#this is barely scratching the surface n it's so fucking long

[astralnymphh]

loser!ellie: who goes completely dumb when you kiss her. not a regular kiss—but one that clothes her skin in clandestine crevices. eating her neck, licking the skin fresh, pulling the hems loose on her. it all drives her pupils up inside her head and tends her to a state of scattermindedness, one where she minds the things standing outside of her head. “joel's gonna be wonderin' where i am if you don't stop..” mumbling against your ear, her eyes going as far as searching the room for spectators. that is, until you begin pricking the reddened skin too breathtakingly; with kisses that form deeper colors, and surface the most quiet-soft, long and delighted noises to the corners of her almond-shaped lips. it begins a requiem for her thoughts.

she is oblivious to how lost she gets. you nip her, and all the definition fades from her features; dope-faced. in fact, she doesn't grasp what you're really doing to that precious spot on her neck, and the sudden pressure there, until your lips have already left. hurried fingers flee and feel for her neck. “did you—you did not just do what i think you—” there is a smile playing on her face. however, it is hard-pressed. she rummages for her phone in the pillow cradling her head, and paints her neck with the illumination of the camera screen. “fuck, babe, really?” she drags, prods and palms at the scarlet-red blotch, wincing with her teeth bare. you watch her throat bob as it clears. “that high on my neck, too?”

you had no head for remorse; tonguing for the treat again. “you deserve it,” you whisper, the ends of it warming her skin. it flinches under your lips. “for being so cute all evening, huh? holding, and squeezing my hand under the table where your friends won't see?” a gulp plummets through her throat, and you taste it. some reproaching tension is building in there, too strung inside her feelings and sensations to let it become words, and furthermore too bashful to let them glance along your mouth, and potentially stutter. she imagines she will, and it restricts her. but the tight, skin-hot knuckles curling in your shirt are a clear representation of what she keeps in her throat. “got so red when i let them see, yeah?” something delicate along the lines of: “such an asshole.” perching there in phantom response, but she scratches the words into your back instead. your lips make her want to be obedient.

she is so distracted—from your questions, from your lips— that when her throat does loosen up, a roll of your hips on hers is all it requires to descend her opinion and forget about the movie she wanted to watch with joel. the warmth in her pants made mush of her mind. “fuck— more,” she shivers with a gaping breath. begs with her waist arching into you, inciting you to do what you just did again. the voice in ellie cracks. “i mean, joel can wait a second longer, right?”

a/n: apologies for the lack of blurbs writers block is hitting everyone atm i think..

[mermaidgirl30]

✨Saving What Was Lost Part 1: You’re Safe With Me✨

Pre-Outbreak! Joel Miller x fem! reader

Series Masterlist

A/N: The first chapter is finally here, and I’m so excited to bring this to all the healing girlies that need a protective, soft Joel in their life 🥺 Thank you to @alltheirdamn and @mountainsandmayhem for screaming about them with me. This is raw, heavy, and very emotional. I hope you love it as much as I do 🥹 Screaming because I need a hug from this man 😭

Chapter Summary: The night of the auction, the night you’ll have to face your fate of being bought. But an unexpected man dips his money in and fights for you. His eyes are soft, kind, unlike all the other men. And maybe he’ll just be your saving grace.

Rating: Explicit 18+ only MDNI

Word Count: 13.9k

Chapter Tags: Mentions of being trafficked, flashbacks of being abused, non-consensual touching, a lot of angst, soft and protective Joel, emotional reader, trust issues, PTSD, no use y/n, age gap (reader is late 20’s, Joel is late 40’s), pre-outbreak au, switching POVs

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

  Red. That’s all you see, all you know. The dark crimson lipstick that stains your tainted lips, the cardinal curtains that drape across the buyer’s room, your bloodshot eyes that reflect in mirrors that you can barely stand to look into. It’s all just… red.

   You hate your reflection, hate the mascara that runs down your eyes night after night like the blood that covers your once white sheets, hate the way your voice is silenced even when you so desperately want to scream your lungs out. But it doesn’t matter anymore. Nothing matters because you’re about to be sold to the highest bidder who deems you worthy enough to claim. 

   You scoff, biting your tongue until you taste copper run down the back of your throat, the tears pooling to the surface against your lash line. 

   “Stop fucking crying and suck it up,” Angela spits out sharply. “You’re going to make me a lot of money today, sunshine. So put on a big smile for me and stop smudging your makeup. You want to go back with the girls who didn’t get chosen to go on to the next rounds?”

   “No,” you mewl, your eyes wide and rounded, your heart lodged in your throat. You know what their poor fates will be, and you’ve had enough abuse and horror to last more than a lifetime. 

   “Then get out there and stop fucking around. You’re driving my patience, girl. The men are waiting.” She narrows her beady blue eyes and curls her thin red lips into a scowl, pushing you forward and nearly making you trip over your strappy high heels, your ankles barely able to hold your fatigued legs up any longer. 

   Your heart thunders loudly in your chest, blood rushing through your ears, anxiety threatening to take you down at any minute. Angela would be at your back, digging her spiky heels into your spine, barking at you to move, but what does it matter anymore? You’re already dead. What’s one more scratch to your fragile body that has been violated in ways you’d never speak about aloud. 

   You’re just a vacant body that’s hollow and worn inside. A mere ghost that’s left this earth long ago, imprisoned to this life to bring pleasure to men who only inflict pain and torture on innocent souls. But there’s nothing you can do. Not a damn thing. You’re stuck like glue unless you find a way to just end everything. Then they’d never be able to touch you again because you’d be buried six feet under the dirt. But at least then you’d be at peace.

   You’ll never know peace again. Not in this lifetime. Not ever. 

   As you turn the sharp corner, the vibrant red curtains separate into a stage-like theater room. Draped material clings to the velvety walls, the color reminding you of death and destruction. You can almost see the imprinted blood stains of the girls who got dragged away by the strands of their fragile hair, leaving claw marks in the walls. 

   You can still hear the blood curdling screams from some of them left behind, a plea for anyone who was listening, begging for just one person to help. But no one did. Their desperate calls weren’t enough to even stir up a care in the world from any of the men, including your awful handler, Angela. They were just a number, a dollar sign to every single one of these insufferable men, and the only thing they cared about was power, control, and sex.

   You weren’t any different in this scenario. And tonight, your soul would be auctioned off. And then you’d be enslaved till your master either killed you, or you found a gun and pulled the trigger yourself to just silence it all.

   Your high heels click audibly against the polished stage, your feet dragging as you keep your eyes peeled to the floor like a good submissive. “Keep your head down, don’t ever look them in the eyes. Be the good slut they want you to be and maybe they won’t punish you as much.” That’s what Angela always said for all those unbearable months you lived under her roof, and it was engraved like stone in your mind, imprinted words that might as well be tattooed on your wrist. 

   You were taken at twenty-six, now a twenty-seven-year-old fucked up girl who doesn’t even know what state she’s in. It’s been a year, maybe two. You don’t fucking know anymore. All you know is that you want to die. 

   You learned to be submissive, small-minded, belittled, pliant. And the worst part, she taught you to say thank you to your abusers after they were finished having their filthy ways with you night after night…

   You were nothing but a collared bitch who forgot how to say the word no. You were their prized possession now, and your body wasn’t your own anymore.

   “Ahhh. There she is. There’s my favorite slut of them all.” The word slut cuts you like a sharp knife penetrating deep through your skin, sinking down to stab you right where it hurts worst. “Why don’t you give us a spin, princess? Show these gentlemen what you’ve got to offer. Give them a show.” Garrett’s cackled voice booms through the large room, sending goosebumps down the base of your spine. You never liked him, especially when he cornered you in the bathroom, pushing you against the tile until he forced you down on your knees and told you to suck or he’d wring your neck.

   Your eyes press closed at the traumatic memory, teardrops threatening to spill at any moment. You just do what you're told and keep your quivering lips together, your long nails brushing against your bare thighs. The midnight blue dress barely covers your ass, the diamond earrings and pearl necklace weighing you down like a heavy anchor, tethering you to the ocean floor. Your cleavage spills out from the low-cut v shape of the top, breasts almost on full display because Angela said the men would just love it. You hate it, hate her but there’s not a damn thing you can do about any of it. You’re a slave and nothing more than a fuck toy and a quick money maker for the sex traffickers. 

   You wish you felt more human, but you’re just… not. Most days you can’t even remember your full name, nevertheless your favorite time of year. Being holed up in a horror house for over a year will do that to a girl. Make them forget their entire identity. And that’s exactly what happened to you. 

   Now you’re just… dust. 

   “Alright, boys. Shall we start this off with let’s say, ten thousand dollars?” Garrett’s sharp voice zaps like lightning through your nerves, and your whole body is visibly shaking now. His cold emerald eyes look like a viper about to strike its prey, and his smug smirk makes you want to curl in on yourself, hide yourself so he’ll never be able to torture you again. 

   You hear sounds of squeaking chairs, men cursing under their breath, whistles being thrown around like they’re catcalling you. They are catcalling you. But instead of harmless whistles, they’re poisonous fangs reaching for your skin, trying to seep their venom deep in your veins, claim you as their own. You fucking hate it.

   Taking a deep breath, you focus on the plush of the black carpet around the stage, try to pretend it’s lush green grass instead, like you’re running through the woods, escaping far far away from these bad men.

   “Come on, love. Don’t be shy. Show me those pretty eyes, so I can see just how gorgeous you’ll be down on your knees, pleasuring me with that pretty mouth of yours.” A man vulgarly shouts at you, the other men’s loud laughter echoing around the room, making you want to curl into a ball and die right on the spot so none of these men can lay a finger on you.

   Breathe. Focus. Don’t lose hope. Keep fighting. The words echo through your mind, but you’re so lost that it’s hard to keep going. You’re going to die under one of their hands anyway, so what does it matter? 

   “Did you hear him, princess? Chin up and look at him.” Garrett’s tone is stern and demanding, and you don’t flinch a second because you know what will happen if you do.

   When your eyes snap up, you come face to face with an older man who has cold blue eyes, spiky bleached blonde hair, and a jawline that could cut a man’s body in half. He has an evil glint in his eye, and it’s so revolting that it makes you want to puke. “Ten thousand you say? I’ll take her.” A devilish smirk marks his mouth, and fear strikes through your insides as fast as a lightning bolt. 

   No. Not him. Anyone but him. He looks like he’s murdered people, and you have no doubt that he’s killed women he’s bought before. 

   Fear slices through you, but you can’t run, can’t even move. Your feet are nailed to the wooden floor of the stage, and you know he sees how scared you are in your swirling irises filled with fright.

   “And shall we go up to fifteen thousand? Any takers?” Garrett looks around the room and two hands go up, but you’re too tired to look to see who they are.

   The bets continue, slowly climbing all the way to forty-five thousand dollars. An amount that is insane for a broken body who doesn’t even want to be breathing anymore. 

   Men scream and fight, shouting different prices, trying to win you over, making Garrett slam his fist down and sell you to the highest bidder. You don’t want to listen, don’t want to hear their rambling nonsense anymore. You just want to go to sleep and never wake up again. Maybe then you won’t feel any pain anymore. Maybe then you’ll find peace.

   More chants and vulgar noises come from the men’s mouths, their hungry eyes glued to you, their lips smacking and fingers digging into the velvet of their seats. Some men adjust themselves in their fancy suits, tongues darting out, wetting their salivating lips. And it’s so disgusting that it makes you nearly vomit on the floor, but Angela would have your head for that. So you just stand there helplessly and wait because that’s all you can do. 

   You’re their ragdoll, and they can do whatever the fuck they want with you. You have no say and trying to fight would just make everything that much worse. 

   Minutes go by, ridiculous numbers flying around the room, the air stifling and sticky, your body fizzing with anxiety, a panic attack creeping up against the surface, threatening to take you down in mere seconds.

   Don’t freak out, don’t freak out, don’t freak…

   “Sixty thousand dollars.” Your eyes dart up, panic flashing across your irises. You find a man you hadn’t seen in the very back, and you have to squint to make him out in the shadows of the corner of the room.

   Your mouth nearly drops open at the amount he just said but apparently, these men are dripping with copious amounts of money. 

   You take a few seconds to assess him, your eyes glued to his large form against the velvet recliner he sits in, palms pressed firmly into the sunken arms of the chair. His body is broad, tensed, thick veins spidering down his tanned forearms, a black Rolex watch clasped to his left wrist. He’s clad in a white button-up shirt, black dress pants pressed against sculpted thighs. He’s dressed like all the other filthy rich men, but this one stands out amongst the rest. There’s just something about him that’s different. 

   He drags a heavy hand down his patchy scruff, greying threads shining under the dim light. His tousled sandy hair is slicked back, silver streaks giving away his older age. He looks to be in maybe his late forties, if that. A thick mustache hangs over his plush mouth, but what draws you in the most isn’t anything about his physical appearance but the way he’s looking at you. Soft, gentle brown eyes that have no violence swirling in them like the rest of the men. While the others look at you like a raw piece of meat, he doesn’t follow their lead. In fact, his gaze never hovers, never draws down your body. They just stay locked entirely on your eyes.

   His eyes are soft, dark brown pools with honey flecks glittering in the darkness that surrounds you. They aren’t cold, unfeeling like the rest of the men’s are. They’re… soft. And that alone almost brings you to your knees in relief.

   “Sixty-one thousand,” the spiky blonde hair challenges, piercing his icy blue eyes on you, making you want to hurl at the thought of that one winning you over. 

   “Sixty-two,” the mysterious man in the corner barters. Your eyes snap up to his until you hear Angela’s venomous words spew in your mind. Eyes on the ground unless you’re getting spoken to. Your gaze involuntarily falls to the polished wood, and you hear her click her tongue behind the fancy curtains. You’re nothing but a disappointment to her most days. Never perfect, always pathetic. 

   You bite your lower lip in panic, digging your heel as far into the floor as it’ll go, your nails biting into the palms of your hand, almost to the point of blood being drawn. 

   “Sixty-three!” The blonde pushes out of his chair angrily, his fists balled at his sides, getting frustrated with the man that challenges him. 

   Please, please, please. Don’t let him take me. 

   Praying was something you gave up on long ago but at this moment, you really have nothing left to hold on to. You can only silently beg for the man with brown eyes to win the bid. 

   “Sixty-five,” the brown-eyed man growls, his voice clipped and harsh, letting the blonde know he isn’t going to lose this fight. The blonde glares at him, anger fuming in his icy eyes, a deep snarl embedded in his mouth. You’re almost positive that’s how he’d look night after night hovering over your bed if he were the one to win, but you can’t think about that now. All you can do is wait. 

   “Do I hear sixty-six?” Garrett smiles, his eyes flicking between the two men who look like they’re about to duel in an old western shootout. You already know the brown-eyed man would win. 

   The blonde’s jaw ticks, and he holds back violence in his flexed fingers. After a few unbearable seconds of waiting, he slowly shakes his head and sits back down in defeat. “No. Guess he gets to take home and fuck the whore however he likes.”

   Anger flashes over the broad man’s brown irises, and a murderous stare penetrates his gaze. He clenches a fist tightly, and a part of you thinks he may jump out of his seat and beat him to a bloody pulp, but he doesn’t. And for some reason, your breath is completely knocked from your lungs.

   The deep boom of Garrett’s tone makes you jump from surprise, stirring you from your deep thoughts. “And sold, to the man at the back of the house! Congratulations. You got our rarest gem tonight. Aren’t you so lucky.” 

   The brown-eyed man’s jaw clenches for just a second, but he relaxes it instantly. Walking up to the front of the room, he throws on his pressed black jacket, straightening it as he walks past the deranged men, following Garrett as he leads him to the side where he’ll transfer the money and make it official. You’re his now, and there’s nothing you can do about it. 

   Angela grabs your elbow harshly, pinching skin and drags you off the stage. She should be happy you just got sold, but she’s still acting like you belong to her. “Look at you getting fought over. You just earned me a shiny paycheck. But don’t forget your place, brat. You’re just a body to these men, and you’re here to please them. Sex is what they want, and your new master will surely punish you even more than all the other men at the house did to you.”

   A sick feeling twists up your stomach, threatening to empty your lunch remains from yesterday on the floor, right on top of her shiny stilettos, but you wouldn’t dare. She’d probably kill you herself before your new buyer even got you in the car.

   Suddenly, you realize you won’t have to deal with her backhanded remarks or abusive commands anymore. No more late nights of being held down on the ground and no more non consensual touching from strangers. 

   A feeling like freedom washes over your senses, relieving you of some tension, but you won't be truly free. Not really because you just got sold, and you know nothing about this man. Even if his eyes were kind doesn’t mean that’s who he really is. Men pretend with you all the time.

   When she pushes you up the stairs that lead to the back of the room, the blonde stands and blocks your way, an angry leer in his eyes while he skims his gaze down your exposed body. Something like panic and sickness stir inside you, an unwelcome hand brushing over your bare thigh, his hand sliding higher under your short skirt. Angela just stands back and lets him take advantage, and you have nowhere to run.

   “Well, looks like I won’t be taking you home after all, but I’m sure your new master won’t mind sharing you before you leave, right?” A sly smirk curls against his thin lips, his eyes smoldering with ice and mischief, making you feel extremely small in the moment.

   “I don’t think..”

   “Shut up, whore,” he silences you, wrapping a tight arm around your waist, snaking his hand higher and higher, brushing his fingertips over the thin material of your lacy thong. Anxiety floods your senses, panic taking over. You try to pull away, but he just presses you tighter against his body.

   Where the fuck is he? Where is your master? You’re not supposed to be touched after being bought, at least not by another man. Unless it’s agreed upon by him explicitly. 

   He skims across the outer edge of your lace, his slimy fingers feeling like hot lava boiling you alive. You want to run, hide, scream into his twisted face, but you have no more fight in you. You’re paralyzed by fright and right now,  Angela doesn’t give a single fuck if one of these sick freaks pins you against the floor and takes advantage of you.

   Right when you feel a warm teardrop leak from your eyes and a long finger pull against the thin fabric, a loud smack echoes around the room, and his body is thrown to the ground, blonde hair flitting across your peripheral vision. Your eyes blow wide when you realize what just happened. Your new master just punched the blonde man’s nose and tackled him to the floor, and you can’t stop staring in complete shock.

   “What the fuck man! What was that for?” The blonde tenses up and pinches his broken nose where blood is spewing on the floor in a thick pool, staining the black cuffs of his suit.

   “Mine,” he growls protectively, shoving him once more for good measure. He pulls himself up from the floor and straightens his button-up, ticking his jaw and scowling at the coward lying in pain on the floor. 

   Your jaw goes slack, and your heart thunders impossibly fast in your chest at what just happened. He saved you from getting taken advantage of. Why would he do that? You should thank him, but you’re stunned in silence. 

   He gives you a once over to make sure you’re unharmed and when he’s content, he tips his head toward the open door, signaling for you to follow. “C’mon.” It’s all he says, but you follow nonetheless, desperate to get out of this cesspool. 

   You take one more glance back at the carnage of the room, collecting the memory of the blood red curtains and taking the fancy velvet seats to your grave. The reflective mirrors make you gag, and the wooden stage makes your legs shake at the implication of what it means to be up on that high platform. It makes you sick to your stomach.

   You were just auctioned off and hopefully, you’d never have to step foot into this room ever again. 

   Trailing after him, you stay close. Close enough to inhale the woodsy cologne that drips off his body. You don’t know why, but there’s an odd comfort in the scent. Like fresh pines and a brisk fall day. Something you haven’t got to experience since… you can’t even remember now.

   The guards at the front let you pass, and it’s almost like it’s a trick. Just one more step and they’d be dragging you back by the crown of your head, not even sorry for ripping strands from your skull. You tense up and wait, but nothing happens. They just let you go. And suddenly, tears are pooling in your vision. 

   You wipe away the evidence, afraid your new master will scold you for shedding a tear. Maybe he wouldn’t, but you have so much trauma embedded in you that it’s like it’s an automatic response. 

   Back at the house, Angela would smack you across the cheek if she caught you crying for any reason. She always said tears were a weakness, and she wouldn’t have one of her girls going into a man’s room looking like a train wreck. So even crying brings out the trauma responses. You fucking hate that you can’t show emotion without getting a whiplash of her snide demands.

   You’re broken, and you don’t think you’ll ever be repairable.

   The air is chilly, a full moon hanging high in the night sky, bright stars blinking every couple of seconds behind grey clouds. The trees are mixed with a swirl of colors: yellows, oranges, deep reds that remind you of the shed blood back at the house.

   You shake your head out of the fog and focus on the smell of fresh air and a hint of spice. It has to be the end of September or October. Maybe November? God, you don’t even know what month it is or where the hell you are. This isn’t home. Not anywhere close at all. You know because there’s no deep green mountains or endless forests in sight. Home is nowhere to be found…

   The tall man walks you to a dark black Chevy, unlocking the passenger door and opening it wide for you. He doesn’t touch you, doesn’t even offer you a hand. He just stares at you with a slight tick to his jaw, tilting his head to signal you forward. Your body responds in an instant. 

   You climb in, feeling the cool leather on your exposed skin, pulling on the bottom of your dress to cover yourself more, but it barely even moves an inch. It’s no use trying. He’ll probably have your dress ripped off in less than an hour. You’re surprised you even made it this far without him pinning you down to your hands and knees. 

   Shaking the sick images from your mind, you let the invading thoughts float far away as he closes the passenger door. He wouldn’t do that to you. He’s not like those other men. He couldn’t be. He attacked a man for you, but maybe it’s just because he doesn’t like other men touching his property. 

   That’s what you are. Property. That’s all you’ll ever be.

   It doesn’t take him long to appear in the driver’s seat, clicking his seatbelt into place and turning the key in the ignition, letting the rumble of the engine rev to life. You sit back in the passenger seat and try to breathe, letting air pool into your tight lungs. 

   The inside of the truck may be warm, but your body is freezing just thinking of what that blue-eyed demon was going to do to you back there. Panic consumes your insides, making you violently shake in your seat. Your eyes gloss over and then you feel as if you drown in a frozen lake, frostbite making its way across your flushed skin.

   “Whoa, easy there. S’alright now. You’re alright,” he coos, quickly throwing off his jacket and wrapping you in the warmth, draping your arms through the long sleeves and bundling up inside the blanket-like material. 

   Warm. It’s so warm and for the moment, your body relaxes just enough to relieve yourself of the onslaught panic attack. Your erratic breathing shortens, and then you can finally think clearly again, breaking away from the thick fog.

   Your eyes flick over to his, and there’s nothing but pure concern laced in his golden-brown irises. “You alright?” The question confuses you, and you stare blankly his way. There’s nothing hostile or violent in his eyes. They’re just… soft. Like they were back in the auction room. The first time you stared into anything remotely warm since you were taken.

   He lifts an eyebrow in question, and you finally register that he wants you to answer. “Mhm,” is all you can muster out, your words lodged deep in the back of your throat. Men don’t ask you how you’re feeling, so why is he?

   He looks at you for another beat, nodding his head once before you drop your gaze back to your lap like the submissive you should be. Don’t make eye contact. That’s showing control, and you’re not in control. Angela’s taunting words will follow you to the grave, you just know it. 

