They must have heard them. Why hadn't they showed up?

"They're distracted right now," Sidekick whispered, reading their thoughts. Villain wanted to question it, but at that moment they heard the loud crash as someone fell through a window somewhere out of sight.

They heard the tell-tale voices of Supervillain and Hero arguing and suddenly they understood. Hero was distracting Supervillain, hence why Sidekick was here.

Sidekick didn't seem fazed in the slightest and continued carrying Villain out the car outside, loading them into the back seat.

"Hero-" Villain started, but Sidekick cut them off.

"They'll be fine. My orders are to get you out of here."

"But-"

They didn't get to finish their complaint as the car jerked forward, shooting out into the road, just as Supervillain came crashing out onto the road behind them, bruised and battered, followed by a furious Hero.

#whump #whump drabble #whump writing #june of doom #whumpee #whumper #hero villain whump #hero x villain #villain whumpee #hero caretaker #sidekick caretaker

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whatsnewalycat · 1 year ago

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Passenger / Chapter 5

Pairing: Trucker!Din Djarin AU x OFC Charlie Wanderlust

Chapter Five: Wyoming (Part Two)

[ Previous Chapter ][ Series Masterlist ][ Next Chapter ]

Chapter Summary: Charlie and Din test the waters.

Rating: Explicit (18+ only)

Word Count: 7.8k+

Content / Warnings: yearning, horny thoughts, anger problems, crying, food mention, handcuffs, hi yes the only one bed trope is alive and well, unlike the Titanic (it's relevant I promise), small town, lying, fictional town, sorry to Wyoming-ites if I got WY all wrong, (Bernie Sanders voice) I am once again talking about The Yellow Wallpaper by Charlotte Perkins Gilman

Notes: Howdy, howdy. We are balls deep in the yearning with this one, folks. Thank you @frannyzooey for proofreading and being the literal best, I appreciate you endlessly.

Just like Paul promised, The Jackalope Motel is conveniently located straight across the county road from Giddyup Auto.

The single-story, L-shaped motel, whose faded roadside sign advertises low weekly rates and color TV, shares a gravel parking lot with a two-pump gas station. Its brick exterior is painted a pallid shade of yellow, all ten room doors varnished with this glossy teal finish.

Nestled into the elbow of the building sits a white screen door with the words MOTEL OFFICE printed on the front.

Din departs from your side to hold the door open, an action you assure yourself is rooted less in chivalry than it is him not wanting to turn his back to you. A loud creak sounds from the battered door and announces your arrival. The dog charges through the threshold, pulling his leash taut in your grip as you step inside the cramped, wood-paneled office.

An elderly woman perks up on her barstool behind the front desk. She stubs out her lit cigarette in a nearby ashtray and calls in a husky voice, “Howdy, howdy.”

“Hi there,” you smile, glancing back at Din to determine who will take the lead in this interaction.

He does, taking three wide strides past you to the counter. As he moves through the room, a thick sea of smoke parts for him, churning and dancing in his wake.

“We need a room. Two nights for now.”

The gray-haired woman pulls the glasses hanging on a chain around her neck onto the bridge of her nose, “Let me see here…”

At your feet, the dog sniffs his surroundings. He follows an invisible trail to a tattered plaid couch. You follow, listening to Din and the motel manager discuss lodging arrangements.

“I got a couple two three rooms open, I can stick you in one away from the rabble rousers. Somethin’ more private,” she winks at him.

His back straightens and he holds up a hand, “Do you have anything with two beds?”

The mischievous look on her face flattens and she raises her eyebrows, looking down at her books with a frown, “‘Fraid I don’t.”

Din looks over at you, his face blank, eyes inscrutable behind his aviators, then turns back to the woman and gives her a nod, “Anything you have is fine, then.”

He takes out his wallet as she starts getting paperwork together. You gravitate towards a wall of faded, dusty brochures that advertise Western Wyoming’s finest tourist traps, including, but not limited to: a cowboy-themed amusement park, guided tours of mountain ranges and caves, horseback riding expeditions, and hot springs.

“What brings y’all to town?”

When you turn to Din, he gives you a mild, one-shouldered shrug, so you tell her, “His rig broke down about an hour from here. Paul—do you know Paul?”

She chuckles and nods, “I’ve known Paul since he was in diapers. Used to watch him for his momma while she was at work.”

“No kidding?” you approach the tall front desk, propping your elbows up on the counter, “He’s fixing the truck. Really nice guy, referred us to this place ‘cuz we don’t know how long it’ll take.”

“Can I get your ID, hun?” she asks Din, who complies without comment, then she glances up at you while jotting down your companion’s information, “He’ll get y’all fixed up good. We got a few things to do ‘round here if you get tireda bein’ holed up here. A few parks, some trails. There’s a fella that has a ranch just on the outskirts of town, he does horseback riding, if that squeezes your lemon. Downtown, we got some bars, coupla places to eat ‘n’ all that,” she hands the ID back to Din, sighing, “Nothin’ fancy, but better ‘n nothin’ at all.”

“We don’t need fancy,” you grin at Din, who does not return the sentiment, then ask the motel manager, “What’s your name?”

“Annie.”

“I love that name,” you smile, “Annie Get Your Gun.”

She smiles, too, toothy and wide, revealing her too-perfect teeth–obviously dentures–and says, “You know, I was actually named after her. Annie Oakley.”

“That’s awesome. A fantastic namesake, she was a true badass.”

“She sure was,” Annie nods and takes the glasses off her face, letting them drop around her neck from the glasses chain, “Well, the room comes to $59 per night, plus taxes and fees, ends up runnin’ closerta $75. Do you wanna settle the tab for two nights now, or see if you needta tack on more and take care of it at checkout?”

You look over at Din, who answers, “We can settle at checkout.”

“Fine with me,” she swivels on her little stool and stands to grab a key off the wall behind her, “We got an ice maker and vending machine outside the door here, don’t be too loud, and pick up after yer dog. Any questions?”

She slides a key across the counter, whose big turquoise keychain reads 10 in metallic gold, and glances between you and Din. He grabs it, and you respond, “No ma’am.”

“Alright, well, let me know if y’all need anything.”

“Will do, thank you, Annie,” you give her a polite wave before following Din outside, pulling the dog along behind you.

The room smells of bleach and water damage.

Much like the office, its walls are all wood-paneled with a dull oak finish. A framed painting of a bunny with deer antlers hangs above the queen sized bed. As you try to untangle the leash from your guitar and backpack, you nod at the painting and chuckle, “A jackalope.”

Din grunts in response. He tosses his backpack on the bed, then turns to the dog, crouching down to unclip his leash from the collar. The dog reacts like he’s hit with a cattle-prod and goes zooming around the motel room in a lop-sided oval.

You start giggling as he tears over the bed, to the bathroom door where he makes a U-turn and speeds past the dresser, then your feet, then Din’s, then does it again, around and around until he runs out of steam. He comes to rest on the fireproof, floral bedspread, circa 1984, and leans back on his haunches, panting and out of breath, tongue hanging out of his jowls, glancing between you and his person.

“Feel better?” Din asks him, and he sneezes.

You go to the window, pulling the top pane down to let crisp October air spill into the room, carrying with it the earthy scent of organic decay. When you close your eyes and inhale, you see piles of raked-up maple leaves, those big mosaics of orange and red and yellow and brown, hiding rot underneath. It reminds you of home.

You turn to your captor, who seems to be inspecting the bathroom. He flicks the bathroom light on and peeks inside while you release an exaggerated sigh, “So, Din.”

He brings his attention to you and leans against the doorframe, crossing his arms, raising his eyebrows in question.

“That is your name, right?”

“It is.”

A smile spreads across your face.

The fact that you’re able to put a name to this man, brings you a surprising amount of joy. He seems less like a force now, and more like a person. Which, you suppose, is probably why he didn’t formally introduce himself before shoving your face into a trailer door and abducting you.

“Great, well—Din, it’s nice to actually meet you,” you cross the room and extend your hand to him. All he does for a moment is stare at it, until you tease, “Aw, come on. I don’t bite.”

“Maybe I do.”

Your lips part and you blink at him. When the corner of his mouth turns up in a smirk, your face transforms into a heater. This whole situation would be a lot easier if he wasn’t so handsome.

RULE #3: Keep your wits about you.

“Funny guy,” you snort, rolling your eyes in feigned annoyance, but continue to hold your hand out to him.

He takes it and gives it a firm shake. His palm is warm and calloused and his grip seems to swallow yours. Even though he’s wearing those stupid sunglasses, you can tell when his eyes meet yours because a jolt shoots through the middle of you. Your throat tightens and your cheeks get even hotter.

Before he can tell how flustered you are, you take your hand back and retreat to the bed, plopping down to scratch the dog as you ask, “What now? Do you wanna go explore this podunk town?”

“No. We’re staying here. The less we’re seen, the better.”

You groan and throw yourself back onto the bed. There’s a yellow-tinged water stain on the ceiling that almost looks like a face if you squint and tilt your head a little. It brings to mind this short story of a woman slowly losing her sanity while on “rest cure” to treat her depression. She’s forced to do absolutely nothing, and starts to see figures in the yellow wallpaper of her bedroom.

Granted, your situation is much different than the one Charlotte Perkins Gilman penned, but you still feel a sense of solidarity with her protagonist’s captivity. You feel antsy. Cooped up. The thick layer of grime on your skin becomes hard to ignore, and you remember it’s been a week since you last bathed.

“Can I at least shower?”

When he hesitates to respond, you can’t stop yourself from sitting up and scowling at him, “Seriously?”

“There’s a window in the bathroom.”

You stare at him blankly, “So, what, you think I’m going to—”

“Yes.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” you get to your feet and stomp past him into the very retro, very pink bathroom, yanking the shower curtain open to inspect the window.

In all fairness, you could climb out of it if you really wanted to, but you still roll your eyes and tell him, “Probably can’t even fit through there.”