   He looks like he wants to say something else, but he holds his tongue and lets the truck roll to the long gravel road ahead.

   A sudden realization hits you like a car crash. No more Angela, no more Garrett, no more assaulters crowding your broken body. You’re free. Of them, at least. But your new master? Not so much. 

   The ride is silent apart from the soft rumble of the truck, tires spinning along the quiet road, moonlight shining through the tinted window, reflecting shiny stars in the side mirrors. You haven’t been outside in months, and the sight of a clear night sky makes you want to burst into tears. 

   “What’s your name, sweetheart?” His deep, soothing voice lilts into your ears, and you gulp at the sweet nickname he uses.

   Sweetheart. The men back at the house only called you crude, filthy names. Slut, whore, and bitch were their favorites. But no one ever called you sweetheart. Not ever.

   You take a deep breath in before you speak, afraid your vocal cords will shred apart the moment you tell him what it is. But when he looks over at you all soft again, you break. You tell him your name quietly and avert your gaze back down to your pale thighs. 

   Your name rolls off his tongue like honey, and you can’t help but fight the tug of a smile curling over your lips. He said your name and for once in your life, a little part of you clicked back together. 

   Bravery seeps into your body, and you cautiously peek up and ask something you’ve wondered since you saw his dark brown eyes in the corner of the room. “And your name?”

   His gaze flicks over to you, and for a moment you think his hand might fly out and smack you across the face. You flinch, remembering the sting of every hit your abusers marked you with. Your palm mechanically brushes over your cheek, and you swear you can feel the bright red welts they’d leave on your tainted skin.

   The muscles in his jaw tick as he watches you, assessing your shaky movements. It’s like he can see the pain deep down in your soul, and you don’t understand why he’d care about that. 

   He clears his throat and answers, his eyes attentive to the dark road ahead. “Joel Miller.” 

   You don’t know what to answer to that, so you stay quiet and lean against the window, looking out into the thick fog of darkness. 

   After he sees you trying to decipher your surroundings, his thick Southern drawl fills the quiet. “Do you know what month it is?”

   “No,” you answer solemnly, eyes still focused on the blurring background as the truck drives on.

   “Do you know what state you’re in?”

   “No,” you shake your head, eyes closing for less than two seconds. 

   He sighs, and you see him drag a hand slowly through his scruff. “It’s the middle of October. You’re in Texas. Jus’ a little north of Austin. That’s where we’re headed now. Jus’ about forty minutes away.”

   Texas? Well, that’s a very very long way from home. But you don’t have a home anymore, so what does it matter?

   “Oh.” 

   “Home,” he says hesitantly. “Is it anywhere close to here for you?” 

   You swallow back a lump in your throat and shake your head no, curling in on the warm jacket that envelopes your tired body.

   When you don’t speak again, Joel flicks his eyes slowly to you, his thumb tapping quietly against the leather steering wheel. “Where’s home at, sweetheart?”

   You flinch at the endearing name. It sounds like a knife dragging down a dirty chalkboard if you’re being honest with yourself. You’re nothing but a dirty slut. And that’s exactly what he should be calling you. Not sweetheart, not baby, just… slut.

   When the truck comes to a halt at a dimly lit stop sign, he looks over once more at you, his eyes a dark shade of chocolate. “Washington,” is all you can muster up, thinking you owe him an answer. You can’t even say Seattle without the word getting stuck in your throat. 

   His eyes widen and something like softness resides deep in his warm irises. “You’re an awfully long way from home, aint ya?”

   Quiet. His voice is too quiet, too… sad. And you don’t know what to take that as.

   Tears swim up to the surface, pooling in the corners of your eyes, but you hold them back. Don’t show him you’re weak. “I don't have a home anymore…” 

   His mouth turns down in a tight-lipped frown, and he looks so defeated that you can’t quite understand why he would be. He doesn’t care about you. He never will. He’ll bleed you dry until you have nothing left. That’s what Angela said. And it’s ingrained like a sickness that won’t leave your body. Permanent damage that’ll leave scars like the ones that etch the back of your raised skin. 

   You’re nothing but a vacant body to use. 

   “What about your family? They must be lookin’ for you.”

   Your fingers dig into the silk of your dress, and you almost let them tear right through. “I don’t have a family,” you whisper quietly.

   You feel his careful stare waver over you, but you don’t have the energy to look up. “No? Surely someone’s lookin’ for you. They have to be. A girl like you—”

   “A girl like me what?” you snap, quick to pull back your reins. The last thing you want to do is get backhanded from talking too loudly.

   “Take it easy now,” he presses, his voice gentle and soothing. Almost enough to consume some of your sadness. “All I’m sayin’ is someone has got to be searchin’ for you. Your parents?”

   You bite your bottom lip hard, chewing the glossy skin that’s marked with invisible bruises. “My parents are dead.”

   Silence carves through the inside of the moving vehicle, but you hear the faint whisk of shock leave his mouth. “Oh. I’m… fuck, I’m sorry. I didn’t know…”

   “How could you have? You don’t know me,” you shrug, leaning closer against the smooth interior of the door, your head resting against the cool window that’s doused in fog and sorrow.

   “Well, I’m tryin’, sweetheart. I really am. Do you have anyone else? Maybe an uncle or cousin or—”

   “No,” you interrupt. “They’re all gone… I have nothing.”

   His hands clench tight over the steering wheel, his knuckles turning ghost white, and his jaw ticks like something just deeply upset him. Your eyes fall back to your thighs, but you can feel the weight of his body tightening up against the back of the seat. 

   He doesn’t say anything else, doesn’t ask you any more questions. There’s just a thick silence that encompasses the cool air. And the only thing that keeps you warm now is the comfortable jacket that envelops you like a tight hug. A hug you desperately need. But you don’t want to be touched. 

   Not now, not ever again… 

   You’re almost fading off to sleep, the minutes ticking down painfully slow, but the rustle of gravel stirs you enough to where your eyes snap open in surprise. You gulp at the view in front of you. A large, lavish house with floor to ceiling windows and expensive wood panelling.         

   Your eyes peel to the thick brush of trees that expand into darkness behind the giant house. And for just a second, you feel like running far far away into the expanse of darkness. Maybe it’d swallow you whole till you were nothing but a ghost beneath the ground.

   The truck finally comes to a halt and then the engine cuts off. Your body hums with electricity. The kind that threatens to strike you dead. Joel unlocks the truck with a click, and he tilts his head toward the house. “C’mon. Follow me.”

   Your body hesitates, but the anxiety of lagging behind and getting punished sends you nearly jumping from your seat and out the door of the truck. Your feet hit gravel and you follow silently behind him, eyes fixed to the grass as your high heels click after him. 

   You feel like a puppet he’s strung behind him, your limbs moving without your permission. But he hasn’t done anything to you, so why are you panicking? And then your shoulders hunch with knowing. It’s the trauma that’s engraved like permanent ink from a tattoo deep inside your skin.

   You’ll never be able to escape it. Not even when you’re dead and gone.

   When you get to the front double doors, he slips a key in and turns, pushing it open with the flick of his wrist. Your eyes blow wide when you enter the massive house. A sparkling chandelier hangs high above the entryway. A marble staircase sits to the right side of what looks to be the living room. Polished wood covers every inch of the flooring. Exposed beams fill the ceiling, and the white painted walls don’t seem to have a speck of dirt on any of the surfaces. 

   It’s only a two story house, but it seems much bigger than that. Well over three thousand square feet. But the earthy textures and wooden trimmings of the house make it seem less like a prison and more like a, dare you say, home. 

   Home. This is your home now. And whether you’re happy about it or not, there’s not much you can do. Your body tells you to run, but there’s a tiny slither of a voice inside you that says you’re safe. 

   Safe. A word that means nothing anymore. You haven’t been safe in over a year, and a part of you thinks you’ll never be again…

   “C’mon. I’ll show you where your room is.”

   You stop in the middle of the entryway, your brow furrowed at his sentence. “My room?” 

   He nods. “Yes, your room.” He reiterates the word your, saying it like it’s spelled out in capital letters. You think he does it for your sake, to let you know again that this is a safe place.

   “You mean I don’t have to sleep in your room…” Your voice betrays you. Fear and panic flooding your eyes at the thought of having to be forced into another man’s bed. You quickly shake the awful memories from your thoughts, afraid to slip into another panic attack.

   His jaw clenches up, but his eyes soften into warm pools of brown when he sees the distress in your wide eyes. “No, darlin’. Not gonna make you do that.”

   “Oh,” is all you can muster out. That’s… new.

   He nods his head to the staircase, and you take that as your cue to follow. He doesn’t touch you, doesn’t put his hand on the small of your back, doesn’t make you go first so he can stare up your dress. And you can’t decipher why he bought you in the first place. 

   Maybe he’s waiting till later to snatch you away into his room, maybe drag you to the floor and climb on top of you. The flashbacks make you sick to your stomach, and you’re having a hell of a time keeping it all inside. 

   You distract yourself with the rustic art that hangs on the pristine walls, reflecting off the marble staircase you climb. Pictures of deer, horses, shiny lakes, deep green forests, like the ones in Washington, scatter around the walls in various shapes. And it calms the anxiety that’s rolling like a violent storm through your mind. 

   A long, dimly lit hallway stands at the top of the steps, another sits on the opposite side of the long archway that overlooks a grand living room, leather couches, and a grand piano sitting in the left corner, right next to a picturesque window that overlooks a sea of trees. It’s just as lavish as other men’s homes, the ones where they’d throw parties for all their friends to indulge in the trafficked girls, but this one doesn’t feel like that at all, strangely. 

   His low timbre pulls you out of the fog, and you find him standing by an open door, the first one on the left. “This is where you’ll be stayin’ at.”

   You follow him into the room and gasp at what lies ahead of you. A queen-sized bed with clean white sheets and a light purple comforter sits in the middle of the room, some new clothes folded neatly on the edge of the bed. A walk-in closet sits to the left side of the room, and it looks to be fully stocked with a colorful array of shoes and clothes that still have their tags connected to the material. To the right is a large bathroom that smells like fresh roses and fragrant perfume, but you’re too stunned to walk in and see. The walls are painted in soft muted colors, and the lilac curtains drape loosely over the expansive back window. You almost cry when you see a sea of dark trees in the distance. They remind you of home. 

   You miss Washington, you miss when you had a home, you miss having a family…

   “I bought you some clothes. Hopefully they fit alright. If not then I can get you more, but I’m hopin’ you feel comfortable in them.”

   Your fingertips trace over the soft material of the various shades of t-shirts, hoodies, sweatpants, and shorts, your brain muted and fuzzy because there’s not a gown or short dress in sight anywhere in the room. That’s all you wore back at the house, all you know how to wear. And the sight of comfortable, unrevealing clothes makes your eyes glossy with tears. 

   You feel his weight shift behind you, but yet he still stands more than a foot back, not daring to touch you. You should thank him, get down on your knees and show him just how much you appreciate this, but you can’t. Because the thought of that makes you want to throw yourself over the lavish wood railing of the staircase. Angela would be so disappointed in you.

   When you say nothing, he clears his throat and then you turn to face him. “You must be starvin’. Let me go fix you something. You like chicken?”

   Your jaw drops, and you’re stunned silent from the ask. He’s asking if you like chicken? 

   He gives you a minute to respond, but all you can squeak out is, “What?”

   “Do you like chicken?” His voice comes out softer, more tender. Why isn’t he raising his voice? Why isn’t he smacking you across the cheek for taking too long to answer him? 

   “I—I… yes,” you finally whisper out, your eyes glued to the shine of his polished boots. 

   “Okay then. It’s settled. I’ll get something fixed up real quick. You can come down when you’re ready. Jus’ please, feel free to wear what you want. Find something comfortable, whatever it may be. All these clothes are yours now. I imagine you wanna get out of that dress you’re in.” His eyes flick down to your midnight blue dress for just a second, but he doesn’t lock his eyes on your body. No. There’s a flash of something like hurt in his deep brown eyes. 

   You tug his fancy black jacket further around you, letting its warmth wrap you tight to keep away the flashbacks of grabbing hands and torn shreds of material on the floor while your body was torn apart…

   “Hey.” His mellow voice breaks you away from the nightmarish thoughts. “You okay?” A deep wrinkle furrows against his tanned forehead, and something like concern washes down his soft brown eyes.

   “Mhm,” you hum, suddenly realizing you’re still wearing his jacket. You quickly shed it and try to hand it off to him, afraid he’d rip it from your body if you kept it on for too long.

   He presses a palm out to stop you and just shakes his head, a tousled curl escaping the gel in his slicked back sandy hair. “Keep it.” 

   Your outstretched arm falls to the side and so does the jacket to the floor. He pays no mind to it falling to the ground, not even flinching when it hits the plush carpet. Why didn’t he scold you for dirtying up his things?

   “I’ll be downstairs. Let me know if you need anything. I’ll let you have some space. And please, take your time.” He turns and walks out the door, letting it shut softly. And then you’re all alone, in a strange place that’s now yours. 

   Your eyes don’t lift till he’s gone, a bad habit that’s been ingrained into your very core. You’re not supposed to look them in the eye, not unless they say. But Joel? He doesn’t tell you to keep your eyes on the ground. 

   Slowly casting your eyes away from the cream carpet, you find yourself at the edge of the bed again, your fingertips hovering over a pair of grey sweats and a navy t-shirt. Turning around to make sure the door is still closed, you quickly peel off the midnight blue dress that’s tainted from dirty hands and prying eyes. You let it fall to the floor in a messy heap and throw on the large t-shirt and comfy sweatpants. 

   Looking at your bare arms, you decide it’s not enough, so you find a dark grey jacket deep in the closet and zip it up to the very top, so no exposed skin or scars are left to be seen by his dark eyes. You still feel completely bare, even with a pair of long pants and a long sleeved jacket. But that’s because in the last year, even if you did have actual clothes on, they were just torn away and ripped apart, and you have the scars to prove it.

   Carefully bending down and picking up the wadded up dress, you smooth it out and run your fingers over the sheer material, almost tempted to put it back on because that’s what you should be wearing. Not some oversized t-shirt and sweatpants. You don’t look presentable, not in these clothes. You should always dress to entertain the men, always have your hair perfect and your makeup just right, always have a smile on your face and say thank you for every single thing they do to you…

   Your body starts to shake violently as you look up to find yourself standing in the reflection of the closest mirror, the mini dress held up to your body, fingers curling over the muddled memories of dinner parties that ended with you and other innocent girls faces down on the table with your legs spread.

   Your bottom lip trembles as you look at the twenty-seven-year-old girl staring back in the mirror. You don’t recognize her anymore. Stained blood red lips and long wavy curls, your eyeliner smudging, and the dark creases beneath your eyes telling you just how exhausted and battered your body is. You’re wrecked. Completely and utterly shattered, torn to shreds. And you just don’t know how you’ll ever find yourself again. Because the girl you knew before is long gone. And now? Now you just feel… lost. 

   The tears that pool in your eyes fall like raindrops that pelt the outside window, your body humming with anxious thoughts and a blur of emotions. And the dress burns like fire beneath your palms; every second you hold it brands another forgotten memory into your brain, and then you just crack like shattered glass.

   You tear the dress to shreds, taking out all your anger and resentment on the sheer material, pulling it apart till it’s only unrecognizable scraps on the floor. And you let your tears soak them, stain them just like every single one of those men did to your body. Even Angela. 

   You hate them, you hate yourself, you hate the way they made you feel. Useless and disgusting, a piece of meat they could chew on whenever they pleased. 

   You spend the next half hour crying over what you did, regretting ruining the dress, the one thing you could’ve kept with you, a fragile memory that you should’ve held on to. But that wouldn’t be healing to you. But at this rate, you don’t think you ever will heal.

   You forget about dinner, forget where you even are. Joel had to come get you and lead you down to the kitchen. And yet, he still didn’t touch you. Not even once. And you just don’t understand why he won’t touch you. Not that you want to be touched. You don’t. You just expect it now. 

   When you finally make it to the kitchen, you decide on a black barstool and take your place there at the sleek kitchen island that’s swirled in shiny white quartz. And when he sets a warm plate of chicken Alfredo noodles and a glass of cold water in front of you, you just stare with wide-eyes at the hot meal before you. 

   The savory Alfredo dinner taunts you as it sits right in front of you, screaming at you to just take one bite. Your stomach churns and rumbles with the scent of a put together homemade meal. When was the last time you had one of those? Maybe two years ago. 

   You keep your eyes peeled to the polished wooden floor, your fingers twisted tight against the sweatpants that hang loosely around your thighs. Your body is yelling at you to eat, but you can’t make yourself move, can’t do anything. You were never allowed carbs back at the house, wasn’t even allowed to eat until the men were done. Angela once pulled your hair and pushed your face into the floor when you dared to take a bite before they were finished. And now you can’t even get yourself to chance that again. Even if Joel never would, you feel as if Angela will come charging around the corner just waiting for you to make one wrong move. 

   You’re so very broken…

   “What’s wrong? Do you not like it? I can make you something else.” Joel’s voice is etched in concern, but you only have the strength to shake your head. 

   “No. It’s fine. It’s—it’s great. It’s just…” Your breath is shaky, just like your hands. And you can’t seem to look up from the floor. 

   Don’t ever look them in the eyes. You’re not in control. You have no power. You flinch at Angela’s spiteful words. You wish you could just drown them out, forget everything she ever taught you. 

   “You haven’t even touched your food, sweetheart.” A tear licks at the corner of your eye, but you don’t dare let it fall. 

   “I—uhh. I…” You’re pathetic. You can’t even look him in the eye at the table. Not even when he’s standing across from you, staring at you with those soft brown eyes you know are boring into yours. 

   “Can you look up for me, sweetheart?” The pain in his deep timbre cracks something inside you, and your eyes snap up to meet his. “There ya go. Attagirl.” You wince at the word because it sounds like praise, and you don’t deserve that at all. You deserve to be scolded. 

   “Wanna tell me why you’re not eating?” You choke on your voice when you see those soft brown honey eyes. You’ve never been looked at quite like that. Not with kindness or concern or anything genuine before. And it makes you want to cry.

   You take a deep, steady breath and pray you can muddle some coherent words out because you’re about to spill something very personal that you’re not quite ready to share. “Back at the house… they wouldn’t let us eat until the men were done. We—we’d get punished if we disobeyed.” You flinch at the painful memories but press on. “We weren’t allowed to eat carbs. And some days they’d just starve us to teach us a lesson. I can’t even remember the last time I had a decent meal…”

   Joel’s fingers flex against the sink, his nails digging into the metal, his jaw clenched and something like pain and understanding lit up in his honey-colored eyes. He looks like he actually feels your pain, and you can’t comprehend how he’d possibly know what that pain is like. 

   He nods his head and darts his tongue along his bottom lip in response. “I uhh—Jesus. I’m sorry, sweetheart. That’s fuckin’ awful. I can’t imagine how that must’ve been. But please, eat. You’re allowed to eat anything you want now. You want sweets, sugar, greasy pizza? Then it’s yours. You’re allowed to eat in peace here. There’s no rules in this house. I want you to be able to eat. So please, don’t ever wait for me. You jus’ go on and enjoy.” 

   It takes you a couple of minutes to find enough courage to pick up the silver fork, but you do it. And that right there is a step in the right direction. 

   The first bite slides down your throat slowly and when you swallow, it’s like a slice of heaven to your insides. You quickly take another, devouring the delicious noodles, letting the savory taste melt against your tastebuds, groaning silently at what a real meal should taste like. It’s not cold soup or oatmeal or dry lettuce. It’s actual food. 

   You somehow forget Joel is watching, and it takes you two whole seconds until your cheeks are burning with embarrassment. He’s looking straight at you, watching you enjoy from a safe distance, and you swear you see a small smile curled against his lips. He hasn’t even touched his food. All he seems to care about is that you’re eating. And that makes you feel extremely guilty.

   You take a paper napkin and wipe the Alfredo sauce from your lips, letting the red lipstick smear across the napkin, suddenly fully aware you just ruined your makeup. 

   Flashbacks of getting slapped across the face course through your body, making you sick to your stomach. Don’t smear your makeup, filthy little slut. Go back to your room and make yourself presentable before our guests arrive. Another sharp smack stings your cheek, and you find yourself cradling your cheek like it just now happened to you.

   Panic blindly traces every inch of your body, anxiety creeping in as your heart palpitates at an alarming pace. You ate without Joel, you didn’t wait, you ruined your makeup. Oh God, you’re in so much trouble. Safe. You’re not safe. You need to run, you need to…

   “Sweetheart, what’s wrong?” Joel’s concerned voice whips through your mind, and that’s enough for you to drop your fork in alarm on the floor, your eyes wild with fright. 

   You’re not safe, you’re not safe, you’re not safe. He’ll hurt you. Run.

  You pull back the barstool and stand, your back tense and fingernails digging into the kitchen island. “W—Why are you being nice to me? Why did you cook for me? Why aren’t you starving me?!”

   His body tenses, just like yours, and his eyes swim with concern. “Sweetheart, it’s okay. It’s all gonna be jus’—”

   “Why aren’t you using me? Use me! Tell me to spread my legs, tell me to get on my knees, tell me I’m worthless!” You scream, letting your voice echo around the clean kitchen, feeling as if your panic attack might take you out this time around. 

   “No.” His voice is careful, quiet, not at all stern.

   “No?” you mewl, feeling the tears prick the back of your eyes.

   “No,” he repeats, softer than before.

   Your hands shake, and you need to find something to hold to soothe your whirring anxiety. So you grab the glass that’s half full of water. “Use me! Tell me I’m nothing! Tell me I don’t matter!”    

   He shakes his head slowly, his eyebrows knit together in rapt attention, eyes crinkling. “You do matter. Don’t for a second think that you’re—”

   “Just fucking use me!” You slam the glass to the floor, letting it shatter into tiny pieces just like your heart looks like. Broken and fractured. You fall to the floor, crying out when a piece slices through your palm, letting the pain serenade your insides, reminding you of all the times you saw red back at the house. 

   The tears splash against your cheeks, falling to the floor like droplets from a waterfall. But you can’t find the strength to let them stop. You’ve held them in for so long; there’s no more room to keep them tucked away inside.  

   Your eyes widen when you realize the mess you made. You broke his belonging, completely shattered it in pieces. He should have your fucking neck for this, and you cower just thinking of the beating he might give you. “Oh my God. The glass. Fuck, the glass. I’m so… s—sorry. I didn’t mean to. I didn’t…” You frantically try to pick the pieces up, but all you do is tear another cut open in the same palm. And now blood stains the dark wood. Fuck. 

   Joel’s at your side in a second, kneeling beside you, trying to calm you down the best he can without alarming you. “Shhh. S’alright. It’s fine. I don’t care about the broken glass.”

   “But I made a mess. I broke your belongings. And I should be punished. I should…” Your voice fades off as the tears blur your vision, completely breaking you just like the scattered shards of glass that surround you. 