He just stares at you, unmoved.

Frustration simmers in your stomach. All that’s standing between you and the sweet relief of a shower is his lack of trust. There has to be a middle ground.

“What if—” your mouth clamps shut. You shift your weight from one leg, to the other, then shrug, “Would it make you feel better if you were in here while I showered?”

Din’s lips part, stunned for a moment before he carefully says, “Better isn’t the right word—”

“Ok, well, feel free to substitute ‘better’ with ‘more secure,’ or ‘reassured,’ or whatever. You know what I mean.”

He studies the window for a moment, the muscles in his jaw wiggling as he considers the compromise, then looks back at you and nods, “Sure.”

“How long will this take?”

From behind him, Din hears you wrestle clothing off your body into a pile on the floor as you say, “Five minutes, tops.”

The faucet squeaks, then the water comes to life with a stuttering hiss. Twin metallic swooshes signal the shower curtain being pulled open, then shut, then you moan, “Fuuuuck that’s so good.”

His imagination bucks out of his control, and for a moment the only image in his mind can conjure is his body pressed up against yours, skin on skin. How soft and warm you must be. How those words would taste on your lips. All the ways he could make you utter them again and again.

He thinks of your stubbornness, your defiance, and wonders what it would be like to break you. Would you like it?

I am not a good man.

Din squeezes his eyes shut and tries to flush out the deviant thoughts, reminding himself of the handsome bounty he’ll collect when he turns you over. The peace that financial security will bring him. He won’t have to live job-to-job with a white-knuckle grip on existence. He’ll have room to breathe. Maybe he’ll even be able to live a little.

Your honeyed voice pulls him out of his tail-spin.

“Blackbird singing in the dead of night. Take these broken wings and learn to fly…”

Din opens his eyes and stares at the bathroom door, shaking his head in amusement, thinking, Of course you sing in the shower.

It’s sort of nice, though. He doesn’t mind it. In fact, he kind of likes it.

Grogu, obviously feeling left out, scratches at the other side of the door, then lets out a disgruntled whine.

You stop singing and ask, “Is that the pup?”

“Yeah.”

The shower curtain rings squeak, then your voice is right next to him, “Let him in.”

Without thinking, he turns to you and scoffs, “No.”

Water drips off the ends of your sudsy white-blonde hair onto his boot. Your features pinch into a scowl, dark eyes searching his face, “What, why not?”

His gaze flicks to the blur of skin barely concealed behind the shower curtain, then to the pink tiled floor as heat rises to his face, “He’s just gonna jump in there and get wet.”

“So?”

“He’ll stink up the room.”

You snort, “You’re already doing that.“

Din goes to glare at you, but corrects himself and glares at the ceiling instead, “Sure that’s not you?”

You let out an exaggerated gasp that quickly dissolves into laughter, “You asshole.”

He looks down at the doorknob and shakes his head, stifling a chuckle.

“So rude,” you tease as you slide the curtain closed and step back into the steaming shower stream, “Come on, big guy, let the pup come in. He can’t possibly stink more than I did.”

Grogu scratches at the door again, this time letting out a sharp bark instead of a whine.

“Awww, listen to him,” you say, the pout evident in your voice, “So lonely, he just wants to be with us.”

Din rolls his eyes and twists the doorknob to let him in. The dog barrels into the room, skittering across the shiny, bubblegum pink ceramic into the empty garbage can. It goes toppling over, and he uses it like a bumper to correct his course towards the tub. He stands on his hind legs and peaks behind the shower curtain, then woofs for your attention.

“Hello handsome boy!”

Grogu starts panting with excitement, his nails clacking on the floor and the porcelain tub.

“Oh my goodness, do you want to come in here with me?”

He barks.

Din protests, “Don’t—”

“Ok, ready, here we go.”

Both you and the dog groan a little when you lift him, then Din hears clattering and splashing as he lands in the tub and starts flailing around in the water. A sharp giggle pierces his eardrums, making him wince, but there’s such an abundance of joy in your laughter and the dog’s playful growls, Din catches it secondhand and ends up smiling like an idiot.

“Look at you, happy pup! You love the water, don’t you?!”

Grogu lets out a low bow-wow and sneezes, which you respond to with a squeal of delight. Something tender and warm blooms in Din’s chest. Just as soon as he realizes its fragility, he stomps it out, snipping over his shoulder, “Are you almost done?”

The water shuts off with a loud clunk from the faucet and you respond, “Yep.”

Din ends up trying to dry off the wet, rowdy dog while you dig through your backpack.

“Do you think there’s a laundromat here?”

He glances up at you, eyes briefly trailing along the outline of your body beneath the fluffy white towel before he clears his throat, then says, “I don’t know.”

You sniff one of the sweatshirts from your backpack, shrug, and toss it onto the dresser.

“We should check. Everything in here is fucking rank,” you mutter while inspecting a pair of dark pants.

The dog zooms past, drawing Din’s attention, and he manages to scoop him up into a towel, “Gotcha!”