   He shakes his head slowly and places his palm flat on the ground, so close but yet so far from brushing against you. “No. Don’t think for one minute you deserve that, sweet girl. Don’t for one fuckin’ minute believe any of that. S’not true. None of it is.”

   “But—but I… No, I—I can fix this. I can clean this up, I can…” Your words come out jumbled and muddled, and the panic still writhes high throughout your body, making you want to crawl out of your scarred skin.

   “Sweetheart, shhh. S’alright. I promise I’m not here to harm you. Jus’ let me clean you up. Your hand. Jus’—let me help you. Please.” His voice is calm, collected, and you have a hard time looking up because you know those deep brown eyes will only make you cry harder.

   You feel his fingertips brush against your wrist, and you jolt back in panic, eyes wide with retaliation. “Don’t—don’t touch me,” you choke, whining as another piece of glass digs into your hand like a knife carving its way deep into your bones. It fucking hurts, but you’ve taken worse. You can manage the pain. 

   He lifts his arms in the air like he’s surrendering, showing you he means no harm. But your body doesn’t know the difference anymore. All you’ll ever know is how to continue to take the pain. 

   “Please. I promise I ain’t gonna hurt you. Let me take care of your hand. Let me help you.” He draws out the last word, the syllables dragging like sweet honey across his tongue. And he sounds genuine like he really does want to help you.

   You have no more fight left in you, no energy to give. So all you do is nod your head and whisper out a defeated, “Okay.”

   “C’mere, sweetheart. Let’s get you up off the floor.” He scoops you up in his arms, cradling your head in the palm of his hand. He doesn’t even care that you’re staining his white button-up red. If he does, he doesn’t say anything about it.

   Your body revolts against his touch, but he’s so warm that you don’t fight it. He smells like firewood and scented pine trees, and that’s enough to keep you calm in his arms. You just nuzzle your face into the crook of his neck and let your tears stain the dark stubble of his patchy beard. 

   “There ya go. Easy now. You’re alright,” he coos gently, lulling you into a calm state.

   You’re freezing cold, even underneath the layers of clothes that wrap like thick vines around your body. But somehow, the warmest thing right now is being in his arms... 

   You’re completely and utterly vulnerable but just for a second, you relax into his strong arms and breathe in the mahogany scent of him. The man that got you out before you completely shattered. For just this moment, you give in to what you really need. Warmth and safety. 

   He feels safe.

   And for the next couple of minutes that it takes for him to get you across the house and up the stairs, you fade into his warmth, blocking out every single panicked and anxious thought. For just those few seconds, you breathe, letting the unruly voices in your mind die out. 

   For just that minute, you’re safe. 

   You come back to yourself the moment he sets you down on a white step stool, warily telling you to hold still, your palm open over the bathtub, blood running down the porcelain material, staining the walls with the crimson of your stupid mistakes. 

   You did this. Your fault, all your fault. You should have never broken the glass, should’ve never lashed out, but you did. And you guess this is how you’ll always be now. A hollow body that just doesn’t know how to live a normal life anymore. 

   You wince as Joel drags the washcloth slowly over your open wound, tears swimming in your eyes the more he tries to assess it, searching for any pieces of glass that may be stuck deep in your hand. And you don’t know why he’s doing this after you had a meltdown because he wouldn’t make you pleasure him. What the fuck is wrong with you? Is this how your brain just operates now? After being stuck in that god awful house, this is what it does to you? 

   You don’t want to be used anymore. You don’t even want to be fucking touched by a man ever again. So why did it hit a nerve after he refused to tell you that you were nothing? 

   “Ouch,” you whine, tensing as he washes the open wound with soap and water, apologizing each time he goes over the sore area. 

   “M’sorry. Jus’ hold on, I’m almost done. Good news is I don’t see any glass in your cut. S’good. Means I can jus’ clean you up and wrap it for tonight. Might be sore for a couple days, but you’ll be fine,” he assures you, working meticulously to fix you up. 

   You flinch each time his calloused fingers brush against your hand, struggling to not push him away. You don’t want to be touched by anyone, especially not by a man. But you can’t shake how warm he felt when he was carrying you to your room. He wasn’t mean, wasn’t rough, wasn’t even hostile. He was just… gentle. Just like he’s being now with each careful graze of his fingertips to your fragile skin. 

   And even though ninety percent of you can’t stand the thought of him being this close to you, you don’t seem to hate him. Not even a little bit. Because whether you want to admit it or not, he saved you. 

   You don’t trust him, you don’t trust anyone. He could turn on you in a second, show you his true colors. But again, he would’ve already done that. Wouldn’t he?

   “How old are you, sweetheart?” he asks, carefully drying your cut with a clean towel.

   “Twenty-seven,” you whisper out, wincing once more from the pressure on your palm.

   “And your birthday? When’s that?”

   You watch his brown eyes flick up to yours, and your gaze drops immediately back to your lap. “January 22nd.”

   He takes a minute before the next question comes, diligently wrapping your hand in a gauze padding. “How long you been gone now? Do you know?”

   You chew on your bottom lip and hold back a tear, trying your best not to fall apart all over again. “A little over a year and a half…” you respond in a muffled tone. “I wouldn’t have even known my birthday passed. But they—they were sure to remind me. Because I was—I was…” you can’t even finish your sentence without a tear slipping down your cheek, holding on for that sliver of sanity you have buried deep inside you.

   His brown eyes gloss over into a deeper shade of brown, and his eyebrows furrow in concern as he stops what he’s doing so he can put his full attention on you. You decide to finish your sentence, needing to get it out of your system. Hoping it’d be a way to forget as soon as the words left your tongue. “They—they had me bent over a table the entire day while a vanilla cake with the numbers twenty-seven taunted me while they ate it in front of me. And then they—-they…” a sob chokes you up, and tears trail like rain down your face, landing on top of Joel’s hand that sits atop his knee.

   “Hey, hey, hey. S’alright, sweetheart. You don’t have to talk ‘bout it if you don’t want to. I’m—fuck. I’m so sorry you had to go through that. I jus’ can’t imagine what sick fuck would do that to you or any girl at that. I’m so sorry.” His deep voice is full of pity and heartache, and his chocolate eyes make you want to cry even more.

   You dip your head in anguish and sigh. “Yeah, me either. Maybe I deserved it. Maybe I…”

   He interrupts you, hovering his hand over yours like he wants to comfort you, but you flinch away at the notion. “Shh. No, sweetheart. You never ever deserved any of that. Not in the least bit.”

   You scuff your bare feet against the tile floor, reaching for anything that might keep you from tipping past the breaking point, but you’re way over the edge. You’re all the way at rock bottom. 

   The searing question bubbles up again in your stomach. The one question you’ve been dying to know ever since he called out that number. And you can’t go another minute without knowing. “Why did you do it?”

   “Do what?” he asks, an eyebrow arched in question.

   “Why did you buy me? You could’ve left me with the blonde. You could’ve walked out empty handed.” Your voice is raised, but you keep your composure from sliding again, not wanting another broken glass incident.

   “I wasn’t gonna do that,” he presses, his lips in a tight line, jaw ticking with a dark look in his eyes.

   “You paid thousands of dollars for me. Why would you do that? Why didn’t you just—”

   He stops you right there, a sad look blanketing his face. “‘Cause. My daughter, Sarah. She… she went through the same thing you did. And I couldn’t fuckin’ stand by and watch the same thing happen to you.”

   Your lips part wide, and a gasp leaves your throat. His daughter was taken? “Oh.” That’s all you can say for the moment. You’re stunned in silence.

   Holy shit.

   You try to find one sliver of pretense, a glimmer in his eye that could prove he’s lying. But the way his face falls and his eyes drop to the floor in agony, like he’s in physical pain, you find no lie. He’s telling the truth.

   “Is she still…”

   “Yes,” he nods, eyes in a far off place. “She’s alive.”

   “When did she…”

   He takes a deep breath and flexes his hand over the side of the tub, holding on to something solid while he gets into the thick of what happened to his daughter. “She was taken young. She was only fifteen, taken right under my nose at the mall. She was just walkin’ to the bathroom. It took less than five minutes. And I—fuck. If I would’ve jus’ watched her walk in and stood outside the door. She would’ve never been taken in the first place…”

   He drops his head in defeat, and you feel your eyes widen in shock. You don’t know what rushes over you, but the way his soft brown eyes tear up make yours do the same thing. “Joel?” you choke out, tears stinging against your lash line. “I’m—really sorry that happened. And as much as you might blame yourself, it wasn’t your fault.”

   He looks up with teary eyes and a deep frown, nodding. “Wish I could come to terms with that. But… she made it out. I found her and got her out. And that’s what matters.”

   “How old is she?” you ask quietly, your left hand brushing over your fresh bandage, careful not to tear the material. 

   “She’s twenty now. Livin’ down in Houston, startin’ her sophomore year of college, and workin’ as a part time vet tech at a clinic specializin’ in horses. She absolutely loves it,” he smiles, his eyes turning into a lighter brown the more he talks about how much she’s grown over the years, leaving behind her trauma.

   “That’s incredible. More than incredible. Just—wow,” you breathe out, your eyes casted down to the floor, wishing you could heal like that. But at this rate, you don’t think you’ll ever get over the immense trauma that occurred to your body and mind.

   He licks his bottom lip in thought, his eyes burning into yours. And you see it even out of the corner of your eye. He’s concerned for you. “It took her a long time to adjust back to a normal life. We had a rocky time there for ‘bout a year, but she got the help she needed. She was only gone a couple months, but that was more than enough time to give her PTSD and mentally scar her. But she’s shining now, finally at a place where normal life isn’t as scary as it used to be.”

   Another tear slips free and splashes to the floor, creating a tiny puddle of your shattered heart that’s made of tears. “I’m so happy for her. Sarah sounds amazing.”

   “Mmm, that she is. I’m gonna give you her number. Think it’d be good for you to connect with someone who’s been through something as traumatic as this.”

   Your mouth gapes open, and you tilt your chin up until you come face to face with him. And he looks… kind. He is kind. “But I don’t have a phone anymore…”

   “I’ve already got one ordered and on the way for you.”

   “What?” you ask with wide eyes. He gives you a small smile that curls against his lips. And you nearly sob from the gentle way he’s looking at you. “You didn’t have to do that.”

   “Yes, I did. And I have a therapist on speed dial. Her name’s Tess. She’s the best of the best. If there’s one therapist I trusted with Sarah then it’s her. Trust me, Sarah went through a lot of them, and Tess was the most helpful. And she’s helped so many other girls, too. Not just Sarah.”

   Other girls? Did he help get other girls out? You have so many questions. “Why are you doing all this for me?”

   “‘Cause I wanna help you,” he states simply, his thumb tapping against the side of the tub, eyes focused right on you.

   “But why? I’m… nothing,” you whisper, bottom lip quivering, afraid you’ll break down in tears once again. And you most likely will. You feel it deep in your bones.

   He shakes his head in response. “Sweetheart, no. Don’t say that ‘bout yourself. You’re not nothing. You’re somebody, and you matter. Whether you believe it or not, you matter.” His words are definitive, final, but his voice is as soft as cotton candy.

   “I… matter?” you ask, voice shaky from the kaleidoscope of emotions that pummels through you.

   He nods, eyes alight and glittering under the bright bathroom lights, a soft smile curled on his lips. “Do you know what I saw when you were standin’ in the middle of that room tonight? I saw a young woman that was worth saving. I saw a light deep inside those pretty eyes of yours that was jus’ screamin’ for someone to hear you. I heard you. And I wasn’t gonna jus’ leave you there to be preyed on by those starvin’ wolves. So I got you out.”

   You’re breathless, lips parted in awe. “But—but I…”

   “Look. You may not be fine tomorrow or next week, but someday—someday you will be. And I’ll try my damn near hardest to make sure you are. And if you’ll let me, I’ll see that you’re kept safe. Whether you choose to leave next week or next month or in a year. I promise I’ll do what I can to make sure you feel safe and that you can learn to thrive in life again. Trust me when I say you will get there. Jus’ gotta take it one step at a time. That’s all you can do. One day at a time.”

   Tears pool in your eyes, soaking them up like the promise of his words. I’ll keep you safe. He wants you to stay, to heal, to thrive. He’s trying to help you, and you just don’t know what you did to deserve his help, but you’re eternally grateful. And even though you’re scared, maybe you don’t have to be scared of him.

   After he puts away the gauze and the bathroom supplies he used to clean your hand with, he lets you get settled into bed. But before he walks out, he raps his knuckles on the doorway and clears his throat. “My room is jus’ across the hall if you need anything. I’ll be up, so don’t hesitate if you need something.”

   You nod your head, pulling the fluffy comforter up to your chin, too tired to give him a smile.

   He tilts his head and starts heading out the door, but before he can turn the doorknob all the way, you call out. “Joel?”

   “Hmm?” he hums, turning his head, directing his full attention your way.

   “Thank you,” you whisper, your eyes telling him everything that your words can’t.

   He curls his lips into a half smile and nods. “Don’t mention it, sweetheart.” And when he walks out and closes the door, you hear him say, “Sleep tight.”

   You want to know more about how he found Sarah, what he meant when he said he’s helped other girls before, how he found you in the first place. But you’re tired. You’re so fucking drained. Maybe tomorrow you’ll find the strength to pull yourself together and ask but not tonight. Tonight you just want a full night’s sleep. Something you haven’t had since you were taken. So you close your eyes, focus on the soft patter of rain on the window, put all your anxious thoughts to the side and drift into the dark depths of a sea of blackness. 

   And then you sleep.

   Hot pain shoots through your wrists like a jagged knife splitting you open, painting you scarlet. Dirty fingernails shred your skin, clawing you until you taste blood in the back of your throat. You can’t speak, can only silently scream. A muted cry for help that no one else can hear but you. Chains fasten to your ankles, pulling your legs apart, grimy men surrounding you, suffocating you until you seep into the the blackest pit of despair. 

   Trapped. You’re held captive against your will, your body on full display, eyes wide with fright every time they snake their filthy hands around your throat, hot breath fanning against your core until you scream bloody murder over and over again. 

   But no one comes; no one saves you from this pit of hell. 

   Dead. You feel dead, and they just keep bringing you back from the grave with every touch they steal. 

   You thrash against the sheets, screaming for help, tears staining the brand new comforter, but you’re still trapped in the horrific nightmare with the demons of your past torturing you way beyond the point of pain.

   “No, no, no! Get off!” you cry as you feel a body dip into the side of the bed, drastically trying to escape what’s to come. “Stop, stop!”

   A voice. Deep, intense, wrecked sounds in your fuzzy mind, trying to grasp you out of your nightmare.

   “Wake up. Wake up.” It’s muddled, almost unrecognizable. But it’s insistent, a loud gong that spirals into your racing mind.

   “No, no, let go!” you mewl, twisting violently in the sheets when you feel the mattress dip down further, spiraling your thoughts further.

   “Sweetheart, wake up. Please. You have to wake up!” He shouts, stirring you from your nightmare, but the men reach for you, dragging you back under the thrashing waves, but you extend your arm, fighting the tossing sea, battling the teeth that gnash at you. 

   “Stop, let go!” Your flesh stings as they continue to tear you apart, dragging you down down down until that sweet Southern drawl that sounds like honey resonates throughout your mind, and the fog starts to clear just a little. 

   “It’s me, I’m right here. Open your eyes, please!” Deep. That thick baritone voice crashes through your mind, pulling you away from all the insufferable noises.

   Your eyes snap open, realizing you’re pounding your fists into his broad chest, barely making a dent because he’s that strong. And then your anxiety races, building horrific hallucinations in your mind. And you just keep throwing everything you have at Joel, tears spilling down your cheeks, your t-shirt drenched in a cold sweat. 

   “The men… They—they…” You choke out a sob, continuously throwing your arms against his chest, taking everything you have bottled up inside you and spilling it all over Joel, showing just how bloodied and bruised you are from the traumatic events. 

   The stage, the men, Angela, the blood, the torture, the misery, the deaths, the excruciating pain of it all. It’s too fucking much, and you just want to die. Maybe then you’ll be at peace, away from the weight of everything you’ve kept resting on your shoulders. Like a rock weighing down on your chest, crushing you till you’re nothing but dust. You feel like dust. Faded, dirty, and useless.

   “S’alright, sweetheart. It was jus’ a nightmare. You’re safe,” he soothes, his calming voice bubbling up and taking some of the anxiety off your weighted chest. 

   “But it was real…” you choke out, your vision blurring with the salty water that forms in your eyes. 

   A tear slips free, crashing down to his hand, smothering it in cold, icy liquid. But he doesn’t flinch, doesn’t even back away. He just stays sitting next to you, careful not to touch you or reach for you. He’s just… there. And somehow there’s comfort in that. 

   He stares at you like a lost puppy, chocolate eyes melting, tears filling his own concerned eyes. And you keep hitting him, your hands growing tired from the balled up fists punching against his chest. And he just sits there and takes it, like it doesn’t bother him one bit.

   “Let it out. Give me your pain. I can take it, sweetheart. You jus’ take it out on me. As long as you need. You want a punchin’ bag then let me be that for you. Whatever helps, you jus’ go on and let go,” he says softly, brows threaded together, big doe eyes consumed in pain. It’s like he’s as wrecked as you are, and that makes you cry even harder. 

   “Joel…” you break, dropping your tired arms to the bed, curling your fingers into the soft comforter, trying to lose yourself in the soft rain that pelts the back of the window. 

   You’re so tired and drained and ruined. They ruined you, and you hate every single one of them for taking away everything. Your dignity, your pride, your body, your life, your mind. They took everything.

   “I know, sweet girl. I know. Shhh. S’alright. I’m right here. No one’s gonna hurt you anymore. Not while I’m here,” he whispers, his woodsy scent grounding you back to earth, calming you down just enough to focus on how soft his eyes are.

   Soft. Just like velvet. He’s so soft.

   He just sits there patiently, waiting for your cries to die down, waiting to know you’re okay. But you’re not okay; you never will be okay. You’re just a tree in a sea of thousands, but your branches are withered, leaves falling, and maybe you’ll never bloom again. 

   You focus on his soft brown eyes, the light tap of raindrops, your erratic breathing slowing to a normal pace. You’re so tired. Tired of fighting the panic attacks, the flashbacks, the pain.

   You’re just… tired.

   “You gonna be alright, sweetheart? Think you can get back to sleep?” he asks thoughtfully, his voice warm like a fresh cup of coffee, his scent permeating around the room, keeping you from spiraling again. 

   You take a deep breath and nod, pulling the comforter under your chin, trying to control the chill that runs down your spine. “I think so,” you say slowly, your voice still a little shaky.

   He tilts his head and scratches the back of his neck, a tight-lipped smile forming over his lips. “Alright, I’ll let you get back to sleep then. You come knock on my door if you need me.”

   When he pushes off your bed and pads over to the open door, he calls out and says, “Goodnight, sweetheart.”

   Panic consumes your mind just thinking of being alone again with your nightmares, your body trembling underneath the warm sheets. And before you know what you’re thinking, you stop Joel in his tracks. “Joel?”

   And just like before, he turns and arches a brow, questions reeling in his calm brown eyes. “Hmm?”

   “Can you… would you mind staying with me? I just… I really don’t want to be alone.” Your voice is shaky and nerves pull through your body, but for some reason his presence just gives off that impression of safety. 

   You don’t trust him yet, not really. But he’s got the softest aura swirling around him, and you just know he won’t hurt you. He’s already proved that.  

   You’re safe…

   He smiles, running a hand through his thick curls, his bicep flexing under the weight of the white t-shirt, grey sweatpants hanging low on his hips. You might’ve thought he was handsome under different circumstances, if your brain wasn’t ruined from trauma, but the only thing that seems to capture your attention is his soft brown eyes. The only kind ones that were in that auction room tonight. 

   “‘Course I will, sweetheart. Whatever makes you feel safe,” he says, walking over and sinking down into the champagne colored saucer chair by the open door, eyes locked on you. 

   You mold yourself to the cool mattress, the sheets wrapping loosely around your legs. You stare at him for a couple of minutes, using his woody scent to calm you down. He reminds you of Washington, of your favorite pine trees. He smells like home, when you had one. Tears line your lids, but you close your eyes and get lost in the rain, until your breathing is shallow and slow. And then you’re out like a light.

   He keeps his eyes fixed on you, watching for any signs that you may be in distress. Every whimper and strangle against the sheets makes him jump up, ready to take you from your vicious nightmares, but they don’t come. Not like the one that had you screaming bloody murder, tears staining your pretty eyes. 

   Scared. You’re so very scared, fragile. Just like the glass that ripped you open, staining his white button-up crimson. He hates that that’s how they made you feel. Afraid of men, to be broken again. They took it all from you and he fucking hates them for it. 

   They hurt you, ruined you. It makes him sick to his stomach, makes him want to hunt down every single man who put their filthy hands on your sacred body. He’d chop their hands off so they could never touch you again, take a gun and end their pathetic lives. That’s what he did with Sarah’s kidnappers, when he found out who took his precious daughter. And he’d do it for you too. In fact, he’d search the whole goddamn map to wring the necks of any man who even thought of putting their filthy paws on you.

   He’s not against violence, not when he spends half his time working to take down auctioneers and human traffickers. And the blonde man that tried to violate you tonight would be the first to go. That one he’ll take down himself. 

   He stays up the entire night, never letting his eyes close, afraid you’d start drowning again. But he won’t let you slip beneath the rocky waves; he’ll keep your head above water, pull you out, do his very best to make you feel safe.

   Safe. You’re safe here with him. And even if you don’t trust him yet, you will. He’ll make sure of it. He saw the absolute terror in your eyes on that stage, and he just couldn’t leave you with the venomous snakes in that house. You have a long road ahead of healing, but he’ll be there to help you through it. 

   A beautiful girl like you deserves a second chance at life, and he’ll give it to you. Pretty flowers don’t deserve to wilt. They deserve to thrive. 

   And you will. 

Tagging those who seemed interested 🩷 @joelsgreys @amyispxnk @whxtedreams @clawdee @jellybeanxc

@lotusbxtch @thebeldroramscal @laurrrra @sawymredfox @sanarsi

@christinamadsen @missannwinchester @aurorawritestoescape @evolnoomym @littlevenicebitch69

@milla-frenchy @magpiepills @604to647

[cyberrose2001]

Under Pressure

MTMTE Rodimus x Reader

GRAHH SURPRISE!!!!

Relic and I have been... discussing... very hard about an ask they got a couple days ago so I wrote this eheh (THANK YOU FOR DISCUSSING THIS WITH ME AND LETTING ME WRITE THIS ILY)

Also please yell at me if I forgot any warnings!

Loosely based of this ask over on @callsign-relic's blog

Warnings: Human reader, Giant/Tiny, Dub-Con(?), Nocturnal emission, Crack fic(?)

Word count: 1,887

18+ ONLY MINORS DNI

Rodimus denies it every time, but he's a heavy sleeper. He snores like a congested rhino; he constantly sets twelve alarms that only barely stir him from his slumber. Despite being captain of the ship, his sleep schedule is far from tip-top shape.