Whining and throwing his weight around like a fish out of water, Grogu tries to escape as Din dries him off. You turn and snort at the dog, “Good luck, I’ve been trying to do that for days,” then pad across the faded, low-rise carpet to the bathroom.

Din glances up at the oval-shaped mirror mounted to the wall, catching a glimpse of your reflection as you drop your towel. Stunned, he fumbles the task at hand and the dog flies from his grip like a bat out of hell.

“Shit,” he mutters, propping his hands on his hips, watching the little white dog torpedo from one end of the room to the other.

“This probably feels like wide open spaces to him after being cooped up in the truck, huh?” you chuckle from the bathroom.

His eyes betray him, flicking to your reflection again. At least you have pants on this time, the waistband of tight black leggings nestled into the dip of your waist. He studies the curve of your spine up to a compass tattooed between your shoulder blades. You pull a baggy maroon sweater over your head and spin around before he can look away. Shame creeps hot up his neck and makes him drop his gaze.

If you caught him staring, it doesn’t show. You just trot past him and throw yourself onto the old, squeaky mattress, stacking one foot atop the other as you stretch out.

Grogu breaks out of his orbit to hop up onto the bed and climb in your lap, tongue hanging from one side of his mouth. A giggle chirps up your throat, and you scratch between his ears, “Do you two have a home base, or just the truck?”

“Just the truck,” Din answers, crossing his arms and leaning back against the wall.

“Oooh a coupla rubber tramps,” you grin, “It’s fun, right? Nomad life?”

He tilts his head at you.

Is that why you do this? Because you think living on the road is fun?

His lack of response tugs at the arch of your brow. You look around the room, releasing a sigh through slack lips, making a pfpfpfpf sound, then ask, “Well, whaddya wanna do?”

Din pushes off the wall and starts towards an armoire that looks heirloom or at least second-hand, swinging open its solid oak doors to reveal an old tube TV. A shelf at the top of the cabinet stores a VCR and a few tapes.

“Finding anything fun?”

He reads movie titles off the faded VHS sleeves, “The Wedding Singer, Titanic, Pocahontas, Men in Black.”

“Anything you like?”

“I’m not much of a movie person,” he admits in a murmur, and casts a glance over his shoulder, “Do you have a preference?”

“Not really,” you shrug, “I’m not much of a movie person, either. You pick.”

Din swings his gaze back to the armoire, wrinkling his nose at the options, then pulls out the double-barreled VHS of Titanic and pops in the first tape.

After feeding the movie into the VCR, your captor goes to the little two-person dining room table in the corner of the room and grabs one of the chairs, carrying it over to the opposite side of the bed. You watch him the whole way, eyebrows raised, blinking with annoyance when he sits in the chair and kicks his feet up onto the bed.

“You’re really gonna watch a movie like that?”

He glances over at you, crossing his arms over his chest, “Like what?”

“With your whole,” you circle your wrist around your ear, “Incognito thing. Plus, boots? You can like… be comfortable, did you know that?”

His mouth flattens into a line. A few awkward seconds go by before it clicks and you nod in understanding, “But you can’t be comfortable around me, can you?”

He doesn’t answer. Not that you expect him to.

You grab the remote control off the nightstand and turn up the volume. With previews still running on the TV, you sigh and pull a pillow out from the cheap bedspread, plumping it up and adjusting yourself into a more relaxing position.

“I get it,” you mumble at the screen, “You think that in order for you to maintain this power dynamic, you can’t show belly.”

“Is that what I think?”

When you look over at him, he seems to be studying you through the tint of his aviators. You ask, “Isn’t it?”

He doesn’t answer. Probably because he doesn’t want to admit you’re right. Better than him giving you some bullshit contrarian retort, you suppose, but his silence still burrows gritty between the layers of your skin.

“Whatever, man,” you scoff and roll your eyes, “If you wanna sit way over there in your stupid getup, that’s your decision, but it seems pretty fucking miserable for no good reason.”

His jaw gnashes back and forth a bit before he sits up and takes off his hat, tossing it onto the nightstand, then his sunglasses. His dark eyes meet yours, “Better?”

You look at his black leather boots.

He sighs and drops his feet to the ground, bending over to remove the boots one at a time. When he returns to his previous position, arms crossed over his broad chest, socked feet propped up on the bed, you suppress a grin and turn back to the movie.

"I believe you may get your headlines, Mr. Ismay."

Beneath the thick, curved glass of the TV, the first VHS runs out of tape. Out of the corner of his eye, Din sees you sit up and throw your legs off the bed. Grogu croaks out a sleepy sound from beside you, rolling onto his back. You rise to your feet, asking, “Can we get something to eat before starting the second tape?”

Din glances down at his watch. 4:30. His stomach rumbles. Given the unpredictable twist this day has taken, food has largely remained at the back of his mind until now.

“We could walk further into town and see what we find. I bet the pup has to go potty, anyway. We could take him with us. Maybe Annie can give us a recommendation—”

He looks over at you to respond, but finds himself momentarily tongue-tied. You stretch your clasped hands skyward, pulling the hem of your sweater up to expose a generous slice of your midriff. You’re still distracted as rambling he stares, unable to stop his thoughts from returning to how soft and warm you must be.

His hungry skin aches, deep and throbbing, down to the marrow. An infection festering for years. Or longer. Decades, really.

He tries to recall how long it’s been since he felt the heat of another person. It was snowing, he remembers that much. She was one of those women that made her way around truck stops selling pleasure to lonely guys like him. Lot lizards, some of the truckers called them.

Was he in Colorado? Or was it Ohio?

He remembers the excruciating quiet as she stripped off her snow-clotted outer layers, revealing a petite brunette with wary eyes and a businesslike attitude. Not that he holds those things against her. It’s understandable. Advisable, even, given her line of work and clientele.

Her company didn’t do much to quell his hollow yearning for intimacy, but it was a release nonetheless.

“—So, what do you think?”

Din snaps out of the trance and meets your eyes, all warm and hopeful.

Goddamnit.

“You stay right next to me the whole time.”

“Do I get a treat if I’m good?” you smirk, one eyebrow raising in challenge.

The question bubbles hot at the base of his spine. He tries to keep his countenance neutral when he says, “We’ll see how you do.”

Grogu waddles over to the side of the bed closest to him and yowls for attention. Thankful for the diversion, Din reaches over and scratches the dog between his big ears, “Both of you.”

The dog sniffs the sidewalk a few feet ahead of you and Din, tethered to his owner by a leash. He zig-zags back and forth, completely engulfed in the sights and smells of this brand new world.

You find yourself in a similar state of awe and appreciation. Tilting your face up to the big cotton candy sky, you inhale two lungfuls of the most refreshingly crisp air you may have ever been blessed to receive. Yellow Seed was built in a valley, and it seems like everywhere you look there are mountains in the distance, dark and evergreen and ominous. A stark contrast to whatever magic is happening in the atmosphere.

The world feels so infinite and beautiful that if you let yourself, you could cry about it.

Too caught up in the moment to pay attention to your gait, you knock hands with Din. The impact makes your heart jump. You hear yourself stammer out an overreaction, “Oh shit—sorry, I um, didn’t mean to—”

“Might help if you stop daydreaming.”

“What’re you, my mother?” you scoff under your breath, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

“What’s that?”

You glance over at him.

His smug smirk draws your attention briefly before you shake your head and change the subject, “Have you seen Titanic before?”

“Can’t say I have.”

“What made you pick it?”

He shrugs, “Long run time.”

“Shut up, that’s not the only reason, is it?” you laugh, “It’s not because you get to see Kate Winslet’s tits or anything, right?”

His head jerks back a little and his ears turn all red, “What? No—”

“I’m just giving you shit,” you snort.

He exhales an airy chuckle, and a few seconds go by before he asks, “What about you? Have you watched it before?”

His cadence is halting and rusty. Out of practice. You can tell he doesn’t make conversation often, but he’s trying and that’s… sort of sweet, actually.

“I have, but it’s been years. I think I was a kid, maybe six or seven, when I watched it with my grandma at her house,” you smile fondly at the memory, kicking a rock along the sidewalk, “She made me cover my eyes during the nudity and sex and stuff, but I totally peeked.”

“So you’ve always been a troublemaker.”

“I guess so, huh?” you chuckle.

The conversation dies a natural death, and for a while, the two of you just walk alongside each other, following the sidewalk further into Yellow Seed.

The houses you pass, like motel, auto shop, and gas station, all seem to have been built in the 1950’s with few updates since the 1990’s. Mid-century ramblers outfitted in white trim and chipped pastel paint—so much canary yellow. Neat lawns and landscaping and tattered American flags flapping in the wind. As the sidewalk brings you closer to the heart of the town, structures get older, more homes with front porches and earth-toned exteriors.

Downtown Yellow Seed barely occupies two city blocks. The businesses stand shoulder-to-shoulder, all of them constructed of brick or lumber, none of them within the last century. When you turn down the main drag, you squint and blur your vision so that the pickup trucks look like buggies, and you can picture exactly what it looked like when the roads were dirt paths carved out by wagon wheels and horse hooves.

“Outlaw Saloon,” you nod to the sign on an upcoming building and grin at Din, “Sounds like the place for us.”

“Speak for yourself,” he mutters, stepping up onto the sagging floorboards of the porch and starting towards the door.

The dog follows his suggestion, suddenly very interested in this change of direction, his ears perking up into high-alert. Din plucks him off the ground, then pulls the squeaky door open for you to enter, releasing a cacophony of noise: country music and clinking glass and the low murmur of conversation.

As you walk past him into the establishment, you tell Din, “That’s your problem, big guy, you know that? You think you’re so much better than me, but you’re not.”

All you hear in response is a grumble, then the jarring crack of the spring-loaded door slamming shut behind him. When he saddles up to your side, you feel his hand press into the small of your back.

It surprises you a little. Both the action itself, and the way your pulse jumps in response.