And no, you're not a stalker. You're just Rodimus' observant little 'pet' human, always there, with a California king on his bedside dresser. Yeah, you're treated like royalty by an incredibly hard-to-deny hot alien robot.

So, as the ship ventured further into deep space and the nights got colder, you whined and begged to stay with him.

Rodimus was very hesitant to let you join him in the berth. As much as he cared about you and would kill an army for you, he didn't want to accidentally kill you, which was very much a possibility in any scenario on this ship. But he caved. You had mastered the sad, wet cat look, and Rodimus had the willpower of a rock.

Relishing in victory, you're curled up comfortably against Rodimus' lower plating for the third consecutive night in a row, warmed by the large servo of a sleeping giant. The entire palm of his hand covers your back in subconscious protection, and every so often, you feel a twitch of one digit. It's tranquility and a rare comfort, the touch of another you haven't felt since being on earth.

Until he rolls over.

Rodimus, choking on his snores, flips over onto his stomach and nearly tosses you off the berth if not for the grip he has on you. Despite almost winding you and making an audible 'Oof' sound, he doesn't wake up, his unconscious body assuming another comfortable position.

It takes you a few moments to register what the fuck just happened, but you realise that you're now underneath Rodimus. Almost his entire body weight is now pressed against you and pins you to the berth.

Oh god, you think to yourself.

This is less than ideal; this was not supposed to happen. How the hell are you, a tiny ass human, supposed to get out from under him? You probably shouldn't even be alive right now with how restricted your breathing is, not to mention how hard he flopped on top of you. But thankfully, with how Rodimus' legs have fallen into position, it leaves you with just enough room for your chest to rise and fall.

"God." You whine, muffled as your cheeks squish against his abdominal plating.

Your mind runs wild as you try to think of a way out. Maybe he'll just roll over again soon? God, you hope so; you can handle only so much weight, and Rodimus feels like he could hold down a cargo ship. Probably because he can.

But until then, however long that may be, you need to try something at least.

"Rodimus?" You try to wiggle but to no avail. He has you pinned pinned, and you use what little breath you have to yell out to him, "Hello? Are you awake or what?"

A loud, seemingly exaggerated snore replies to you. He's still deep in recharge, ruining any chance you have of waking him up yourself. You try to use your nails to scratch the surface of his frame, hoping it would tickle him or something, but that doesn't work either.

"Great." You roll your eyes, only you would ever end up in this type of situation. If only you had listened to Rodimus when he first said no, then you wouldn't be currently experiencing a near death experi-

"Y/n..." Rodimus' hoarse voice crackles above you, sending vibrations through your bones.

"Oh, thank god," You sigh in relief. You attempt to wiggle around some more, hoping to get his attention this time, "Listen, can you get off me now? This kinda hur-"

You squeak softly in pain as his sharp pelvis presses against you, and you hear your name again. This time, though, the tone of his voice came out as a whine, like a soft plea.

Because of where you were positioned before you became a pea under a princess' tower of mattresses, Rodimus' lower panels rested right against your stomach. This means you can feel his panels start to bulge slightly.

Oh no, you think to yourself bleakly once again. You're not sure how similar Cybertronian anatomy is to humans, apart from a crude explanation by an engex drunk Swerve. Still, it doesn't take a genius to figure out that you're feeling him getting hard. Putting two-and-two together using two out of the five senses, you've realised that Rodimus is nearly boner deep in a wet dream.

And not to assume, but you're thinking that the star of the show is you.

It's also the wrong time to cackle to yourself about getting crushed by your crush.

You might have some issues to work out after with Rung.

"Oh fuck," You reasonably panic, trying to push against his heavy frame weakly with your pinned arms, "Oh fuck fuck fuck fuck-"

You start to thrash against Rodimus when your arms fail, your tiny body rubbing up against him. This doesn't help at all, you've come to realise but actually digs you in a deeper hole as he begins to rock his pelvis into you.

Rodimus moans your name again as he sleepily grinds against you. Whatever he's dreaming of, it must be an insanely hot pornographic fantasy of you. The bulge grows bigger, pining you down further into the berth. He shutters and lets out a soft groan before his plating shifts, and you feel a very thick, very hard, and very hot object slide up against you.

Oh god, it's his dick.

Swerve might not have told you all the details, but he seemed to conveniently leave out how fucking huge Cybertronian cocks are.

As if you thought this couldn't get any more debilitating, you now have the head of Rodimus' spike pressing against your face. It's as if the Alaskan bull worm had slithered up between yourself and Rodimus to give you a kiss. The behemoth of baggage has already started leaking what you would believe would be the Cybertronian equivalent to pre-cum, smearing all across your face.

At this significant turn of events, you've realised you have come to a crossroads.

Either struggle and continue to wiggle and wrangle your way out from under him, but risk pleasuring him, whether or not he could feel you squirming against him anyway with how small you are compared to it. Or, the more realistic and obtainable outcome, lie still and take it until he wakes up from an orgasm.

Who are you kidding? You don't have much of a choice at all. Both options risk you drowning in alien robot cum. It's wishful thinking as Rodimus starts to rut against your entire body again.

"Y/n..." He whimpers again, though very garbled and unintelligible. Every roll of his hips causes more pre-cum to dribble against your face and down your chest, and with each, it spreads all around in between yourself and his train-sized spike. Making an absolute mess of you.

If you weren't getting humped up against right now, you would indeed find a way to kill him for ruining your only set of pajamas.

"Rodimus-" You gag as a spurt of pre-cum falls into your mouth, "Guh- Rodimus stop-"

His work of venting increases, and so does his rutting. The comatose mech gasps and hitches his breath, oblivious to your cries and pleas for him to stop. He pushes up against you in heated desperation, fucking into your soft body like a grind pad.

"Rodimus! Wake the fuck up!" You start to heat up yourself; the increased pressure and friction of his plating will give you a fucked up version of carpet burn if he doesn't wake up. Sweat drips from your skin, adding even more lubricant to his incessant grinding.

"Wha- Oh, Primus!" Rodimus rears his drool-covered helm and cries out in equal confusion and unrestrained pleasure. He's woken up by his overload as he shoots his load up against you, flooding the minimal empty space left between you both with hot transfluid.

"Oh god-" You couldn't close your mouth in time when a spurt of transfluid hit you in the face, causing you to cough and spit it back out, only for more to splat you in the face.

Rodimus moans tiredly, shuttering violently as his spike pulses and leaks the remainder of his overload against the berth.

Or what he thought was the berth. Since when did he use a self-service mod on his spike? Especially when he shares a room with-

"Hey!" Cough, "Are you done?"

His optics slam open in horrific realisation.

"Oh no," Rodimus rolls over onto his back, his softened wet spike flopping against his abdominal plating, "Oh no, no, no..."

He looks down where he once lay, and his face plates flush a bright blue. Laying in a puddle of his transfluids was you, his little human, sopping wet with a highly unimpressed look on your tiny face.

"Oh Primus, Y/n," Rodimus scoops you up in his servos, gently tossing you from hand to hand as he wrings them off his transfluids, "I am so sorry, I- frag what was I thinking!" Rodimus babbles and holds you to his face, "Are you okay? God, I'm so stupid-"

"Ughh," You lay limply in his palm, exhausted and out of breath, "After that... I don't know anymore."

Rodimus hides his blush with a servo before pinching the bridge of his nose, "I'm glad you're okay, but what were you doing down there?"

"Great question," You lift your head up to deadpan him, then eventually drag yourself to sit up. Sticky, pink transfluid drips down your body. Your face, and hair, are all drenched in him, "It's not like you rolled over in your sleep and had me pinned for nearly half an hour. What the hell?"

Rodimus blinks, and his face turns a deeper shade of blue as he rubs the back of his neck, "Oh, so that's why I had that dream about you..."

Is he serious right now?

"Oh, you think?" You wipe your lip when it starts to drip into your mouth, "I think I could tell when you started moaning my name in your sleep."

"Well, you're just so tiny and soft and-" The red and yellow mech bites the knuckles of the servo not holding you in embarrassment. "But what was I supposed to do, huh? Hold it in?"

God, he is.

"I'm literally gonna kill you, Rodimus." You shiver, his transfluids cooling against your skin. You can't believe he dares to look you in the eye, "I am never begging to nap with you ever again, or maybe at least warn me next time."

"No offense taken," Rodimus nods in agreement for once, watching you wring your hair out, "I'm sorry, Y/n, I really am. I can help clean you up? As a sincere apology from yours truly?"

"As long as I don't come into contact with more of this stuff," You flick a bead of transfluid off your finger into his direction, "And you better be sorry, or it'll be a long time before I might actually let you fuck me."

"Wait, you'll what-" Splat, "EWUGH!!"

[v33n4-c4rn1s]

"Promise."

Remy LeBeau x fem!reader

A/n: This is my first proper fanfic! it's over 2000 words lolol and it's just Angst/Comfort with everyone's favorite Cajun! I'm really proud of this and I'm happy Remy gets to be my very first proper fic..i hope you enjoy!! also tag for because they asked so nicely :3 @kaidan-z

Summary: When wade wilson dragged you into the mess you were miserable, mourning and utterly heartbroken but now, after following Wilson and Howlett around for hours, watching them fight you finally get your end of the deal. Seeing a man you thought you'd never see again.

────────────────⋆༺𓆩🂱𓆪༻⋆─────────────────

Maybe it’s the fact this was all so..confusing.

I mean how are you supposed to feel when you come face to face with a ghost? 

Well, not really. A ghost would still remember, clutching time in its weary hands, allowing freedom and the soft embrace of closure. A ghost would know. Instead you’re both faced with the haunting idea of a lost memory. Something to yearn and claw for, barely scratching the surface of remembrance. A flame of longing and desperation that’s snuffed out by the force of time. 

- - - - - - - 

You were forced into this mess, against your own will really. One minute you’re sitting in your own misery, clutching a pen and paper, biting back inevitable tears. You mourned the loss of a man who had been long gone, Remy Lebeau. Your Remy. God he was the brightest star, the sweetest man with a sharp tongue. You loved him. You loved him more than anything. The best part? He loved you. Of all the wonderful people in the world, he wanted you, always you. Only you. So that's why it hurt so much when he met his end. 

That's why it tore a hole in your heart. He was tied to you, so deeply rooted in your soul that nothing could pull him away, no gentle persuasion could remove him. Only brute force, A harsh tug that tore him away and left you burning. Painful rage that was so blinding that people cowered away. So in this moment..you just needed solace.

But the universe didn’t give you that, instead You're hauled over some guy's shoulder who's blabbering about how “relieved” he is to see you.

So..what the fuck?

You later learn that you're stranded in a trio, a pathetic one at most. A merc with a mouth, Anger issues in a little yellow bundle (he comes with claws too.) and of course...you.

To most, you weren’t anything special. A mutant? Yes. Despite that being heavy enough itself, your mutation wasn’t anything flashy, just simple enough to cope with.

So why the hell did this bloodstained bastard take you of all people? 

- - - - - - -

So here you are now, stalking behind the pair you now know as Logan Howlett and..Wade Wilborn?..no, Wilson. That's it. Wade Wilson. He was the reason you were here. The void. That’s what this place was..a void. An endless layout of trash and gunk. The TVA, who you later learned “preserved the Sacred Timeline and prevented the creation of alternate timelines.” 

Turns out Wade’s universe was fucked because it lost its “anchor being.” Which was his universe's version of the grouchy companion he’d brought with him..or well, forced with him. Paradox, the one responsible (sorta) for Wade's wonderful kidnapping plan did not seem too pleased..especially since wade had to be that tiny bit extra and break his nose. So he sent you all here..the void.

Wade seemed to be a bit too friendly in all the wrong aspects..seriously how many sex jokes are too many? He’s sweet, you’ll give him that. You found that out only after he attempted to use you as a human shield against some bald headed bitch that only existed to grind on your nerves..But hey, that Johnny guy definitely got it worse.

- - - - - - -

The two overgrown children further proved their hatred to each other by fighting all their tension out in a shitty honda odyssey..all night. They fought till the sun went down. You just sorta sat there, lazily trying to wipe the nose bleed you had received after Wade shoved you to the ground in order to reach a “precious angel.”

..A dog. She was cute but you didn’t take too kindly to him picking a slobbering dog over your mental stability. Still, now all you really had to do was sit and wait for the two to finish their very loud and sharp disagreements. 

- - - - - - -

So..now you’re all caught up? Good. Then let me jump back to our present time.

He could have been a ghost, hell he might as well have been considering how much he paled when he saw you. The way the cards in his hands fluttered to a gentle stop. Even when wielding his weapons he was a gentleman. His lips parted..He wanted to say something, anything..but words could not find him. He just starred. 

To say you felt sick was an understatement. You felt like your body was about to give up any second. Overcome with the heaviest wave of nausea you’ve ever experienced. Here he was..a dead man. Standing in front of your very eyes..and he was beautiful. A little different..but beautiful. From the hair to the tip of his boots, he was the most gorgeously sculpted man you have ever seen.

“Chère?..”

“Remy?”

  Oh fuck. You’re kidding right? So this..version of him had a version of you too? He knew you? He knew you and without even knowing what had happened to his version of you, just looking at his face you knew that something so unforgettable had happened that he was just as broken as you.

“Ooh shit!! Are you seeing this!? I gotta say..i expected all the flashy entrances but look at these two lost loves? Ugh it's like I'm drowning in their self deprecating..”

Remy gave a half glance at the merc, scowling immediadently. His eyes set on him for just a split second before the glare was gone and he was back to looking at you. A softness creeping into his gaze that you didn’t think you’d see ever again. His brows furrowed as he took a step closer.

He knew it wasn’t his lost love but still. From the tips of your hair to the flush in your cheeks, the tentative grasp of your fingers against the fabric of your suit, the way your eyes brimmed with uncertain tears..it didn’t matter. He could rebuild. As selfish as that sounded he could rebuild it all if you’d let him.

“it..it ain’t you but-”

He tried to speak, he really did but the way you flinched at the sound of his voice made him want to cower like a small child. Your eyes fell onto the set of cards in his hand that he soon tucked away into the pocket of his coat. The gentle rustle of the fabric brought you snapping back to the present, a sharp gasp slipping from your lips as you carefully backed away, allowing Wade to take the lead again.

- - - - - - -

He watched you the whole time. He didn’t pay attention at all to whatever the hell the nuisance in the centre babbled on about. He watched you like a hawk. Eyes tracing over every piece of you. The way you bit down on the plush of your lip or how your lashes seemed to dampen everytime you blinked. He took note of the unsteady rhythm of your chest. He knew all the signs. When his eyes flicked back up to your face, he saw a tiny tear, barely visible but he could see it. It slipped down your cheek, resting on the curve of your jaw before it dropped onto the floor, seeping into the wood.

Remy had known you all his time in the void. He had no grasp on anything other than this wasteland and well..you. For a brief moment, he let himself daydream, just resting in the past, in the familiar sight of the sweetest smile he had ever seen. Yours.

- - - - - - -

“Don’t you think this is an awful idea?”

“Nonsense Chère, you think Remy doesn’t know a fine place when he sees one?”

His lips curled into a smile as he watched you glance at the rundown diner. It wasn’t exactly heaven, he knew that..but that didn’t matter, as cheesy as it sounds everywhere was heaven when he was with you. You laughed at the way he struggled to open a cabinet, the way he tugged at the wooden handle.

“Careful remy..it looks unsteady..maybe you should-”

“No need to worry about me Mon amour, what? You think Remy can’t handle a little push and pull? Dis is nothing, you just sit there and look- merde!!-”

It swung open, nearly taking him out in the process. You burst into fits of laughter, your knees buckling under how hard your laughter had hit you.

- - - - - - -

And that..bittersweet memory was the very thing that kept him pushing. Your laughter was the sweetest thing to him, he adored it more than anything and he’d longed to hear it once more.

He glanced over at you again, seriously he couldn’t stop. How could he? It was like looking into the past, the love of his life was a few steps away from him and he was doing nothing? What was wrong with him?

He couldn’t stand the silence anymore, the tension. He watched as you looked at his hands that were now nervously playing with his card deck. He carefully placed them all in one hand before pointing at you. He saw the way you jumped a little at being addressed. He then pointed to himself before pointing to the exit.

He wanted you alone, He wanted to talk.

Despite the ache in your chest, the tremble in your body, you followed him. You followed him out the arch and into the cool near evening. The sun was beginning to set, it casted the warmest glow over the wasteland. It was the prettiest thing about the whole dump.

The two of you walked in silence for a bit. The only sound filling the air were the gentle crunches of twigs beneath Remy’s shoes. It suddenly hit you. You were here, with an exact copy of your former lover. This was so fucked up.

He led you to a smaller campfire, letting you take a seat on the log before lighting the fire, sitting down with a soft grunt.

“Remy know’s dis is a bit..confusing and he’s damn sorry about it but..I've gotta know, chère..”

His soft honesty brought warm butterflies to your stomach. The words rolled off his tongue, combed by his heavy accent. His knee bounced nervously as he watched your face, biting his lip slightly.

“It's..complicated, it would take a long time to even-”

“Remy’s got all the time in the world Chère, just talk t’me..”

You glanced at him one last time. He looked like a kicked puppy when you denied him. How the hell could you say no to such hopeful eyes?

And so you told him, you told him everything. The love, the loss, the pain. The way his absence had left a gaping wound on your being, leaving the ugliest scar and a hideous rage, a burning hatred. You spilled it all and it felt good. It felt good to finally just talk. You were so into explaining it all that you didn’t even notice the fact you were in floods of tears, droplets streaking down your cheeks. Your breathing shortened as you forced more words out of your throat. You were too engrossed in the pain.

“Chère.”

His firm tone cut you off, he reached up, carefully swiping a tear away with the pad of his finger. It sent a range of sparks up your spine and you quivered under his gaze.

He watched you for just a moment before making up his mind. He knew he was overstepping the imaginary boundaries but he knew his Chère well enough to know what she needed. One arm wrapped around your waist and the other slid up to your shoulder, bringing you into a warm embrace. He was so different yet the exact same. He smelt like whiskey and leather. He smelt like home and it made you feel sick.

“Ma pauvre fille..”

He was so comfortable that he didn’t even realise the words that left his mouth, the soft claim he made..but you did. You heard it and it stung, it healed a tiny part of your wounded soul, to be addressed as his once more. You squeezed his shoulder, letting the last few tears fall. He pulled back, hesitantly cupping your cheek, relaxing a little as you leaned into his touch. This felt right, despite the gnaw of pain it felt right. To be here with him, to feel him.

Remy lifted his hand, capturing your smaller ones with a gentle touch. He pressed his lips to the back of it. A kiss, full of tender love and sweet affection. A rush of blood reached both of your cheeks. The cool air gently brushed against the heated skin. He leaned forward pressing another kiss to your forehead this time, letting his own rest against yours as he brought one of your hand to his chestplate, placing it above his heart.

“It’s yours Chère, mon coeur est à toi.”

You knew what he meant, he had promised you that despite all odds, if ever something went wrong, he would find you. He’d find you in every universe.

And he did.

Remy Lebeau was many things. He’d been branded as a scoundrel all his life..but if there was one thing he couldn’t do, it was lie to you. He was an honest man who kept his promises to you.

He fulfilled each one. Including this one.

───────────⋆༺𓆩🂱𓆪༻⋆─────────────

[angel-of-the-moons]

Desert Heat

Alpha!Cooper Howard x Fem!Omega!Reader

TW/CW: Smut, NSFW, Omegaverse AU, Chem usage, Chems, Heat cycles, Rough Sex, Sex-pollen, Dub-con, Dirty talk, Dacryphilia, Needy!Reader, Oral sex (m + f), Cumming untouched, Biting, Marking, Breeding kink, Knotting, Unprotected Sex, Creampie (Pack your RadAway, kids!)

MINORS DNI I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR CONTENT YOU CONSUME

A/N: Blame @hydraliskisk for this one lmaoooo (And no, I still haven't seen the show... I can't find the time to sit down and relax enough to do it at home) Honestly? No idea what else to say, except I've never written Omegaverse stuff before this, so it was all new to me! This felt like a fever dream 😭 Enjoy this dumpster fire!

Taglist: @anna-n-hetfield

Cooper found himself grinding his teeth yet again, for the millionth time that day as he rooted about the ruins of the little rural neighborhood. He was on edge; his puckered and scarred skin itching beneath the surface, like the bad come-down from a fucked up chem.

He had another argument with you, his "lovely" little traveling companion; the third in the past two days. You had been getting increasingly temperamental. He had to guess you were going through withdrawal; your favorite particular tin case of "Fixer" was empty, so he assumed your newfound testiness was a result of that situation.

But Jesus fucking Christ, you were a bitchy little Beta, weren't you? Certainly had bite when you got pissed off. It'd be cute, if you weren't such a thorn in his side, at the moment.

He kicked over an empty wooden box, frowning at the long-since spoiled jars of preserved fruits and vegetables, his jaw working itself hard with a rough click.

He hoped your search was more fruitful than his own; your supplies were on the iffy side in terms of food and he knew that as a ghoul, he didn't need to eat as often as you did anymore. But you were still smooth and (as far as he knew) un-mutated, so all of your biological needs still needed to be tended to.

It was an irritating hassle, but he couldn't deny how scrappy and useful you were in terms of scavenging and watching his back so he could get sleep when he wanted it--thankful you were also a crack shot thanks to being born out here in the wastes.

Once again, his gloved hand scratched at his neck as he moved on to another house, ready to search for food, water, and Chems, if need be, too. Some Rad-X and RadAway were worth more than water to him, at this point...

You hated this.

Hate, hate, absolutely, unequivocally despised the situation you'd accidentally backed yourself into. You were hoping to keep your secret for as long as possible; but during your travels monitoring your Fixer stash had been almost an afterthought. You took one to one-and-a-half daily, carefully stretching your stash for as long as possible.

You knew your one-month pause in your doses was coming, and you were hoping to get away from Cooper long enough to take care of your problems on your own; but that wasn't feasible given how far out in the middle of bum-fuck nowhere you found yourselves in.

You had resisted the urge to hunker down as long as possible... But your instincts were firing on full-blast.

Your heat suppressants had worn off. And Cooper, unfortunately... Well. He was the only Alpha nearby, and you knew he'd figure it out at some point. You just didn't want him to find out so soon; all because of your shitty planning.

Your feet dragged through the rotting aisles of the small general store, barely paying attention and swiping whatever looked good enough to take into your satchel, some dented cans of unopened cram, a few preserved boxes of stale snack cakes...

You were so out of it, you hadn't even noticed how your hands had begun unwrapping the sweet morsels and eating through the meager rations you'd scrounged up. After swallowing the last cake you had unwrapped, you stuffed them into your bag and willed yourself to stop focusing on them and drank greedily from your canteen.

Fuck. You were already stuffing yourself. You knew what would inevitably come next...

You swallowed hard and returned to your task of scavenging; managing to find a box of .38 rounds, some cans of emergency ration water, and even a small stash of caps that you pocketed to divide later, when you were more in your right mind.

Your eyes, however, lit up when you spotted a cluster of prickly pear growing beneath a blown-out window, the fruit running in mixes ranging from green to mauve to a deep, almost bloody-purple shade. Perfect.