You don’t move, but look over at him and find you’re close enough to see his eyes behind his aviators. They flick around the bar as if searching for potential danger in the two dozen locals occupying the saloon. He holds the dog firm and close to his chest and he doesn’t move his hand and you realize that he is protecting you both. Subconsciously, probably, but he’s doing it nonetheless.

Something happens inside you.

A brief but sudden free-fall that flips your stomach and gelatinizes the cartilage in your joints. Your throat struggles to swallow around your thudding heart.

RULE #9: Do not get attached.

Ignoring the warning, you bring yourself closer to him. Just an inch or so, intending to be subtle, so that maybe he won’t notice. You don’t want him to think you like or need his protection, because you don’t.

Need it, that is.

Liking it, however…

If you can glean anything from the steady thrum of heat between your thighs, it’s that you do like it. That is, unfortunately, too blunt a force for you to ignore.

An unamused looking waitress approaches your little trio, grinding a wad of gum between her molars, “No dogs.”

“Oh—he’s an emotional support dog,” you tell her, softening your features into a non-threatening, winsome expression. You put your hand on Din’s arm and explain, “My friend has horrible agoraphobia. The only way I can get him to go out is if we have the dog with us.”

Her eyebrow raises and she blinks at Din, “That true?”

He nods once, “It is.”

She glances between the two of you for a moment, eyes flicking in time with the smack smack smack of her chewing gum, then shrugs, “Alright, come with me.”

As you follow the waitress, he stays by your side, with his warm, wide palm held flush to your spine.

He’s just making sure you don’t bolt. It doesn’t mean anything.

This little voice inside your head makes you feel so foolish, your cheeks start to flush. She’s right, though. You’re making something out of nothing.

But then his thumb moves. Only slightly, and just once, this gentle wiper blade motion—a fucking caress if you’ve ever felt it.

Your face heats even more.

The waitress stops at a wooden, high-back booth and pulls two menus from her apron, placing one on each side of the table. Only when you slide into the booth does his hand depart your body. He sits across from you, placing the dog down beside him.

“Can I get y’all somethin’ to drink?”

“Could I get a water, please?” you ask, flashing her a polite smile.

She nods, then looks at Din.

“I’ll have the same.”

“Two waters, anything else?”

You glance up at Din, trying hard not to drop your gaze when you feel his eyes meet yours. He shakes his head slightly, and you tell her, “No, I think that’s good for now, thank you.”

“Be right back.”

Once she’s out of earshot, Din asks, “Agoraphobia?”

“Pretty slick, huh?” you grin.

He smirks and shakes his head, looking down at the menu. The dog wriggles his way under his owner’s arm. Din allows it, absentmindedly petting him while evaluating food options.

Letting out a sigh, you turn your attention to the menu, too. Burgers, chicken, basic sandwiches, fried food. Standard bar fare. It doesn’t take you long to decide on a grilled cheese, leaving you to study the innards of the Outlaw Saloon.

The place is cavernous. Tin ceiling tiles two stories above the ground stretch much further back than you expected. Everything else, from the walls to the furniture to the floors, all appears to be made from the same dark, lacquered wood.

Predictably, the décor is an homage to cowboy lore. Taxidermized livestock, paintings of horses, and antique farm equipment have been mounted on the walls. Among them hang wanted posters of infamous Wild West gunslingers, such as Wyatt Earp and Billy the Kid. Sort of camp, but in an endearing way.

The bar bustles with activity, much busier than you thought it would be. In a small town like this, you weren’t expecting to see more than a handful of regulars out on a Wednesday evening, but there are at least 20, maybe 30, other patrons scattered about the venue.

As you look around at the strangers, you think to yourself, “Not one of these people would look out of place at a rodeo,” which is to say that the crowd looks to be a mix of ranchers and other working class folks. At least half are strapped with a handgun, which isn’t particularly alarming, especially in a rural Western town like this, but always good to note. Occasionally, people mutter to each other while shooting dirty looks at your table. Probably because you’re out-of-towners who had the audacity to bring a dog into their beloved saloon.

“Damn, if we were carrying, I bet we’d fit in a little better,” you comment mildly.

“Who says I’m not?”

You look over at him and tilt your head, “Are you?”

“I am.”

This interests you. You fold your legs up into a pretzel and lean your elbows onto the table, “Whaddya have?”

With his expressive eyes concealed, it’s hard to read what his silence means, but you guess trying to determine your question’s intent.

Before either of you can say anything else, the waitress approaches your table carrying two glasses of water. As she slides one in front of you, then the other in front of Din, you ask her, “Do you guys ever have live music here?”

“Sure,” she shrugs and plants one hand on her hip, “Nothing this weekend, though.”

You glance over at Din, who’s shaking his head slowly, as if to say, “Don’t you fucking dare,” but ignore it and ask, “Do you want live music this weekend?”

“I take it I do not get a treat?”

Din clenches his jaw, glaring up at you from his crouched position as he unhooks Grogu’s leash. He hasn’t said anything to you since you coaxed your way into a gig at the Outlaw Saloon, blatantly disregarding his wishes to lay low in this town.