You slipped on your rawhide gloves to protect yourself from the thorns and glochids sticking out so menacingly from the skin of the fruit. As you twisted and plucked each treat from the source, you set each one down in a cracked ceramic bowl lying nearby. You'd need to run them over a flame to burn off the microscopic needles before you could skin and eat them; but right now you were only partially thinking about that.

A shimmer caught your eye, a flower growing at the base of the cactus. The petals were vibrant pink. It almost looked like a Venus flytrap, in the way the spindly, velvety tendrils opened and closed, the stalk expanding in a way that made you think the plant was almost breathing.

You tilted your head, your pre-heat daze almost forgotten as your attention was grabbed by this mutated, alien-looking plant. Despite everything else, even in regards to the thriving cactus it sprouted at the feet from... it was a bright and vibrant green as well, happily nourished in the dry earth within the ruined building. The bright splash of color mixed with the undulating petals were transfixing to your addled state.

Forgetting caution above all else, your fingers began to clasp around the stalk of one of the flowers to pluck it, to examine it closer. But as you did that, the flower had lurched in a way that looked like it was about to vomit.

You fell back onto your butt as it spat out a shimmery cloud of pollen into your face. It burned and tickled your nose as you inhaled, waving your hand in front of your face frantically to clear the air, sputtering and coughing around the choking dust as you wiped your eyes and face, looking at the thin chalky substance that was transferred onto your glove.

And, within the span of a few moments... it was like everything else just... didn't matter. Your goals of scavenging were tossed out of your mental window, your body's reaction like a wildfire in dry brush.

Your brain was buzzing, your instincts overriding your common sense as you stand up and walk away from the bowl of fruit. You raipped off your bag your bag and only half paid attention to the sound of the tin cans clattering and ammo tinkling as it spilled out, the weight of the leather strap had rapidly been becoming more and more uncomfortable, your clothes beginning to feel like sandpaper on your skin.

A bead of sweat trickled down between your shoulder blades, and you shuddered. Your eyes looked around almost frantically. You needed somewhere safe, your instincts screamed mercilessly.

And, by the grace of whatever kind of omniscient being that was up in the sky, you found a basement.

It looked like whoever owned the store had refitted it into some kind of shelter. Or, hell, maybe it was used by some scavver before you had traipsed along. Whatever it had been used for, you didn't care, it was yours now.

It had a bed, a couch, some more supplies half-assedly stacked on a rickety table... your eyes adjusted to the dark, the only source of light you had was the light bleeding from the open basement door, and the faintly glowing mushrooms that sprouted from the basement walls in thick clumps.

The logical part of your brain identified the fungi; you could use them to make RadAway with the supplies you had on hand. Another part of your logic had told you something crucial--that plant; whatevert it was, had spat out a cloud of pollen that had all but skipped your pre-heat, only just barely leaving your basic instincts to nest, and the overwhelming craving to be pinned down to the nearest surface and fucked until you were round with somebody's pups.

The rest of your mind was spiraling so quickly you felt like you were drunk; cramps rippling through your lower half impeded your progress as you ripped the threadbare blankets and cushions off of the couch, piling them on top of the mattress you'd tossed to the floor from the rusted metal frame it had been laid on, pushing them up into a corner that felt the most secure and least exposed, trying to make it as comfortable as possible.

Your clothes had become drenched with your sweat, the crotch of your pants and underwear all but ruined by your excess slick. You growled and grunted as you tugged them off, kicking the offending garments away and sighing in relief at the cool, damp air hitting your hot skin.

Another shudder rippled through you as you felt another wave of cramps hit your abdomen; your pussy fluttering with needy want, making you whine loudly as you pant, crawling back up the stairs to slap the door closed.

You needed to ride this out. Somehow.

The next few days were going to be hell.

Cooper clicked his tongue, spitting out the dry reed he'd begun chewing on as his boots kicked up dust, the rusty spurs tinkling with every step as he made his way to the last place you could possibly be--the ruined general store.

He had to admit, this little place would make a good settlement. He couldn't help but wonder why it hadn't been settled. The river that had--by a chance of dumb luck--kept flowing had allowed the land to grow a steady clump of greens and browns. Cacti and Joshua trees littered the area, more than a few large agave plants had overgrown the smaller walkways; their prickly limbs reaching out like the epicenter of a pale green explosion.

He chuckled at his mental comparisons. Ironic.

But he pushed that thought to the side; he had observed a small flower of some kind. A pair of lizards he'd planned to catch and eat had skittered up to it, drawn by the lure of fat insects buzzing around the flower for a nice meal for themselves.

He watched as one of the little critters had crept closer, preparing to lash its tongue out to snag one of the fat, fluttering bugs. But as it did, the flower lurched, belching a cloud of pollen at it that made the lizard hiss; thrashing briefly in the sand as its companion crawled over to examine its friend.

The male--oh, he was certain it was a male--lifted its head after a moment, the throat sack beneath his throat puffed up, turning a bright shade of red. A mating display, he realized.

Cooper had watched with slight interest; remembering, once-upon-a-time, of a nature documentary he'd watched with his daughter, Janey, of desert lizards. This sort of thing was the closest form of entertainment he had during his traveling, reminding him with a dull throb of nostalgia and grief at the life he had lost, before.

His thoughts were pulled back to the now, as he watched the male lizard chase his female companion around, until he assumed, he tackled her beneath a rocky crag somewhere to mate with her. He'd snorted, reminding himself to steer clear of those flowers.

Getting hot and horny could be a death sentence, out in the wasteland. You could be so caught up in the moment, you could get snuck up on and offed in the middle of the night; your supplies picked from your carcass by who-knows-who...

And he wasn't looking to have his card punched with his cock in hand. That just wasn't a good way to go out.

Cooper's dark eyes lifted up, clicking his tongue at the lilted sign of the shop, stepping over the bleached wood of the door that had long since rotted off its hinges.

The setting sun had put a damper in his plans. He'd wanted to find you and get out of the proverbial ghost town before the darkness had set in. Something about these old buildings had him uncomfortable.

His gloved finger snagged the collar of his faded shirt, tugging on it as he hissed out a heavy sigh. Why was it so fuckin' hot in here? The fuck smelled so... sweet?

His finger pulled the hammer back and his thumb flicked the cylinder release as he crept along the rotting shelves. He'd called out your name once. Upon receiving no answer, his brow furrowed.

"Darlin', now ain't the time to be playing in the dark." Cooper growled, his eyes scanning the shop for any signs of you.

In the setting sunlight, his eyes caught the glimmer of one of your buckles of your satchel. He quickly rushed over to where it had been tossed--maybe in some kind of tussle--and frowned. It was full of freshly scavenged supplies. Guns, ammo... your favorite chem tin.

As his eyes gave a passing scan to your empty tin, his gaze lifted to the cactus you'd been harvesting, the bowl of fruit laying untouched since you'd picked it.

What remained of his nose twitched; your scent was everywhere, tainted with the strangling-sweet smell clinging to the dust in the air. He couldn't pick up anybody else's around, so that ruled out you getting into a fight. So the question remained the same--where were you?

He holstered his pistol when he examined the cactus closer, frowning as the strange plant from before twitched and swayed on its own, lurching and grabbing flies that got too close to the petals of the flower. Cooper grunted, looking down to the dented metal tin still clutched in his hand.

His heart had almost skipped out of his chest as he finally bothered to examine the writing scrawled on the tin in proper detail; among your little scratches and scribbles was the name of the chem it contained.

It wasn't just regular Fixer. It was Heat-Fixer. A common variation of the chem that had been used even before the Great War to ward off an Omega's heat cycles as long as they took it regularly and in safe doses. He remembered once, being in Anchorage and it was revealed that one of his comrades in his unit was an Omega; he explained what exactly the Fixer did to his team over a lull in combat one night.

And you currently had an empty tin.

An empty tin of heat-supressants, coupled with the strange pollen of that flower... it wasn't a good combination for an Omega to be caught out in the middle of nowhere while in heat, not when someone could so easily stumble upon you and take advantage of your crazed and sex-hungry state.

No wonder you had been so snappy and irritable. No wonder you had been so anxious and ready to go to the next town, to hunker down there for a few days. He had assumed you were just being spoiled, wanting to pamper yourself somehow from the tough life on the road.

Now, he realized, you had been hoping to shut yourself in somewhere, to hide the mutated elephant you tried to smuggle into the room. Oh, yeah... he'd have a long talk with you once all this was over with.

"Fuckin' hell, darlin'." He muttered, shaking his head, his jaw clenched tight as he tossed it back into your bag, slinging it over his bandolier as he continued his search for you.

Your scent had him almost dizzy, he had even stumbled over his own feet once or twice as he looked for you. He knew Omegas had some strong instincts; he knew from experience you were going to look for somewhere safe to ride this out, to try and take care of yourself.

But on the off-chance something else had happened to you... Cooper had inwardly cursed at himself for being so worried. You were sometimes a little naive, believing in the best of the worst of people that had been a part of your tribal-turned-civilized home where he'd found you.

You had been an outcast even among your own tribe, most likely smothering your Omega nature by sneaking off under the guise of "scavenging" during your heats and the suppressants you were taking to mask it all.

Aside from finding out you were an Omega, not a Beta like you'd claimed, Cooper had felt a bit of kinship with you in how you were ostracized for how you were, maybe even a bit towards your naive hope that the best in humanity could one day resurface despite everything around you staring you in the face and screaming otherwise...

His mouth had become dry and he swallowed hard, his tongue practically choking him. It felt like he had a wad of cotton in his mouth despite the saliva that had begun to accumulate. The identity of your scent had finally dawned on him. The familiar, comforting scent of something akin to an apple pie; something he hadn't had in a very, very long time. And the idea he might be able to taste it again had consumed a part of his brain.

Your pheromones had all but tainted the stale air inside the small structure; if he still had any hair, it would have been standing on end as each drag of air coated his lungs in everything that was you.

Fuck, you smelled delicious. Good enough to eat.

Cooper gritted his teeth once more, briefly reaching down to press his palm into the rather pressing erection that had become prominently bulged in his old worn trousers. His own Alpha instincts had stirred; they had been almost dormant for so long, he'd almost forgotten them.

But right now, every one of his senses had picked up you. A sweet, perfect little Omega, writhing somewhere on your own and waiting to be bred. He shuddered at his train of thought; reminding himself that he was looking for you to make sure you were okay... to... to make sure you were safe, and to--what was he thinking, again?

Fuck. Right. He was going to find you, and stand guard around wherever you'd nested up and just wait for it to pass. Lecture you when it was over.

But as he crept along the ruined store, he had to stop and slump against a wall, his eyes rolling at the smell permeating the air, your pheromones flooding his bloodstream like the sweetest chem he'd had in a long, long time.

Cooper had managed to drag one foot after the other to find the basement door. Your scent rolled from the wood like the smoke to a powerful fire. You were down there, alright.

And against his better judgement, Cooper twisted the rust old knob and took the first step down, pulling out his old--and by-miracle still functioning--wind-up flashlight, he flicked the switch and walked down, his eyes tracking the glowing fungi that lined bits of the basement walls with a bit of giddy euphoria.

"Cooper..." He'd heard you croak out.

He spun on his heels, the beam of his light eventually turning onto you.

His heart had jumped up into his throat as he took you in; your frantically-made nest, the barriers you'd built between you and the rest of the room... the bare, sweaty skin that glistened in the torchlight he held in his hand.

He shook his head as another wave of your pheromones blasted him full-force. Fuck. What the hell had he been thinking? Oh. Right. He hadn't been thinking. He let his dick do the walking and find you, like some sex-crazed punk Alpha just coming into his nature.

"Cooper." You said again, your pupils blown so wide he almost couldn't see the color of your irises as you looked at him with your hooded gaze, your lips looking all to plush and swollen as you licked at them.

"Darlin', you..." He swallowed hard, his hard cock already bordering on painful, sweat beginning to soak through his shirt beneath his leather duster as his breathing increased.

"Help me. Please." You whined, sitting up more as you crawled over the nest of blankets towards him as your tongue ran over your teeth, your hips swaggering with each movement; reminding him of the scene in a shitty porno magazine he read as a younger man.

"Need something--"

"Shit. No." Cooper hissed, squeezing his eyes shut as he regained a semblance of some control over himself once again; backing up to the stairs, ready to rush back up them and lock you down here until this was all over.

When the stairs creaked under the weight of his first step, you whined, halting any more movement from him.

"Please." You panted, little whimpers bubbling through from between each syllable as you spoke, "Need help... goin' nuts... need you... please."

Cooper had stupidly snuck a glance at you, standing on your knees and leaning forward slightly in the middle of the dusty floor, one hand roughly groping at your own breast and the other snaking between your legs to roll your clit in time with the lazy thrusts of your hips. It was the sexiest goddamn thing he'd seen in his fucking life; a fresh rush of arousal making his cock throb.

"Help me." You whined, your eyes watery and needy as your gazes locked in the darkened space.

His eyes rolled back into his head and Cooper growled, his chest tightening at how you whined once more in submission to him. His feet stomped across the room, and he set his light down on the table enough to illuminate some of the room; namely you.

"Needy little fuckin' Omega," Cooper had spat as he ripped off his excessive bulk. Your bags joined his on the table, the contents scattering across the surface as his bandolier was tossed on top of it all alongside his guns.

"You been thinkin' about getting fucked all day, haven't ya?" He sneered as he tugged his gloves off with his teeth, dropping them as he moved back towards you.

You leaned into his touch as one of his hands cupped your cheek, eyes fluttering closed as he used his other hand plucked the buttons on the collar of his shirt free; his dark eyes taking in your soaked and aroused state as your hand between your legs continued to furiously rub and pinch at yourself for any stimulation--to ease that growing ache in your cunt.

The rough and scarred pad of his thumb swept a desperate tear from your cheek as he spoke; "A needy little bitch in heat, ain'tcha? Fuck, what if it wasn't me that came lookin' for ya?" His hand went from gentle to rough, squishing your cheeks between his fingers as he forced you to look up to him, his lips curling up into a snarl. "Bet at this point you'd go and bend over for any wasteland fuck coming along to bury their cock in you, probably fuck some pups into ya."

Your mouth opened in a breathy little moan, your eyes almost fluttering closed once again as he continued. "Well, fuck that. I ain't letting no fucking scavver take what's mine, got it?"

Your eyes immediately went to his crotch when his free hand roughly worked free his belt buckle, ripping his button open and fly down to free his throbbing cock to you, your mouth watering and your pussy flooding at the premise of him just burying himself inside of you and staying there.

"Now, given all the trouble you've been causin' me... I'm tempted to not give you my cock, got it?" He huffed, looking down at you from the remnants of the bridge of his nose, a sick sense of pride swelling his ego at how your eyes grew wide and panicked; like you were a junkie denied their next fix, so gone in withdrawal you thought you were going to die.

Cooper laughed at you as tears gathered in your eyes at his threat, your pretty little lip wobbling. He could almost hear your heart pound in the sweet little chest of yours. He squished your cheeks once again to snap you out of it, groaning as his hand gripped the base of his cock. "But you've got me in a bit of a state, babydoll." He drawled. "So..."

He tapped the tip of his scarred and gnarled cock to your lips, and grunted when you immediately curled your tongue underneath the tip, sucking him past your plush lips with a loud and grateful moan.

"...you're gonna suck me reeeal good... and maybe, if you're a good girl, you'll get it all, got it?"

You moaned again as you took him deeper, your tongue curling around his shaft as your head moved further down his length, gagging around him as you try to take too much too quickly.

Cooper fisted your hair and yanked you back, his gravelly voice tumbling out of him as he looked down at you, a warning in his eyes. "Don't push yourself, cupcake. Take what you can. I'd hate for you to choke on my cock before I've had a chance to fuck you with it."

You nodded drunkenly, immediately moving to take him into the wet cavern of your mouth once again with loud slurping sounds as you bobbed your head, your fingers rolling your clit in time with the bob of your head and the cant of your hips. Cooper ran his fingers through your hair, petting you as he watches you return to your task with feverish need.

"That's it, babydoll... fuck. You been thinkin' about this for some time, huh? Havin' somebody let you take their cock in your mouth?" He laughed, his voice going tight as you moaned in reply.

"Shit--that's it! Fuck..."

Cooper's heart was pounding in his chest as he feels your tongue swirl the tip of his cock. It had been too damn long since he'd had a good fuck; and you were proving to be a goddamn amazing one, so far, if your tongue skills were anything to go by. His hands gripped the back of your head and he started to arch his back, fucking his cock into your mouth with a loud, pleasured sigh. He wasn't going to last long, and he had disregarded his earlier warnings of taking it too quickly as the haze of his building orgasm began to swell as he began to use your mouth for his own pleasure. Not that you minded.

The moment he felt his cock twitch, he grunted, his eyes rolling back.

"Shit, darlin'... get ready."

You whined around his cock, your cunt gushing around your fingers as you plunged them inside, your lashes brushing your cheeks as you eagerly try to taste every drop he was willing to give you.

The first splash on your tongue had you a moaning mess, arousal burning low in your belly and a bubble that had been swelling was ready to burst. Cooper yanked you back by the hair again and gripped his cock, jerking furiously as each hot volley of thick cum coated your face, splashing on your tongue as it lolled out of your mouth; dripping down your chin and onto your breasts.

Cooper chuckled grimly, "Well... that's one way to mark that prettly lil' body of yours."

He quickly swiped his cum off of your face, earning a complaining whine from you until he crammed his fingers into your mouth, letting you suck them clean; tasting him mixed with the dirt, grime, and gunpowder that clung to his skin. His eyes flashed dangerously as he watched you spasm slightly, eyes rolling back; his taste, the sensations he was pushing on your and the sheer forcefulness of his actions making you climax as you moaned around his hand that was all but choking you.

"Look't you. So fuckin' cockdrunk you can't even fuckin' talk." He mocked playfully, pulling his fingers from your lips with a loud pop.

Cooper kneeled down in front of you and grinned, his teeth flashing that signature smile of his as he practically lunged for you; hoisting you over his shoulder and slapping a palm over your ass, fingers dipping into your sweet cunt to toy with the juices that dribbled down your thighs, making you moan obscenely.

He dropped to his knees and rolled you down onto the nest you'd made in the corner, watching with his grin; twisting his scarred face in a look of aroused glee as you laid back and spread your legs for him, showcasing just how badly you needed him.

"Damn, darlin'... got yourself lookin' like a nice glazed snack, for me." He chuckled, beginning to shrug his shirt the rest of the way off, working his pants down his legs as he blindly kicked his shoes off in the dark. "Makes me wanna fuckin' eat ya right up..."

He tipped his head to the side, one of his hands grabbing his hat and tossing it off somewhere out of sight as he exposed more and more of himself to your hungry eyes. "Actually... that ain't a bad idea, heh."

Your hips rolled and you spread your puffy and swollen lips apart for him with a mewl as he lowered himself down onto his belly and elbows, looking up at you with a glimmer in his eyes.

"Now, I ain't gonna just give it to ya, sweetheart... you gotta tell me. Ask me nice."

"Please. Cooper. Please." You pant. "Please, please, please, please please--"

"Now, now..." Cooper warned, reaching up to slap his fingers onto your clit and watching your body jump at the contact. "That's not what I meant."

Your brows furrow down at him, swallowing the saliva that accumulated in your mouth as your brain tries to process what he meant through the red fog your mind was clouded with.

Finally, it clicks.

"Cooper, please..." You mewl loudly. "A-Alpha, please--"

The sound that comes from him makes your mind blank and your body shudder, going almost slack with relief as his lips closed around your weeping cunt, babbling "thank you's" and frantic, almost incoherent words as he gave you a taste of what you'd been craving.

You were veeeery happy it was Cooper that found you. Right now you couldn't imagine anyone else to have between your legs, drinking you down like you were his first taste of water after being stranded in the desert.

Cooper had laid there for... he didn't even know how long. Tasting you, edging you, biting and nipping your inner thighs, making you cum to the point you felt like you had gone blind had his chest swell with pride and... something else. More than just plain sexual attraction, more than the fact that you were and Omega accepting him as your Alpha right now...

He didn't focus on that too long, shoving those feelings to the back of his mind as he rose to his knees, yanking your quivering hips close to him, his cock slapping your belly as he stared down at you.

"Gonna fuck you now, darlin'. Give you every fuckin' inch of what you've been wanting." Cooper hissed, rolling his cock through your slick folds with a lazy thrust. Your hands reach out to grab at his arms, frantic and wanting as you nodded dumbly, mindlessly.

"Please, please--yes, yes, yes--"

"Easy, now." Cooper chuckled, his voice almost dropping into fondness as his hands gripped and squished your thighs. "Just lay back and let me fuck you like y'need, alright, baby?"

You keen lowly, dropping your head onto one of the pillows as you feel the tip of his cock notch at your waiting hole, your pussy clenching as he pushed in; his pace torturously slow as he sunk himself within your welcoming, tight and wet heat.

He tipped his head back with a pleasured sigh, his voice shaky, as he savored the ecstasy of your body; "Jesus fuck, you feel so damn good... fit me like a glove, sweetheart."

"Fuck me." You mewled, frantically grabbing at whatever bits of him you could to try and urge him on, your legs wrapping around his waist, heels digging into the back of his thighs as you try to encourage him deeper.

Cooper growled at you, leaning down to press his mouth to your ear; "You don't tell me what to fuckin' do. Right now, I'm gonna fuck you so full you're gonna feel like yer gonna pop. Got it? Don't get bossy on me, y'hear?"

You curled around him, clinging to him desperately. "Sorry. Sorry, sorry..." You cried softly. "J-Just n-need... Need you, please..."

"I was just teasin' ya, sweetheart..." Cooper sighed with a chuckle, pulling out halfway before sharply thrusting back in, your breasts jiggling as your body jerks with the effort of his thrust. "Don't be such a crybaby."

Your jaw snaps shut with a strangled moan, your teeth grinding as your body welcomes him eagerly, all the stress and anxiety of your heat melting away in the pleasure that Cooper was bullying into your cunt, sloppy, loud, lewd noises coming from between you as he plunged his cock in and out of you; his skin slapping against yours.

A small part of you right now was vaguely recalling your past heats. How you would scurry away when you couldn't make your Heat-Fixer on your own, or score any from passing caravans; how you would hide in your secret little cave and masturbate to thoughts of having someone just come and take the edge off for you, you just bend you over and fuck you until your mind didn't come back into logical focus for days after the fact--to fuck you so full you were certain "your" Alpha had bred you as your biological needs shouted that you needed.

Your nails dig into Cooper's back, scratching fresh masks into his pitted and wrinkled skin, the texture of his cock making your head spin even more as you breathed in his own pheromones; Cooper's scent had always comforted you. Somehow, the scent that was not unique in the world today felt unique to him, and only him. Gunpowder, petrichor, and sweet honey bourbon.

You didn't realize just how much you loved and craved to have his scent on you until now; a loud moan slithering out of you as he dragged his tongue up your throat, mouthing your swollen scent gland messily, making your hips stutter against his and your breath hitch into a small sob as his tongue laves over the soft flesh.