If he wasn’t so goddamn hungry, and if it wouldn’t have roused the attention of the already suspicious locals, he would have hauled you out of the restaurant the second you inquired with the waitress about live music.

You must have felt the anger radiating off him in waves, because your attempts at conversation since have been few and far in between.

For that, he’s grateful.

The red glowering beneath his skin feels unpredictable. That familiar loathsome beast. Something he believed extinct inside him, eradicated through years of training, now awake and growling.

He rises to a standing position and starts pacing, trying to keep calm.

Meanwhile, you take your doodle-ridden acoustic guitar, plop down on the bed, and start strumming a tune.

Heat wells up in his chest.

“It’ll be fun, you’ll see. Gives us something to do,” you tell him, watching your own fingertips move skillfully along the neck of the instrument, “Plus, I could rake in a decent amount of money, which could help us—”

“Stop it.”

The music cuts immediately.

He takes off his hat and sunglasses, tossing them onto the chest of drawers, then turns to face you, meeting your doe-eyed gaze with too much vitriol.

“There is not an us. This is not a team. I do not want or need your help.”

Your shoulders sag. You furrow your brow, searching his face, and your lips part to protest, but he cuts you off hard.

“You are nothing to me but a payload. An annoying, entitled payload. Do you understand?”

You react as if he slapped you across the face. Your head jerks back and you drop your gaze to the floor, face getting all red.

He stares at you, awaiting your counterattack, but all you do is let out a choked sob.

The sharp tip of this noise pierces the over-inflated balloon of his anger, bursting it instantly. In its sudden absence, an ache starts in his chest. He looks back at the situation from this calmer state of mind, cleared of red haze, and feels ashamed of himself.

Grogu jumps onto the bed to sit at your side, and whines up at you. Inhaling a wobbly breath, you reach out and scratch his head, then mumble a damp, “It’s ok, pup.”

Some time goes by with only your quiet sniffles to break the silence, then you ask, “Where am I sleeping?”

As soon as the mention of sleep hits him, his bones turn to lead, heavy with exhaustion. How long has it been since he’s slept? It feels like days. Nothing last night, barely a few hours the night before that.

“You have options,” he responds. At this, you let out a sad, soft chuckle that he ignores, continuing, “There’s the bathroom, your sleeping bag, or the bed.”

“I assume I would be restrained in each of these scenarios?”

He folds his arms over his chest and nods, “In the bathroom, I would cuff you to the toilet. The other two, I…” he grimaces, “It would be to me.”

“Wow, ok,” you take the guitar out of your lap and prop it up on the nightstand, “A toilet or the man who thinks I’m a piece of shit.”

“I didn’t say—”

“You didn’t have to.”

He meets your gaze, holding it steady for a few seconds before saying, “Charlie, I…”

The apology gets all tangled in his throat. You wait a while for him to finish the thought. When he doesn’t, you move past it, your voice void of emotion.

“Do you have a preference?”

“No.”

“If it’s all the same to you, I’d like to sleep in the bed.”

Din nods in acknowledgment. He glances down at his watch, finds it’s barely past 6, and asks, “Are you tired now?”

“Kinda, yeah.”

As if to confirm, you suck in a shaky breath and yawn, stretching your hands above your head. It spreads to him.

“Give me a few minutes,” he tells you.

In response, you tug at the bedspread and wriggle your way between the sheets. Grogu grumbles for a moment at the adjustment, then turns in a few circles and plops down beside you with a hmph.

You’re probably exhausted, too, given the ups and downs of this week. Being taken captive. Sleeping in the same room as Din when you cannot trust him. Spending all your time with someone whose explicit intent is to turn you in for a pretty penny.

It must take an emotional toll, even if you don’t let it show most of the time. Even if you have that rule to… how did you put it?

Live in the now.

To your credit, you have been trying your damnedest to follow that rule. By getting to know people whose paths cross yours, bonding with Grogu, writing and drawing in your notebook, playing music, suggesting ways to squeeze as much experience as possible out of what little time you have left.

Din likes that about you. Your relentless optimism. It’s admirable.

He likes a lot of things about you, he realizes. Your cunning, and your curiosity, and your ferocity. Your gap-toothed smile. The skillful way you play the guitar. How you curled into him ever-so-slightly when he placed his hand on your back earlier.

It occurs to him then that you may feel it, too. That gooey electric current when he touches you, or when his eyes meet yours for longer than a second.

His own words echo back to him: “You are nothing to me but a payload.”

He wants to take it back.

It’s not even true, he just wishes it was. He wishes he looked at you and saw a bad person who’s going to get what she deserves. The truth couldn’t be more contrary.

While your captor goes about his nighttime routine, you sulk.

It’s all you can do, really, since he’s made it abundantly clear your presence is a nuisance. Worse than that, even. You are nothing but an asset to him.

Ironically, it makes you feel worthless.

You think about how pathetic your burgeoning crush on him is. Were you imagining the chemistry between you?

Of course you were.

You were making things up—“Living in LaLa Land,” as your mother used to say.

Din pulls back the covers on the opposite side of the bed. The mattress shifts under his weight, and he groans as he stretches out. Every nerve ending in your body lights up when you feel the heat of him. The distance between you is exactly the width of a French Bulldog.

“Hey, kid,” he murmurs.

His voice is low and syrupy. Warm.

Your throat works in a slow bob before you roll on your back to look at him. Your eyes meet his, and your stomach flips. When whoever said that thing about the eyes being the window to the soul, they must have been talking about him. You can see it all right there, written in bold print: I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it.

Or maybe that’s just what you want to see. Fuck, but why? Why do you even care?

You should fucking know better.

This is only temporary. Din. His dog. The truck. This room. Tonight. Life, really, if you wanted to get existential about it.

“Do you want to watch the rest of that movie?”

You frown as you consider this for a moment, then nod.

He gets out of bed and walks over to the big armoire. As he pops in the second Titanic VHS tape, you study the broad span of his shoulders and biceps stretching his t-shirt taut.

God, he looks solid and strong and just so fucking good.

This guy robbed you of your dignity and all you can think about right now is what his lips would feel like on yours. If he would be a greedy lover, or a generous one, or both. Would he be intuitive or clumsy with your body? Would he be rough?

He would be with me.

Heat blossoms on your cheeks and deep in your center. You don’t know how you know, but you do. He just seems… pressurized. Combustible. Especially towards you.

On his way back to bed, while the tape rewinds, Din rummages through his backpack and piles some of its contents into one arm. He sits down at the edge of the mattress and hands you a bottle of water, then holds out two candy bars and says, “Pick one.”

“Is this an apology?”

“No, it’s chocolate.”

You blink at him and cross your arms.

His features soften. He shakes his head, “What I said was not kind. You didn’t deserve that.”

“No, I didn’t,” you agree, keeping your gaze stern, “You can’t talk to me like that.”

“I understand. I’m sorry.”

You search his face. There’s such earnestness there, you believe him.

A mechanical click sounds from the VCR, then the TV lights up as Titanic starts where it left off.

Your gaze drops to the candy bars, and you pluck one from his hand. The one that advertises a peanut-buttery crunch. Peeling off its yellow wrapper, you smirk, “Apology accepted.”

Din climbs all the way into bed, stuffing the flat hotel pillows behind his back, then opens the shiny silver wrapper of his candy bar. For a while, it’s quiet except for the warbled audio from the TV and the crunch of your chewing.

You get that feeling again like sunshine on your skin or God or whatever, and you laugh out loud.

“What?” Din asks.

“It’s probably really weird that I’m happy right now, right?”

“Are you?”

You peek over at him and chuckle, “Yeah, I mean… I’m eating my favorite candy and watching a good movie. Laying in a bed with a cute dog and…yeah,” you shrug, turning back to the TV, “I don’t know. I like it.”

He hums in acknowledgment, then asks, “Do you have your knife?”

“Why, you gonna take it from me so I don’t kill you in your sleep?” You let the question hang in the air for one whole second before continuing, “I’ll be real up close and personal, wouldn’t even have to sneak, just,” you drag your thumb across your throat, “Blech, dead.”

“I’m not taking it from you,” he tells you, pulling out his handcuffs, “But if you want to get it or use the bathroom, now’s your chance.”

You take the opportunity to relieve your bladder and change into your comfiest (and least offensive smelling) clothes.

Before tucking your pocket knife into your sleeve, you stare at it for a minute and consider actually using it to get the fuck out of here. Something you’ve considered dozens of times, if you’re being honest, but this time the idea weighs a million pounds.

When you open the bathroom door and step into the motel room, Din looks up at you from the bed. His gaze wanders briefly down your body as you climb into bed, then correct its course back to your eyes, “All set?”

You nod and hold your right arm out to him.

His touch is gentle when he closes the cuff around your wrist. Clicks sound from the apparatus until it’s clear your hand won’t be capable of wiggling free.

He secures the other cuff around his left wrist, settles his arm next to yours, and asks, “How is that?”

“It’s fine,” you nod, your voice too high, then swallow hard and chuckle, “Well, I guess as fine as being handcuffed in a bed can be. Probably not the best it could be, but not the worst, um, either.”

You wince at yourself and look at the TV, where Rose is wading through thigh-high water, carrying an ax. Thankfully, he doesn’t respond, but turns off the light on his nightstand. You do the same with yours. Aside from the TV, only a faint glow comes in through the window. Daylight’s last gasping breath.

You close your eyes and fondle the cool metal of your pocket knife in your left hand.

RULE #8: Take care of yourself.

Din shifts a little, and the back of his hand butts up against yours. Neither of you go to move. Warmth branches out from the spot, expanding and taking root deep in your belly.

RULE #2: Listen to your gut.

With this, you tuck the pocket knife under your pillow and roll onto your side facing him. You think about how nice it would be to rest your head on him, but resist the urge. The edges of consciousness start to fold in on themselves, and you murmur, “Sweet dreams, big guy.”

“Goodnight.”

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