"Smell so fuckin' good." Cooper growls, his voice sending vibrations through your sensitive skin as he continues to rut his cock into you. The pitch of his tone makes you whimper in submission, rolling your head to the side to let him have better access as he licked and kissed your throat, moving from one side to the other.

"Fuck--" He panted, driving his hips into your again and again, the sweat on your body making it difficult to get a decent grip on your soft hips. Your scent was driving him insane; he was finding himself wanting to keep his face buried either at your throat or between your legs. If he wasn't so pressed to just fuck you, Cooper would have gladly stayed with his head buried between your legs until he got his fill of you.

However, now that he's had a taste of you, now that he's felt you squeezing and milking his dick for anything he was willing to give you... he wasn't sure he would ever get a fill. Your scent was goddamn maddening to him; it made him hungry in more ways than one. He never realized it before, but now that you were uninhibited by the Fixer, it hit him full-force. And just the mere thought of another Alpha putting their hands on you made him mad with... possession?

He swallowed back a mouthful of saliva, clenching his jaw as he panted hotly in your ear, "Feel so fuckin' good around my cock, babydoll."

You choked for air when you feel his knot almost catch, your orgasm dancing just out of reach; walls clenching around him every time you felt it press against your entrance.

"Please, please..." You begged, running your hand up his back, tracing every deep groove and bit of scarred flesh you could; mapping out every inch you could feel beneath your fingertips.

"N-Need..."

One of his arms was currently bracing himself next to your head, which his other hand pawed at your hip, gripping the sweaty, smooth skin so tight there would likely be bruises in the shape of his handprint that would be visible for days on.

His mouth once again hovered over your scent gland, and you pressed one of your hands to the back of his neck to urge you on; "Please..." You begged once more.

Cooper gave you a look out of the corner of his eye, and as you opened your mouth to plead with him once more, he sunk his teeth directly into your throat. Your moan was so loud, he could almost hear the rush of his blood beneath it as the coppery taste of your blood coated his tongue.

"Fuck!" You sob, grinding your hips against his, your spongy walls throbbing almost painfully as you finally feel him force his knot past that last barrier of resistance; feeling it swell and lock him in place, the sensation finally ripping a mind-numbing orgasm from you.

"Shit, darlin'..." Cooper moaned, breaking his lips from around your scent gland, rutting and grinding into you as much as he could, feeling the simmering heat of his own orgasm finally creeping near that precipice. "Squeezin' me so fuckin' good..."

He leaned back, grabbing your hips in his hands and pulling you against him, staring down at your sweaty and flushed face as your eyes rolled back, your hands clawing desperately at the mattress and ratty blankets beneath you, weakly lifting your hips to try to get him to keep moving.

"Needy little... fuckin'..." Cooper panted, feeling how hard your hot pussy was clenching around his knot. It felt like he was burning up from the inside out, like his blood was boiling inside his veins as his orgasm roiled and crashed through him; hips jerking against yours as his cock twitched, emptying every drop of cum he could fill you with into your waiting and desperate womb.

He ground his teeth as his eyes rolled back and he let the last bits of his climax ebb away.

Cooper let out a long, slow breath, poking down to where your bodies were locked together. Damn, that felt good. It was the best feeling he'd felt in... shit, a very long time. He sighed and pressed his hand down low on your belly, just barely able to feel the outline of himself through your soft skin, muscles and fat.

His gaze slowly slid up your sweaty and twitching body, to the fresh mark he'd left in your throat, and finally to your blissed-out, satisfied face. He knew this state for you was only temporary; once his knot went down, you would be climbing back on top of him for more, wanting to be fucked and bred again and again, despite the face he was 100% positive in the fact that ghouls didn't work like that anymore... But nonetheless you'd be wanting your Alpha to mark you and fuck you again and again until your heat passed you by.

He narrowed his eyes at his own line of thinking. He... wasn't really "your" Alpha now, was he? You were partners, and well, now...

Ah. Shit...

"You alive, darlin'?" Cooper chuckled, pushing aside his line of thinking, to try and focus on the moment instead of his stupid what-ifs.

"Mhmmm..." You answered with a purr, arching you back and stretching, wrapping your legs around his waist once again, opening your stormy eyes to peer up at him, your tongue swiping out at your bottom lip.

"Shit... Give me some time to pull out, you needy little bitch." He chastised with another soft laugh, reaching out to tweak your nipple in reprimand.

Cooper leaned over you, pressing his thumb over your clit, earning a soft whine from you.

"You're gonna be a good girl for me, ain't'cha, babydoll?" He sighed, looking as your face twisted in pleasured agony while he pinched and rolled your clit, feeling how your cunt fluttered around his cock. "C'mon... Answer your Alpha, sweetheart..."

Your eyelids dragged lazily open and you nod, almost jerking your head up and down as a small bit of drool pools at the corner of your swollen lips. "Yes, yes, yes... I'll be a good girl."

Cooper grinned wider, almost predatory in appearance, still tasting you on the tip of his tongue.

"Thaaaaat's right... Now... just lay back and let me take care of ya, babydoll. And once we're done, you 'n I are gonna have a long talk..."

[strang3lov3]

Underfoot

You get off on Roman's shoe.

Tags - dom!roman, smut, rough sex, gross sex, shoe humping/grinding, shoe licking, humiliation, degradation, masturbation, cum eating, biting, hitting, kicking, a sprinkling of ass play, nipple biting, dacryphilia, no aftercare we die like men, sex as sh, manipulative romey, bully romey calls you all sorts of nasty things, oneshot. Idk. believe it or not this is consensual. romey’s all fucknutty, reader has self esteem issues.  A/N - this one’s an acquired taste, i think. it made me squirm as i wrote it lol. This is a one shot and can be read alone buuuuut in my mind it works as a continuation of tear you apart. Thank you @cum-a-calla for holding my hand and @endlessthxxghts for betaing you sick fucks that i hold so dearly in my heart!

“You again, huh?” 

Roman’s lips curl into an amused smirk. He licks them as his eyes lazily scan down the length of your body, tracing the long, curved lines of your breasts and waist and hips. You pick at your nails and shift your weight between your two feet, a nervous tick. He loves that tick. “Yeah,” you mutter reluctantly. “Hi.” 

Roman grins. “Hi,” he says, and something about his voice mocks you. He’s good at that. Making you feel uncertain and squirm uncomfortably without saying much of anything. It’s all in the way he looks at you, how he smiles. You know it when you see it. It’s just him. 

You know what you’re here for, the same thing you always want when you visit him like this. The pain that walks the line between good hurt and bad hurt, the pleasure and the agony. That specific violence you crave, only from Roman’s hands. All that ache inside releases with the way he hits you hard enough to bruise, blood rushing to the surface. The drawing of your blood, skin burning in that horrible way that only he can ignite. Only Roman can scratch that itch, satisfy your raw, instinctive need to be hurt by him. 

It’s that strange intimacy, too. The way bodies connect, that vulnerable proximity that comes with breath shared, the faintest bit of tenderness that hangs through the air even when it’s wrapped in something darker. Your special little arrangement that only makes sense between the two of you. But it works, right?

The room is dark, lit only by lamps. It’s late and everyone’s gone home - should have, at least. But Roman, Roman’s still here. Lying on his stupid gray couch as if he was waiting for you, almost like he knew you’d be here. He probably did, honestly, how he knows you so well. In ways you don’t even know yourself. You wonder what tipped him off, what about you today told him that you’d show up for him to satisfy your shared, twisted craving. You could ask, but he’d never tell you. 

“Was wondering how long you’d make it without it,” Roman says, voice dripping with that smug superiority. “My little slut. Slut for pain,” he smirks.

Roman stretches then, neck craning over the armrest, back arching in a languid movement as he groans. You watch him, caught in the strange, raw beauty of the way he exists - so profoundly human, the folds in the fabric of his shirt shifting with his breaths. He looks so lovely like this, Like someone could love him. You could, honestly. Would be nothing new for you, the moth drawn to the flame. “Well, c’mon, then,” he snaps, the sharp command cutting through the quietness. “Quickly.”  

You know the rules. You’re naked and he is not. Never is. As you take off each of your garments, baring yourself completely to him, Roman unbuckles his belt and only pushes his pants just enough down his thighs. He does this just to fuck with you, twist the knife a little as he knows how badly you want to feel his skin on your skin, or the full weight of him on top of you. You want that, don’t you? Will you ever admit it?

You’ll only ever get fragments of Roman, scraps tossed at you like you’re a dog begging under the table. Enough of him to tide you over for the moment, never satisfying you fully. 

Roman spits into his palm before reaching for his cock, working it to its full length. “Fuck yourself first,” he says, voice flat, dismissive. “I’m really not in the mood to hear you bitching and moaning when it hurts, so. Do what you need to. It’s kinda supposed to hurt anyway, y’know. Guess you can add this to the list of favors I’ve done for you.”

“I know. Thank you.”

With two fingers, you trace your seam, already starting to drip with arousal and you hate yourself for it.

“Ah-ah. One finger. One. C’mon, you know better.”

Roman’s done this before. He likes the show of you fucking yourself with just one finger, knowing it’s not enough to prepare you for his cock. It doesn’t even do much to get you wet, really. It’s just another way for him to humiliate you or something, no real desire behind it. It’s all control, making you rub salt in your own wound. 

You push a single digit past your lips and slide it through your slick folds, circling your clit just once  “In,” Roman instructs, and you push your finger inside yourself, feeling your hot, throbbing insides, “And out,” Roman says, voice still irritatingly casual, like he’s watching a performance. But he is, isn’t he?

Roman squints slightly, eyes narrowing as he watches you fuck yourself, a lazy smile curlling at the corner of his lips. He continues to fuck his fist, all lazy and slow, like he’s bored, couldn’t give a shit. 

“Yeah, like that, sweetheart. Think that’s enough? That good?”

“I-”

“Changed my mind, I don’t care,” Roman interrupts with his tone clipped, cutting you off with a wave of his hand. “Just shut up and come here.” 

He sits up and slaps his thigh twice in invitation - or command, really - before reclining back against the couch, settling in as he folds his arms behind his head.

You hesitate for a moment, then move toward him, straddling his lap as his eyes flick over you. You grip his toned shoulders instinctively as you steady yourself. You reach between your bodies and touch the head of his cock, wet with his sticky precum, and line him up with your entrance. “Yep, like that. Down you fuckin’ go,” he says, hands finding your hips as he takes the liberty to force you down with a firm push. The sting is immediate and sharp, and you inhale slowly, breath catching in your throat as your eyes squeeze shut. Stars dancing behind your eyelids. You let out a long exhale to match. 

“Is that a new coping mechanism or something, huh?” Roman mocks. He shifts beneath you, adjusting so that he’s buried inside you completely, his smirk never faltering. “No, no, I’m kidding. That’s good, you know. Healthy.”

You hold onto the back of the couch, knowing better than to hold onto Roman. Can’t get too friendly, he says. He’s almost maniacal in this way, how he keeps you isolated while being inside you. Minimal contact. Everything he does, he does to you. You’re a vessel, he tells you. A fleshlight with a head attached. 

“Hey, right here. Focus right here for a second,” Roman grabs your jaw, digging his thumb and forefinger into the hollows of your cheeks, squeezing the flesh against your molars. “You remember the rules, right, sweetheart? You don’t get to cum on my cock, yeah?” Your skin tickles as Roman pushes some hair out of your eyes, the action starkly tender in comparison to the harsh way he holds your face. 

You nod quickly. “And you remember why?” he adds.

“I don’t deserve to,” you answer through your teeth, voice all muffled with the effort it takes to get the words out. Your jaw aches under his grip, and you remain obedient.

Roman tilts his head. “Repeat it,” he demands, tone low and unyielding.

“I don’t deserve it.” The words feel heavier this time and tears begin to blur your vision, stinging at the corners of your eyes.

“Yeah, good. Good girl. Took you long enough to remember, though that’s how it always goes with dumb sluts like you, huh? Always all stupid and fuck drunk. I know you can’t help it,” he murmurs, voice dripping with feigned sympathy. “Whatever. Just fuckin’ move.” 

You move yourself up on Roman’s cock almost all the way, then sink back down again. It takes you a minute to build a pace but Roman demonstrates patience, surprisingly. The fullness of his cock inside you, the ache it brings. 

“I hate you,” Roman whispers. “Do you have any idea how much I fucking hate you?” Without allowing you to answer, he takes control then, like he’s unable to help himself. He bounces you hard and fast, your ass hitting the top of his firm thighs with each pass. His eyes are dark and wild as he watches your body move, all that rippling, moving flesh just for him. “I’d even bet I hate you more than you hate yourself. How about that?”

Roman grabs a fistful of your hair and yanks your head to the side harshly, sending a sharp jolt of pain through your neck, causing an involuntary whine to escape your throat. He bites your shoulder, growling as he pounds into you. “Hey. Does it hurt yet?” he mumbles, squeezing his jaw even tighter, breaking your tender skin with his sharp canine teeth. 

“Yeah,” you whimper, keeping your eyes tightly closed to fight back tears. In truth, you love the release that comes when he makes you cry. But it’s the game, you know? How long can you hold out, how long until he breaks you?

“Yeah, good,” he grunts. “How about this one, then? Tell me, scale of one to ten.” Roman pushes you back and lowers his head, sucking one of your nipples into his mouth before pinching it hard between his teeth, causing you to cry out. “Shhhh, shut the fuck up and take it. Fucking take it,” he growls, swatting your ass before repeating the action with your other breast. “Give me a number.” 

“Ten, fuck- oh, fuck. Ten,” you wail. 

“Damn. That bad, huh? You gonna cry?”

You shake your head, gripping the couch cushions hard enough that you could tear the upholstery, dig your fingers inside. “Mm. Wearing your big girl panties today, I see. Very cute,” he says, shifting so he’s lying back against the couch again, dragging you along with your nipple still between his teeth. “You’ll cry, just like you always do. Watch.” 

Roman slaps you across the cheek, and it’s more of a beating than a proper smack. He’s done it to you before, and you sobbed for hours when he did. Must’ve hit a nerve. He watches your reaction with a twisted smile plastered on his face, his eyes crinkling. You look away, biting down on your wobbling bottom lip. “Oh, man. You’re trying so very hard to hold back those tears, aren’t you? Hey–look at me.” 

You turn your head back to look at Roman, and that’s all it takes for you to burst into tears. He’s so handsome and so fucking sick, and you are too. Roman looks satisfied with himself, murmuring some insult before resuming his brutal assault on your cunt. “Yeah, there it is. Cry for me.”

Your crying turns Roman on even more, makes him feel like an animal. Breaking you down like this. Not like it’s hard, but still. He relishes in the power, knowing it’s all him that does this to you. His violence. Roman’s. 

 Roman fucks you brutally, just like he always does. Hands on your ass, one slides up your waist to squeeze and grope your tits. He inches the other toward your ass, circling the tight ring of muscle with his middle finger before pushing it inside, making you feel fuller than you already do. All you can do is take it, sobbing above him as he uses you. You summon the courage to look at him, with his cheeks flushed all over, a light sheen of sweat glittering at his temples. “You’re so fucked,” he tells you. “Just–all fucked up. I think–fuck– think you’re prettier like this. Really, I mean it. C’mere, baby.”

Roman wraps his arms around you, leaving you with no choice but to hold him too. It feels…unnatural, but you relish in the closeness all the same. He changes the way he fucks you so that it’s less of a clean thrusting and more of an intense rolling of his hips, as he knows your clit is grinding against his pubic bone, his wiry hair only adding to the friction. You can’t help the moan that spills from your lips, “Oh, Roman.” 

“Fuck, yeah,” Roman groans, his cheek pressed against yours as he rocks his hips over and over into your dripping, tight pussy. He makes noises in your ear, knowing how much you love it. Kisses your throat to add insult to injury. You’re gonna come, and Roman knows it. Planned it. It’s a test, all part of the game. And look at you, falling for it. You really should know better.

It sort of takes you by surprise, that hot, sticky pleasure building in your gut. But nonetheless, it’s there. Roman’s tongue is tracing patterns on your neck and his hands hold you tightly, and you feel like you’re his. You cave, allowing yourself to touch him as your orgasm approaches. Feel the twitching veins in his neck, the muscles in his biceps tensing as he moves with you. 

Roman times it perfectly. Right when you’re about to come he pulls out of you, the sudden loss of his cock causing you to cry out in frustration. “You stupid fucking cunt. What’d I tell you, huh? What did we talk about? Get the fuck off of me. Down.”

Roman shoves you backward with brutal force and you land on that awful, rough carpet, the wind knocked from your lungs. He stands above you, cock in fist as he lifts a leg and presses it against your ribcage, dragging it down, down, down your tummy until it rests against your mound. And you can’t fucking help yourself. You rock your hips, grinding your clit against the bottom of his shoe, and Roman’s beside himself. And you, you’re not even here. You’re trying to tell yourself that this isn’t happening, you poor thing. Cute.

“Oh my god,” he laughs. “You’re gonna get yourself off on my fucking - my shoe, you fucking loser?”

You figure the picture in front of him should be enough of an answer, but it’s not. “Hey–” Roman gives you a little kick against your cunt. “Answer me, you fucking slut.” 

“Yes,” you sob, release once again approaching. Roman smiles in surprised delight, fucking his fist as he watches you writhe below him. Hair falling in front of his face, a lopsided grin with the dimples to match. He looks so tall like this, and you follow the line down his torso and his legs until all you’re looking at is his fucking shoe. The shiny black leather, the patterned socks. God. You moan his name loudly as you come, and to ruin your orgasm for his own amusement, he kicks you. And you moan louder, convulse even harder, pussy clenching around nothing. Fucking pathetic.

“Oh- fuck. Are you fucking real? I kick you and you come harder? Holy fuck,” he scoffs, squeezing his cock harder as he strokes it. “That’s fucking gross. Seriously, you are so fucking disgusting. Yeah, you should be crying. Jeeesus,” he laughs, his giggles turning into breathy moans as he rapidly pumps his fist. Roman comes then, spurting hot ropes of his come all over you - your face and your neck, your eyes, hair. Nothing that’ll be easy to clean up, of course. Roman hopes you’ll pass someone on your way home who’ll see the wreck he made of you and judge you for it worse than you judge yourself.

You’re a mess of drool, tears, and come by the end of it. Roman’s fucking drunk on power, absolutely elated with how this all turned out. Couldn’t have planned it better if he tried. You sit up then, but Roman quickly steps closer to your head, pressing the sole of his shoe against your throat and forcing you back down. “Ah-ah,” he tuts, dangling his shoe above your face before pressing the rubbery tip of the sole against your lips. “You know better than to leave a mess.”

If you enjoyed, it is MANDATORY that you drool and slobber in the comments or rb's or in my inbox. Be feral i DEMAND IT In all seriousness, your kind words mean the world to me ♡ ty for reading

Romey Tags

@goldenispunk @littlevenicebitch69 @gaeela-6 @bean-is-reading @slutsoutgutsout

@galarian-weezing-on-prep @cum-a-calla @pastelpinkflowerlife @kolsmikaelson @moth-maam56

@kothku @cult-of-escapism @swiftiegirliepop @bluecookies-and-ink @romanarose

@kappasbbgirl @magpiepills @highinmiamiii @verstappensrealwife @thesummerpetrichor

@lilipads @luiscarrutherss @baronessvonglitter @myromeow

@ovaryacted @doll-0f-flesh @always-andromeda @causesimmer @pedropascalbabygirl

@baloobalee @slimybeth69 @pearlstiare @romanisbrat @callsignwidow @ziggymars

[gloomwitchwrites]

Tattoo Artist Simon "Ghost" Riley x Female Reader

Chapter Specific Warnings: oral sex (male receiving), unprotected piv (wrap it up irl), cowgirl position, sex over a motorcycle, creampie, brief angst, fluff

Word Count: 5.5k

A/N: Part Eighteen of Ink & Needle

You and Simon enjoy your time alone in Scotland. A week after returning, Simon receives a cryptic text from Johnny.

Chapter Seventeen // Chapter Nineteen

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // ink & needle masterlist

Dreamless.

How long has it been? How long since Simon can recall a night where his dreams were not dark figments?

Years, maybe.

But that is his first thought upon waking. His sleep is a blank, endless nothing. A far cry from the violence Simon often has to sit with in his head. He blinks slowly, the edges of his vision still laced with a sleepiness that clings to him like honey. In his chest is a calmness that is foreign to him.

It is unknown. And it is strange.

The fire in the hearth is out, leaving behind the faintest scent of burnt wood. From the window next to the bed, morning light filters in through the flimsy curtain. It’s not enough to brighten the room but it does dig into Simon’s senses, drawing him further away from rest.

Simon blinks again. Yawns. Turns his head.

His chin brushes against hair, and you stir in his arms, tucking closer against him. Your hand rests on his chest, and your head uses his shoulder as a pillow. Every breath you take is slow and deep.

Reaching out, Simon brushes your hair out of your face. The small touch makes your nose twitch but you do not stir. His arm that rests against your back rises, and Simon places his hand against your bare hip.

There is no reason to wake you even though his dick is aching something fierce. The fucker can wait until you’re awake and ready for him. There are so many positions Simon wants to put you in, and the bed is just the start. There’s the couch, the dining table, the shower—fuck. Simon will even take you on the floor.

It’s three years of smothered desire all coming up at once.

Simon stares at the ceiling. He breathes in and exhales slowly, attempting to think of nothing with the hope that he might drift off again. But try as he might, there are deeper things lurking in the recesses of his mind. That shadow of a man—the familiar shape that Simon spent years stalking—still sits unsteady. Trying to shut it out is impossible. It keeps creeping back.

And it hardly scratches the surface.

British Intelligence might come knocking, and Price went out of his fucking way not once but twice just to talk to Simon about Kit Walsh’s reemergence. Simon shouldn’t worry about any of it. He’s not in the field anymore. He has his shop now. He’s retired.

Sighing, Simon closes his eyes, breathing deep again in an attempt to silent those anxieties from slipping in where they aren’t wanted. Repeating the process, Simon falls back into calm. He thinks of you during his meditation, and that does it, shifting him into a safer space.

Your hand on his chest twitches, fingers curling slightly before relaxing. It pulls Simon back to the cottage, his eyelids opening, the ceiling greeting him in his return. He reaches for your hand, clasping it in his own. Turning your wrist, he gazes on your palm, admiring the lines. Even here you are beautiful.

Simon brings your palm to his lips. The kiss is gentle. A whisper. It’s not much of anything, but you make a noise anyway. Shifting in his arms, you start to awaken, yawning widely before your eyelids blink slowly.

He turns his head, and his gaze falls on your smile.

“Morning,” you murmur.

Simon brings your hand back to his chest but he does not let go. “Morning, love.”

You snuggle against his side, face turned into his ribs. You place a couple of kisses there, and Simon resists the urge to laugh. Apparently, he’s fucking ticklish there.

“Sleep okay?” you ask, resting your chin on his pectoral.

“I did. You?”

You hum in agreement, eyelids closing as Simon’s thumb strokes over the back of your hand. “What’s the plan for today?”

Simon grins. “Thought we talked about this last night?”

“That’s right. How could I forget,” you reply, eyelids still shut, warding off wakefulness. “Your plan is to fuck me senseless.”

“You’re not senseless,” muses Simon.

“No. I am not.”

Simon slides up your arm and grasps your bicep, drawing you on top of him. You giggle, and playfully slap at him. Simon wraps his arms around your back and traps you there.

“Kiss me,” he says.

You’re still smiling, still a bit giggly when you quickly peck him on the mouth.

“More,” he coos.

“Simon.”

“More,” he demands.

Simon needs you like tree roots need the earth. You ground him somehow, and though he does not entirely understand, it’s the only thing bringing him peace.

Your smile shifts from a playful tease to one of sultry softness. Leaning forward, you place both hands firmly on Simon’s chest. Closing the distance is agony. Simon wants your mouth on his now, but you’re fine with taking your time. With teasing.

When your lips finally touch his, it is gentle. Not a peck or a brush of the lips, but a lovely little kiss that is full of warmth and sends Simon’s heart hammering. His arms ease from around your back and slide downward to grasp your ass before settling on your hips.

You push up so that you’re over him, and then the kisses come like a waterfall. The two of you push and pull, drawing close until one of you needs air. It is a dance. A tangle. Simon’s hands are everywhere. He cannot settle.

He is desperate. Hungry.

Simon is so focused on your mouth that he doesn’t notice your hand until your fingers wrap around him. You squeeze lightly, the tips of your fingernails scratching against the base.

Simon groans against your mouth. Breaking the kiss, he grabs your throat, halting any forward movement on your end.

“Don’t like it when I touch you?” you tease.

“I like it,” he rasps, thumb brushing over your bottom lip.

“Then let me touch you,” you sigh, eyelids a bit heavy, gaze focused on his mouth.

Simon’s need for control is like breathing to him. From his military career to how he runs his shop, Simon is deliberate with his choices. But this is not the battlefield. You are not a customer.

You are so much more.

You are everything.

And fuck it—this trip is about the two of you. Simon can relax. He can hand you control for a minute.

Slowly, Simon releases your throat and crosses his arms behind his head.

“Touch me,” he says, settling into the bed.

Simon might appear calm on the outside but his stomach is a knot. Tension sits tight in his abdomen. Anticipation is like a hot knife scorching his skin.

Your hand around his cock strokes up, and then you descend, leaving a trail of soft kisses behind. You’re gentle with him, and it only reminds Simon of how soft he is with you.

It is surprising. Breath-stealing.

You squeeze his muscled thigh, trace the v of his pelvis of your tongue, and lazily pump his cock like you have all the time in the world. Simon’s fingers itch. He wants to touch you back and tangle his fingers in your hair.

Further you descend, and then your tongue is on him. Just the tip across the head. Over the slit. Swiping up the precum that blooms there. The muscles in Simon’s stomach clench and release. You do it again, and they spasm.

Simon swallows down the groan forming in his throat.

If you’re going to tease him like this, Simon won’t be able to control himself. He’ll slip, and you’ll end up on your back with your legs spread.

You settle between his legs, one hand wrapped around the base and the other resting on the top of his thigh. You pump him a few times before leaning in to kiss the tip. A spasm blooms in Simon’s back, everything tightening with the anticipation.

A pearly bead of precum blooms in the slit, followed by another. You eagerly lick it up with the tip of your tongue, and then swirl around the head before licking his entire length from base to tip.

Simon hisses, hands clenching into fists. Fuck, he wants to touch you. He also wants to draw you back up his body and kiss you until you’re breathless.

And you’re teasing him, working between soft, open-mouthed kisses and slow licks of your tongue. Simon is trying hard not to fidget and squirm, but it’s difficult, especially with his arms crossed behind his head.

When you finally take him into your mouth, Simon’s eyes nearly roll to the back of his head. You hold him there, the saliva collecting, some of it even passes from your lips. Simon inhales, and you swallow him down, your lips touching your hand.

Simon is fucking gone. Done. He planned on finishing inside of your perfect fucking pussy every time during this trip but he might blow right here and now if you keep this up.

Hollowing your cheeks, you slide back up, and then repeat the process, bringing in your hand to pump him in time with your upward passes.

Simon can hardly focus. You are messy. Eager. Enthusiastic. He groans loudly, nearly choking on the end of it when you completely throat him. Every instinct is telling him to tangle his fingers in your hair, to seize control and make you squirm.

You suck hard, and Simon’s hips jerk without warning.

No. He’s still going to finish in your pussy. Fuck it.

Uncrossing his arms, Simon reaches out and forces your mouth from his cock. It falls from your lips with a wet pop. There is saliva on your lips, and a lusty haze over your eyes.

You’ve touched him, and now Simon wants his control back.

“Staddle me.” Simon almost doesn’t recognize how raspy his voice is. He sounds like a rabid animal. “Fuck yourself on my cock until you come.”

Your answering whimper is sweet, and the way your crawl up his body even sweeter.

With palms flat against his chest, you push back into a seated position. You reach down between your bodies and wrap your fingers around his cock, flexing your hips upward. With just the slightest shift of your hips, the head of Simon’s cock presses to your pussy.

This time Simon touches. His hands dart out to grab hold of your hips. You’re sinking down on him. Parting. Opening. Welcoming him inside. You’re tight and wet and fucking perfect as more of him disappears.

“Fuck,” Simons groans loudly as you push down on his chest to flex your hips up and back down on him.

You lift, roll, go back down. Again. Again. And again, until you’ve taken every fucking inch of him. You’re doing exactly as instructed, fucking yourself on his cock. Watching you is just as wanton.

Simon could get used to this. You in his bed, and greeting the day with you on top of him.

One hand slides up to your waist and then shifts to your stomach, traveling up between your breasts. Simon wraps his hand around your throat, and you instinctually bend into the touch.

“Say my name,” growls Simon, his fingers digging into your flesh. “Say it.”

Your lips part with a shaky breath. “Simon.”

His cock is glossy, disappearing and reappearing with every bounce and roll of your hips. Simon’s gaze locks on to the spot, of your pussy taking him entirely. Fuck, you’re absolute gorgeous.

“Again, love. Say my name again.”

Simon finds your clit, rubbing circles there. Your pussy clenches around him, squeezing so hard that Simon starts silently listing things on 141 Ink’s nightly checklist to keep himself from finishing.

Your head falls back, exposing your neck. “Simon,” you moan.

You shudder, body clenching. Simon watches it all, absorbing all the little details from how your chest heaves and your thighs quiver.

His resolve shatters. Breaks.

Simon sits up and wraps his arms around your waist, rolling you onto your back. He keeps himself inside, and once you’re flat, he starts to thrust with abandon, seeking his own end.

It comes fast. And Simon smothers his groan by claiming your mouth in a fierce kiss. Your arms drape over the back of his neck, and your thighs tighten around his hips. He pumps shallowly, savoring the feel of your cum-filled pussy.

You’re his. Fucking his.

Simon’s hips still, and the kisses slow.

“That’s one way to start the morning,” you murmur against his mouth.

Simon grins and kisses you again. “Could be every morning.”

“Promise,” you reply, nipping at his bottom lip.

Simon groans and draws back, playfully thrusting into you even as his cock softens. You burst out laughing, one hand covering his face as Simon makes smooching noises.

“You’re a menace, Simon,” you giggle, trying to wiggle away from him.

Scooping you up in his arms, Simon brings the two of you to a seated position. “Let’s get you showered and fed.”

You arch an eyebrow, grasping the sides of his face. “Are you joining me?”

Simon does join you, and even in the shower he cannot keep his hands off your body. You are an addiction. A deep craving. A never-ending sweet tooth that cannot be satisfied. The shower is large enough to fit both of you, and Simon takes every advantage, filling the steamy room with your moans.

At breakfast, Simon places a black helmet on the table.

“What’s this?” you ask.

“Yours.”

“Mine?”

Simon nods. “You said you wanted some fresh highland air.”

You pop your spoon into your mouth, and then remove it slowly. “You told me that you’d open a window.”

Simon did say that, but he was also lost in a haze, the lust in his bones animalistic in its need for you. Last night he needed to possess. That’s all.

“I did,” he agrees. “But I also want to show you something. Take the afternoon.”

Your gaze shifts from Simon to the helmet and then back to him. “I should change.”

“You should.”

At the main house, Simon uncovers the sport bike. It’s Johnny’s, the one he purchased before joining the military. It’s old. Dirty. But it’ll do the job. Simon doesn’t want to take the SUV for this. It might be the middle of November, but the weather is decent, if a bit overcast.

You stand off to the side, clutching the helmet in front of you. Even from where Simon examines the bike, he can see how eager you are. You’re nearly on your toes, bouncing with excitement.

It pleases Simon to know he’s about to make you happy in a different way. Sex is nice, but your smile upon seeing the sport bike twists his heart. He wants you to smile like that all time, not just when he has his cock inside you.

Simon kicks the stand up and wheels it out into the open, bringing the stand back down once the bike meets gravel.

“You’ve ever been on one before?”

You shake your head. “No. But I’ve always wanted to.”

A new memory then. Good.

Simon pats the seat. “Need to talk safety.”

You nod and step up to Simon, staring down at the bike.

Simon points with the tip of his shoe. “These are your footpegs.” He catches it, and then pulls it out on one side before reaching over and doing the same for the other. “You’ll rest your feet here when you’re on the back.”

He then points to the exhaust. “Careful your heels don’t touch this. It will melt your fucking shoes.”

Again, you nod, but you don’t interrupt. Simon can’t gauge whether or not you’re picking it all up.

“You’ll sit here.” He pats the passenger seat. “I’ll get on. And then you will.”

Simon steps away from the sport bike and glances down at you. Your gaze lingers on the bike before it shifts to him. “Hold on to me at all times. Around the waist is best.” He points to the gas tank. “Place your hands against that when we’re slowing down or coming to a stop if you think you need it.”

“Will I fall off if I don’t?”

The question startles him. The very idea of you falling off the bike while he’s driving makes a small part of his brain reconsider even taking this short trip in the first place.

“Not necessarily. Just make sure you’re moving with me.”

You frown. “What do you mean?”

“If we’re going around a curve, lean into it like I do. Don’t try to remain upright or lean too far. Might throw us off balance.”

“That’s it?”

Simon shrugs. “It’s the basics.”

You straighten your shoulders, determination on your face. “I can handle it.”

Simon cups your cheek and steps into your space. Leaning forward, he places a quick kiss on your forehead.

“You’ll do fine,” he says, pulling away. “Let’s get that helmet on.”

Simon watches as you struggle to put it on. You make a weird face and then it’s sliding into place. The straps dangle and you stand there with arms out like you’re ready to go.

“Good?” you ask, voice a bit muffled.

“Fucking hell,” mutters Simon, reaching for the straps.

With one hand, he flips up the visor, revealing your eyes. Simon secures the snaps into place and then he tugs on them, causing you to stumble into his arms.

“Simon!” you gasp, grabbing onto his forearms to keep yourself from smacking into his chest.

“Can’t even put a helmet on properly,” he tuts. “What am I going to do with you?”

You groan like you’re overly annoyed with him and Simon grins, squeezing your waist before smacking your ass. You swipe out at him but completely miss. With a grin, Simon saunters backward and retrieves his own helmet.

Usually, Simon wears a balaclava underneath, but without one, all he has is a covering for his mouth and nose. He secures it in place before putting on his own helmet.

“Ready?” he asks.

“Ready!” you exclaim, hands clasped in front of you.

Reaching out, Simon snags your arm and draws you in. He lightly taps the front of his helmet against yours. Your answering giggle and the crinkling in the corner of your eyes pleases him. Simon wants to bottle up your happiness and keep it forever.

He taps the top of your helmet before heading for the bike. Simon kicks up the stand and tosses his leg over the side of the bike. Reaching out, Simon offers you his left hand. You take it and put one foot on the footpeg, pushing yourself up and onto the seat.

Your hands slide over his waist and come to a rest on his stomach. Simon answers by reaching back and squeezing your thigh.

The bike flares to life, the engine roaring before mellowing out. Simon brings his feet up, and then the two of you are off, leaving gravel for paved road. You’re perfection the whole way, leaning with him during turns, and keeping your arms around him.

Driving is calming for Simon. It doesn’t matter if he’s behind the wheel of a car or on a bike. It’s all soothing to him. Ever since his injury and retirement, Simon’s excursions on the back of his sport bike have dwindled. He does own one, but he hasn’t brought the thing out in months.

This is almost cathartic. Completely natural.

As Simon approaches their destination, he turns off onto a gravel path that gives way to dirt. There are no trees this way, and there are no cars. It’s likely illegal to be driving over unpaved road like this, but Simon doesn’t give a fuck about the risk. What he cares about is giving you a view, and making new memories with the woman he cares about most.

Ascending a ridge, Simon comes to a stop, turning the bike and shutting it off.

To the left is the open sea.

There is no one around. No cars or noise. Just the view. And fresh highland air.

Simon twists a bit and offers you his arm Your dismount isn’t graceful but you don’t stumble. Instead, you’re hastily pulling on the straps in your eagerness to remove the helmet. When you have it off, Simon is just getting off the bike.

Your smile is so wide and fierce. He’s never seen you like this. There is a sense of adventure he didn’t realize was there this whole time. Simon removes his helmet and face covering. Holding his helmet in one hand, he walks up behind you, wrapping one arm around your waist to hold you close.

You sink against him, your hand covering his. “Thank you, Simon.”

He can hardly hear you over the crashing waves below, but he does, and his answer is a soft kiss to the top of your head.

The two of you stand there, gazing out at the ocean. Neither of you speaks, and Simon doesn’t mind. It’s peaceful simply existing in your presence. Simon doesn’t need to think about anything. He can hold you close to him, and that’s enough.

You twist in his arm and glance up at him. Your eyes are soft and full of an emotion that Simon first registers as love. Yet that can’t be right. You haven’t said that word to him, but neither as he.

Affection, yes. But love? Not yet.

Not yet.

Simon’s gaze drops to those luscious lips and he cannot resist. He meets them with his own, and you greet him eagerly. It is a slow dance of self-control. Simon wants to consume as much as he wants to savor. But he’s not the one seeking more. You’re ravenous, deepening each kiss until Simon swears he can taste the salt of the sea on his tongue.

Drawing back is torture, but he manages. “What are you doing, love?”

Your lips part. There is an answer forming there, but you aren’t saying anything. Simon wants to coax it from, for you to speak your mind, to say whatever it is you’re struggling to communicate.

But he also can’t force. He can’t take what you do not freely give.

If words cannot be spoken, Simon can give you something else.

“Come here,” he says, turning you around. “Give me your helmet.”

You offer it to him and he takes it. Simon strides over to the bike and hangs a helmet on each of the handlebars. He gestures to you, one hand extended. You come to him immediately, and Simon draws you close, wrapping his arms around your waist.

These kisses are not slow. They are deep. Consuming. Simon’s dick is hardening in his pants with each one. His hands roam over your body, grabbing at whatever they can. You groan into his open mouth, and Simon knows exactly what he wants.

He pulls back and grasps your chin. “Can I fuck you?”

Your eyes widen. “Out here?”

“There’s no one around,” he says, stealing another kiss. “And I want you.”

You grin sheepishly, shying away from him slightly. “What did you have in mind?”

Simon has plenty of ideas, but there’s only one he really wants to try. “Do I have your permission?”

“Yes,” you breathe.

With his hands on your hips, Simon guides you over to the sport bike. Sliding inward, Simon goes for the front of your jeans. The button first. Then the zipper. Slipping his hands underneath the band, he shoves your jeans and underwear down to your thighs, revealing your ass to the cool air.

“Bend over the bike.”

“Over the bike?”

“Over the bike,” repeats Simon.

You place both hands on the seat. Glancing over your shoulder, Simon sees the hesitation.

“We can stop,” he says, because he can. This never has to go further unless you want it to.

“That’s not it,” you reply softly.

Simon walks up behind you, brushing some of your hair behind your ear. “Think we’ll get caught?”

You shake your head.

“I won’t let you fall.”

“I know. I trust you, Simon.”

Simon grabs your neck and pulls you in, claiming your mouth. Your lips part and Simon slips his tongue inside.

“Bend over that fucking bike, love. I need to be inside you.”

The heat in your cheeks stirs Simon’s groin to attention. You obediently bend over, presenting your gorgeous ass to him. With your jeans around your thighs, you cannot spread wide. It’ll be a tight fucking fit, but Simon doesn’t care.

What he’d like to do is lick your clit until you’re dripping, but this will have to do.

Simon is quick with the front of his pants. The urge to be inside you burns in his bones, and when his cock is free, Simon feels like he can suddenly breathe. He rubs the head against your pussy, and he’s greeted with your slickness.

“Fucking hell,” he murmurs. You’re ready for him, and he’s hardly touched you.

Simon finds what he’s after, and starts to sink in.

You gasp aloud, the sound of it cut off by a crashing wave. Simon grasps your hips, sinking in further until he’s seated entirely inside.

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath, composing himself.

The fit is tight, and you’re completely grasping him as if you don’t want him to retreat or move at all. Simon needs to get his shit together fast. He’s been inside of you for only a few seconds and he’s ready to blow.

You have one hand on the gas tank and the other on the footpeg. You’re too far forward to glance back at him. Simon would like to see your face, but this position is fucking sexy. You’re at his mercy, presented to him like an indulgent treat.

With his hands on your waist, Simon rolls his hips, slowly working his cock in and out of your pussy. It’s a slow drag, and Simon feels every single part of you. It’s heaven. Paradise.

Every stroke draws forth a moan from you. Even with the waves crashing against the cliff, Simon can hear each sound you make. Each one drifts up and curl around his head, penetrating his senses.

This is fucking perfect to him.

Your pussy clenches, and Simon’s hips stutter, wobbling the bike.

Fuck.

If Simon is too rough, he might send the two of you toppling over. He needs to be fucking careful. Sure, he wants to fuck you, but this is mostly about you, and making you feel good.

Digging deep, Simon drags up a morsal of control. Finding a better grip on you, he sets a steady, rolling pace.

Simon keeps rhythm until you groan and your pussy clenches hard around him. He’s not far behind, staying in to the hilt as he fills your pussy for the fourth time today.

Every exhalation brings steam, and Simon suddenly realizes how cold its become. Slowly, he slips from your body, cock softening as he stuffs himself back inside his pants.

He helps you unbend, returning you to an upright position. You turn around with a dazed but pleased look on your face. Simon eases your jeans over your ass, closing the zipper and securing the button for you as you fix your hair.

“Want to stick around for a bit?” asks Simon.

“Could we go for a ride instead?”

“Sure, love. Whatever you want.”

After the ride, you and Simon rarely leave the cottage. Simon wants you in every position and on every surface. He got exactly that and so much more. Simon forgets about everything and spends each moment with you present and happy.

Which makes the return that much harder.

It’s a slow tearing of flesh with nothing to staunch the pain. Simon drags his feet returning to London. You’re a dead brick the whole drive, snoozing softly in the passenger seat. Simon doesn’t disturb you. In fact, he drives slower, reaching out to you on occasion just to reassure himself that you’re real and close.

When Simon pulls into Amelia’s drive, he almost backs right out and takes you home with him. Simon sits in the driver seat and stares as your sleeping form.

Reality isn’t always nice. It isn’t always fun.

These last five days have been some of the best of Simon’s life. He doesn’t want to return to anything. He only wants you, and the rest of the world can just fuck off for a while.

He hates what he does next, but he does it.

Simon unloads the car, and carries your bag to the front door. He doesn’t have to knock. Amelia is there to greet him.

“She’s asleep in the car,” says Simon automatically.

Amelia shrugs. “Room is upstairs and to the left.”

Simon silently ascends. The door is open and the light is on. He knocks softly and pushes it open. Evie reclines on the bed with a book in hand. Bravo is on the very edge, facing the door. His head perks up at Simon’s entrance.

His tail smack smack smack’s against the comforter.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, dropping the bag just inside the door. “Come on, Bravo.”

At the car, Simon opens the passenger door. He stares at you a moment before gently shaking you awake. You twist toward him, rubbing at your eyes. When you notice it’s Simon, you smile, and it hurts him somewhere deep.

“We’re here,” he says, almost raspy.

“Already?” you yawn.

He clears his throat. “Afraid so.”

You slip out of the car and Bravo comes forward, pressing his nose into your head. Simon grabs your other hand and pulls you close. “Let me walk you to the door.”

“I need my bag.”

“Already took it upstairs.”

You squeeze his hand and go up on your toes to kiss his cheek. “Thank you.”

Simon steps back and opens the rear passenger door. “Inside, Bravo.”

The German Shepard obediently hops in. Simon shuts the door, still holding your hand, and walks you to the front door. He doesn’t want to let go, but it’s cold out, and you need rest.

“I had fun,” you say.

“Just fun?” teases Simon.

You shake your head. “I liked getting away for a bit.” You reach up and rest your hand against Simon’s cheek. “And being with you.”

Simon turns into the touch and presses his lips to your palm. “When can I see you again?”

Your face falls, and Simon’s heart drops into his stomach. “I don’t know. Can I call you tomorrow?”

“Of course, love.”

You do call him the next day, and Simon can hear the quiet anxiety in your voice. The two of you were gone for almost a week, and anything could have happened during that time. While Simon isn’t particularly happy that he cannot see you, he understands. He also has his own shit to take care of.

Because he rearranged his schedule to take you away for a few days, Simon rebooked appointments almost on top of each other to make it happen. That isn’t ideal either, but he did it for you, and that makes it worth it for him.

It’s an entire week without you, and the days of November are starting to creep towards the cold of December. He hasn’t even asked you about coming with him back to Johnny’s family farm for Christmas. It’ll be expected that he goes, and he’s already blocked off his schedule, but he needs to convince you to come.

After the last client leaves for the evening, Simon closes up shop. It’s routine at this point, and he’s upstairs pouring himself a whiskey in a matter of minutes. Bravo pads over to his bed, turning three times before digging at it and then flopping down with a huff.

“Hard day?” asks Simon and Bravo grumbles at him.

Simon snorts into his whiskey glass. He shoots it back and then reaches for the bottle.

A chime goes off in the kitchen. Simon freezes.

He knows that sound. It’s not his personal phone or one of the many appliances. It’s one that he never wants to hear. Ever.

Simon turns in his chair, staring into the dark kitchen. He waits, thinking that he might not have heard the sound after all.

The chime comes again and Simon shoots up out of his chair. Simon flips on the kitchen light and strides toward the phone. He always keeps it on. Always keeps it plugged in.

Simon had it during his time in the military, and Price told him to keep it in case they ever needed him. It’s encrypted. And its sole purpose is for secure communication.

It hasn’t gone off since his retirement.

Simon snatches up the phone, removing it from its charger. He’s not sure what he’ll find.

Taking a deep breath, Simon logs on, and a message stares back at him.

It’s not Price. Or Gaz. Or even Laswell.

It’s fucking Johnny.

It’s Walsh, Lt.

Of course it fucking is.

Expect me Friday.

taglist:

@km-ffluv @glitterypirateduck @tiredmetalenthusiast @miaraei @cherryofdeath

@sapphichotmess @saoirse06 @ferns-fics @lialacleaf @unhinged-reader-36

@miss-mistinguett @ravenpoe67 @tulipsun-flower @creamwhxre @sageyxbabey

@mudisgranapat @ninman82 @lulurubberduckie @leed-bbg @theshrikeandcanary

@yawning-grave81 @knight4xmas @jupiternighties @corvusmorte @darling006

@azkza @nishim @carma-fanficaddict @haven-1307 @voids-universe

@itsberrydreemurstuff @spicyspicyliving @cod-z @keiva1000 @littlemisscriesherselftosleep

@statixx-x @umno-yeah @webmvie @blackhawkfanatic @talooolaaloolla

@sadlonelybagel @aykxz98 @daemondoll @xxkay15xx @iloveslasher

@sammysinger04 @dakotakazansky @suhmie @cinnabeanz @rogerrhqpsody

[sallage]

Apologize

One Shots

Warning: This is an (intense?) tickle fic!

Summary: Kidnapped for ransom, Bakugo's captor desired a peaceful coexistence, but his own temper led to a loss of leniency, making his captivity… less tolerable.

Pairing: Lee Bakugo, Ler ? (OC)

Words: 2,989

Reading Time: 12 Minutes

A/N: I wrote this yesterday at 1 am so it might be whack but I was totally inspired by @wreckingtickles most recent fic, Say The Line, Bakugo! Hehehe Enjoy!

Read more ∘₊✧ Here ✧₊∘

“Fuck you, FUCK you, FUHUCK YOUUUU!” 

Spittle sprang from Bakugo’s mouth as one set of hands dug into the bottom of his stomach, right above the waistline of his shorts while a pair of writhing tendrils squirmed over the upper part, occasionally dipping teasingly over his quivering flanks. 

The tendrils seemed to have been shape-shifted hands, as they were connected to a pair of normal looking wrists, but he currently didn’t have the ability to make sense of it.

He glowered down at his powerful body with spiteful eyes as hands and tendrils pulled undignified sounds from his throat. 

His body was pulled taught in an X position on an oversized metal table with holes spaced a few inches apart, dotting either side of his limbs and outlining the length of his body. 

His hands were forced open, fingers trapped under custom made pieces of metal that curved around them like rings, preventing him from closing them into fists. 

A straight and horizontal pole jutted outwards from the holes placed along the edges of the table, parallel to his knees. It had the appearance of a slender clothing rack or rod, featuring a long indent running across the bottom and stretching over the entire length of the table. The pole stood a few feet above the flat surface, its purpose stumping the hysterical blonde.

His feet were bare with long soft strings woven around each of his toes which were attached to a strange, cog like machine that rested on a custom made shelf welded onto the table. Two machines were placed a few inches above both of his ankles.

He pushed his head back, and attempted to shift his body from side to side, despite how useless it was with how tightly he was restrained. 

A voice echoed throughout the large, presumably empty room.

“Are you gonna be nice to me now?” 

Bakugo writhed and growled, the pair of hands steadily squeezed and fluttered their nails all along his lower stomach, scratching at the sensitive spots above his hips and using all four nails to hold, scratch, and undulate across his sides.

“Count your fffffucking days, you dumbass! You’re gonna rr-regret this!”

Bakugo had woken up in the dark, unable to move and quizzically, unable to use his quirk. Before he could muster enough cognitive function to form a coherent thought, light dimly brightened his form, leaving the rest of the room shroud in darkness.

A voice informed him that he’d been kidnapped but no harm was to be inflicted. They both would wait patiently for the ransom money to arrive, then Bakugo would be released shortly after the person behind the voice was granted a generous head start.

Bakugo, of course, couldn’t just lay there without initiating some sort of provocation. 

As a result, he’d bite his bottom lip so hard it could split when random hands and tendrils shot out of holes on either side of his torso, automatically working his sides and belly. 

He shifted a few centimeters to the right when the hand on his left used their nails make infuriatingly ticklish grabbing motions at his flank, then shifted back to the left when nails on his right lazily did the same, trapping him in a weird interpretation of horizontal salsa. 

Tendrils writhed along the upper part of his stomach, each individual one spreading out to tease, pinch or wriggle against the heated skin, his black tee stripped before he’d woken up.

Bakugo exhaled loudly through his teeth, spit flying from his mouth. 

“An answer would be great!”

“Shut UPP!” He demanded, yelping not even a second later as both hands pinched the skin above his hips. 

“Yeeeesh, I’ll take that as a no.”

Bakugo sucked in a large breath when hands poked out of every other hole, staggering themselves along either side of his arms. 

A pair of hands were stationed at his hands, another by his forearms, another at his elbows, and another at his biceps. Each hand was holding a stiff feather, hovering threateningly.

Bakugo chuckled, more out of arrogance than from the ministrations of his tormentors. 

“You think fucking feathers are going to do shit to me, motherfucker?”

There was no response except for the hands, who used their fingers to maneuver the feathers, brandishing the quill instead.

Before Bakugo could release another string of obscenities, all of them started lightly scribbling, dragging, and swirling the quills all along the length of his arms. 

Bakugo spluttered, a strangled noise forced out of his throat. 

The points at his hands traced across the stretch of his fingers, taking turns scraping at each individual one while the other traced the creased lines of his palms. 

He tried desperately to use his quirk, but he couldn’t ignite a single spark.

Quills squiggled down the hardness of his forearms, drawing light cursive shapes up to his wrists, then softly and maddeningly drag them back down in tight zig zag motions.

The ones at his elbows attacked the sensitive inner part, while also branching out and swirling around to outline the skin above and below. 

And finally, quills traced and outlined the contours of the twitching muscles that made up his biceps. They teased all over the flexing muscles, lingering over the sensitive skin just above his armpits and using repetitive motions to outline the top rim.

Bakugo’s struggling increased, as did the volume of his instigations. He hatefully glared at the hands as they found sensitive spots all along his arms.

“How about neeeoooooww?” A pause. “You gonna be nice to me now?” 

Bakugo shook his head. “You- y- Geh!” He flinched and jolted, grinding his teeth in frustration, unable to even curl his hands into fists to expel some of the ticklish energy. 

“Geh- get these damned things- aH-ooffah me!” 

The quills posted at his biceps and hands were causing unexpected problems. They lightly teased at the skin above his pits, only occasionally lifting away to prevent desensitization. Every time they came back, he jumped and bit the inside of his cheek. 

The ones at his palms weren't any better. He couldn’t believe how the sharp scrapes and flicks made him writhe in mirthful frustration as they followed the creases that fanned out across the top, center and bottom of his palms. 

His scrunched face bore the resemblance of someone who’d stepped on a Lego after they’ve already stubbed their toe.

“What’s the magic wooooord?”

“J-jump ahahaff a fuckin’ bridge!” Bakugo spat, angry and strained veins visible and pulsing along his neck. 

“That was definitely more than one word. And none of them were magic.”

Startlingly, two grey medium sized balls resting on a short and skinny flexible rod popped out of the holes on either side of his neck, the hole being perfectly fitted by their circular base.

Bakugo jolted and pushed his face to the side, watching as the ball slowly spun around, revealing only one thing on its glossy surface.

A realistic looking mouth with a tongue lolling out of it like a dog.

“W-Whuh-” 

He was cut off when, like a bendable lamp, they craned down on either side and began kissing, licking, and nibbling along the sensitive skin. 

One nibbled a ticklish path up from the base of his neck, under his jaw, and just below his ear, while the other nipped and licked up and down his collar bones and the base of his neck.

They each attacked their respective spots, punching an embarrassing high pitched squeak out of Bakugo. He writhed and tried to shrink and scrunch his neck, but only managed to push the side of his face to his shoulder, which consequently left the other side open to a more precise attack.

“NeeyaHAHAhaha WHAhahat theha- NahaAHAHahah! f-fucking grohohoss! STAHahahahap!”

Bakugo was caught in ticklish limbo. He jerked his head from side to side, the action yielding not one second of relief. 

“Well, you told me to jump off a bridge! What else was I supposed to do?”

“Juhuhump AHAhahaff it!” Bakugo spasmed and pushed his hips the few centimeters that were allotted off the table, trying to get away from the prodding hands that tore his attention away when they veered off course and pinched his hips. He jolted with yell when tendrils squirmed and drew small, probing circles over the bottom of his ribs.

“That’s pretty bad advice. If I jumped off a bridge, then who would press this button?” 

Two claws erupted from the holes at the edges of the table, smoothly gliding up the metal pole. The indent allowed them to move effortlessly along the length, mimicking the motion of a makeshift claw machine. 

As they reached the position above his legs, the claws wavered momentarily before awkwardly attempting to pivot their five, hand-like pincers over his knees.

Bakugo's curses echoed loudly throughout the room as the claws painstakingly adjusted themselves, each movement slow and methodical, akin to an arcader angling a claw machine over a coveted prize, before slowly descending. 

Despite Bakugo's efforts to avoid the inevitable, his squirms and wiggles proved futile. With a final touch, they gently landed on his bare knees, their up and down jellyfish-like movements sending a wave of ticklish spasms through his legs.

Bakugo would have done a spit take if he was drinking… Well, anything.

“PPFFFTNhahahHAHA! oOOooh fahahk! AGHH Waah- NOHOHOHO!” That last "no" was punctuated with a guttural growl as the assault to his knees worsened, the claws now spinning and scratching over his convulsing skin. 

He was having so much trouble keeping it together, and none of these spots were overly ticklish in the first place.

Individually, at least.

“Y’know, I was okay with enjoying a quiet night while we waited for the pros to wire the money, Maybe share a laugh or two, but you couldn't go a single dang minute without insulting me.” 

The voice paused. The only sounds echoing in the room were of Bakugo’s struggles, restrained giggles, grunts, and huffs.

“Okay, I’ll make you a deal. If you apologize, I’ll pull everything. sound good?”

Bakugo shook his head, mostly out of mirth and perseverance as the mouths relentlessly attacked any open spot they could find.

 “Ihihih- AGHH! Ihihihm not ApohohoHAHAhlogizing to you, fuhcker! Eat shihihit!” 

A sigh of faux disappointment. 

“Alrighty then.” 

Two hands shot out of the holes on either side of Bakugo’s hips. His eyes widened.

“No! dohohnt you fuckin’- NOHOHOH, YOU FREHEHEAK!” 

Two hands, armed with massager guns, ran the vibrating, punching tips all over Bakugo’s pelvis.

They pressed the tools onto his hip bones and rounded to the sensitive spaces on top and underneath, even expanding to the quaking skin below his belly button and back again.

“OHO FUCK! SHIHIHIT! SHIT! STAHAHAP! HAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHA!”

“Apoooologize.”

“NOHOHOHOHO!”

"Okie."

Hands shot out of every hole along his thighs.

They bent and and squeezed along the pressure points above his knees, scribbled over the lower inner muscles, scritched all along the middle, moved up to tease the skin along the legs of his shorts, and pressed their fingers and thumbs into the tendons of his upper inner thighs. 

Despite the threat to his neck, Bakugo threw his head back, guffaws pumping out of him like an out of control fire hose.

“FFFFFAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAK! WHAHAHA! OH SHIHIHIHIT! STAHAHAHAP! AAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHA! HAHAHA!”

“A! - P O L O! - G I! - Z E!”

The voice spelled out the word in a cheerleader chant, sounding like they were busting a move with each letter.

“FAHAHAHAK YOU!” Bakugo screamed, face cracked in half with ticklish glee.

“Woooooooooow, you’re a glutton for punishment, arent you? Dont worry, buddy, I got you.” 

Two hands shot up from the holes, one over each of his armpits. 

Bakugo blanched.

“NUH- NOHOHO! FUCK NO! DOHOHONT YOU FUCKIN’ DAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! NOHOHOHOHO NONONONO!AHAHAHAHAHAH! WAAHAHAHAHA! STAHAHAHP! STOP STAHAP STAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAP!” 

Bakugo absolutely lost it when the hands descended, pressing portable electric back massagers with rotating bristled feet against the center of his armpits, furthering the overwhelming sensations by rotating them slowly over the expanse of his slick, sweating hollows.

“GAHAHAHAHAHAD! AHAHAH! STOOOOOOP! STAHAHAHAHAP, YOU FUCKING BAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAH!”

Bakugo thrashed against the restraints. His knees twitched, his hips bounced and his head whipped from side to side, up and down, spraying small droplets of useless sweat. 

“STAHAHAHHAP! GEHEHET THEM OFF! GEHEHET THEM- AHH! WHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHA! HAHAHOW MANY OF YOU FUHUHHUKERS ARE DOWN THEHEHEHERE?!” 

“You’re truly doing this to yourself, man.” 

Bakugo was too hysterical to pay attention to whatever nonsense they were spewing, his mind hell bent on getting the tickling to stop.

“YOU MOHTHERFUHCKER! STAHAHAHAHAHAP! ILLKILLYOU! ILL FAHAHAHAKING DRAG YOU OUT OF- AAAAH! NOOOOHOHOHOHOHO!” 

“Now you’re just being impossible.” 

“WHAHAHAHAHA WHAHA- WHOA WAIT! WAHAHAIT WAITWAITNOWAIT!” 

Bakugo helplessly thrashed as hands shot out of the holes on either sides of his ribs. 

A wide array of probes varying in length and size stuck out from a mechanical saucer like disc, attached on a rotatable silver ball on a short metal handle. The hands positioned the disk so the probes hovered menacingly over his ribs. 

To his absolute horror, the hands pressed a button on the side of the handle, and the probes whirled to life. Circling, jabbing, and wiggling in all different directions. The whole thing looking like some whack, tortuous hair diffuser.

“Aaaaaand~”

“NOHOHOHOHO! FUCK YOU! DONT! DOHONT YOU FAHAHAHKIN- WAIT! WAITWAITWAIT-"

The hands pressed the evil diffusers onto Bakugo’s ribs, the mechanical terrors covering most of the tortured blonde’s ribcage. 

“Touchdoooooown!” 

Bakugo threw his head back and arched his spine, a high pitched scream ripping out of his throat before the intensity turned it silent. 

“WHOAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHA————————————-————————————————!” 

His voice gave way to raspy desperation as he ran low on air, but had more than enough laughter to give. 

With a resentful scowl, Bakugo watched as chaos gripped his body, tormenting him with unforgivable precision.

He let out a frustrated, gravely scream and tossed his head back once more when the hands started moving the mechanical diffuser over the entirety of his reddening ribcage. 

He felt the little probes dig, wiggle, rotate and goose his skin, the sensation like a million marching ants frantically scattering all over him.

They moved again, settling at the top of his ribs. They pressed the saucer down so the protruding rim was flush against him. The moving probes sunk into his skin, torturing the nerves from top to bottom and between the bones.

“NAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHHAHA! OKAYSTOP! OKAYOKAYOKAYOKAYYYYHAYHAYHAAAYYYSTOOP! STOPSTOPSTAAAAAAAAHAAAAHHAP! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH! I'M SHAHAHHARY! I'MFUCKINGSORRY! JUHUHUST- PFFFTTT! STAHAHAHAP! GEHEHAHAHAHA AHAHAHFF HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA GEHEHEHEHEHEH IHIHIT- AAHH————————————————————————————————-“

“Hmmm, I dunno. You’ve been really mean to me since you woke up. For like, no reason.”

“WAHAHAHHAHAHAHAT?! FAHAHAH- I FAHAHAHHAAKIN SAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH———————- I SAIHIHIHAHAHAHAHHAH—————ISAIDIWASSAHHRY!”

“Yeah sure, but you really hurt my feelings. I might need some time to really think about it.” 

“OHOHOH MAAHAHAGAHAHAHD!! SHIT SHIT SHHIHIHIT! AAAAHHHH! NAAAHH FAHAHAHK YOU! YOUFUCKINGPIECEOFSHIT! ILLFUCKINGMURDER- NOOOHOHOHOOOOOO! FUCKYOUFUCKYOUFUCKYOUUHUHUHU! STAHAHAHAP THIHIHIS! GAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA————HAAAAAHHHHHAHAHAHAHAHA!” 

“See, why would you say all that when I’m trying to forgive you?” A loud sigh. “I guess you’ll just have to lay there and think about why that wasn't a good idea.” 

Two pairs of hands shot out from the holes on either side of his feet. 

Through his uncontrollable tears, he saw his life flash before his eyes.

“NO! NOHOHOHOHO WAAHAHAHIT! I'MSORRY! IM FUCKING SAHAHAHAHRY! PLEHEHEHESE! PLEASE DOHOHOHONT! DOHOHOOOOOOOONT!” 

Two hands on either side held oval shaped wet-hair detangling bushes while the others were adorned with grooming gloves.

He expected them to attack, but was caught off guard when the mechanical cog devices over his ankles whirled to life. He could only shake his head as the string looped around his toes went minimally slack, only for all of them to start threading through his toes.

“WAHAHAHAHAHA! OOOOOHOHOHOH FFFFFUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!! HOLYSHIT! FAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHA————-HAHAK! PLEASE! PLEHHEEEE———"

“Don’t worry, I’ll try you again in an hour or so. Then we can revisit your attitude problem. Ciao!”

“WHAHIT! WHAITWAITPLEASEDONT-”

The hands struck.

The grooming glove scrubbed and waved vigorously at the top of his foot, scrubbing and scratching at the sensitive balls and undersides of his toes. The wet hair brush took care of the rest, brushing wildly against the arches, heals and the sides of his feet. The other foot wasnt better off, dealing with the same ministrations but in opposite positions. 

At some point, a hand popped up behind his head, equipped with a flexible metal pronged head massager that to the blonde’s utter bewilderment, tickled like hell and sent goosebumps roaring all along his skin.

Pushing his head up only maneuvered the massager to slink its torturous prongs down the back of his neck, up the back of his head, and behind his ears. Which was arguably, so much worse. 

So he forced his head down, in control of it for about two seconds before he lifted it up again in mirth, the sloppy kisses, licks and nibbles from the mouths never ceasing their unrelenting attack.

Amongst all the calamity, he jumped out of his skin when he felt hands tracing and scratching up and down his spine and along the outer edges of his lower back. His eyes widened in painful disbelief as he realized there were holes underneath the ungodly table.

His back, sides, and hamstrings were targeted from below, successfully clouding his comprehension of reality.

All he could do was take it,

“WHOOAAAHOHOHOHOMYFUCKING GAHAHAHAHAHAHAHD! PLEASE! PLEASEPLEASEPLEASEMAHAHAHAHAKE IT STAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAP! MAKETHEM STAHAHAHAHAHAHP IMFUCKING SAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHARRY! IMSOFAHAHAKINGSORRY!"

And laugh,

“PPFFFTTNAAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA—————————-ICANTFUCKINGDOTHIS! OHMYGAD I CHAHAHAHNT! ICANT! OHOHOHOHOOO, I CAHAAAAAAHAHAHAHHAHAHA--------!"

And laugh,

“HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHA! WHOOAAAHAHAHAHAHA! KAHAHAHAH! WAAAHAHAHAH! PLEEEHEHE—————HEHEHEHEHEHE———————HEHHESE! AHAHAHA——————! FAAAAAA———————HAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAAAAAAHH!” 

And laugh.

"H-----------HAH---------------! AAHHH-------------------HAHAHAHAHHAA! FAHA---------------------! PLE--- PLEHE------------------!"

Bakugo’s mind rolled. His red, raw, and sweaty body buzzed with electricity as the tools glided across his abused skin with ease. 

He wailed and apologized, cursed and thrashed, but none of it was enough. 

More often than not, his laughter turned silent, reminding him that he would continue to lie there, forced to take it for the next hour, completely at the mercy of his own damn sensitivity.

[deadpcnned]

Sealed by the Storm (jj.m)

chapter three

pairing: jj maybank x reader; marriage of convenience

content warning(s): mentions murder (usual obx stuff), implied sexual relationship, language, use of alcohol

author's note: this one is so long, i'm so sorry hahaha. i'd love to hear y'alls honest feedback

join the taglist | series masterlist

previous chapter | next chapter

JJ Maybank was the last person anyone would bet on to follow instructions. So of course, he’d taken matters into his own hands when it came to figuring out if Luke had been telling the truth. After his conversation with Y/N last night, he felt himself descending that familiar downward spiral. JJ had two types of possible spirals. Usually, it felt like a blackout— like he  had no control of his actions. That’s the spiral he had when he broke the generator. He’d been reminded of all the nights he’d used that damn first aid kit to patch himself up, back when Luke still owned the house JJ could finally call home, that it had screwed him up so bad he couldn’t think. The second type of spiral, however, was way worse. It was more drawn out, a deep-seated desperation that forced him to ruminate on every word spoken to or by him. 

That’s the spiral he’d had last night in bed, a seemingly endless loop going down. He knew he fucked up, he knew he should’ve left well enough alone. He had finally gotten through to Y/N, even if only briefly, and he’d flushed it all down the drain. The way she had laughed when she accidentally shone her flashlight in his eyes, had been so unrestrained, like a bird’s song unburdened by the weight of months spent in captivity. Y/N always laughed like she was choking. Her breath would catch between the sound of her laughter, but JJ found it so endearing. He hadn’t realized how much he’d been yearning to hear that sound until last night and he wanted to be the reason for it again, even if it was at his expense. All it took for him to lose that chance, was five minutes and Y/N was avoiding him again. 

To say he was hurt by what she had said to him was barely scratching the surface. His worst, most vulnerable insecurities were somehow always thrown back at him by her. ‘You’re making it worse.’ ‘Why do you always–’ Those words had run through his head again and again and again, all night driving him crazy. Her ability to tap into his negative thoughts was exactly why he always got so irritated around her. Because if he let that bitter wall fall, it’d all be too painful. 

That irritation is exactly what had spurred him to pay no mind to Y/N’s advice and discover the answers to his questions alone. The first plan he had thought of consisted of storming to Goat Island and confronting Groff face to face. But, if he was being honest, just the idea of confronting Groff was terrifying. What if Luke had been lying? And worse, what if he hadn’t been? 

Instead of confronting Groff, JJ decided to follow a different trail – one that felt no less daunting but less revelatory: Larissa Genrette’s grave. JJ had spent his whole life roaming the island and knew each inch of the land he was raised on. He’d passed the Genrette graveyard many times before. He used to think it was odd, why so much land was dedicated to one family’s burial site, but as time passed he became more aware of what the Genrette name meant. The name had always loomed over the island, a shadow that faded into whispers. Whispered stories and half-truths from people who barely knew the Genrettes, at least not in recent years. The youth of Outer Banks loved to share the ghost story of Larissa Genrette and her lost child for their sleepovers and bonfires. A story that was so close to home, yet so out of their reality, that it didn’t bother them. 

JJ wasn’t sure why, but he felt compelled to see the grave for himself, properly. It felt like maybe he had missed some detail, some answer, during all those years that he carelessly ran past these trails. JJ was still clinging to the belief that this was all an elaborate plan by Luke, but he couldn’t stop some thoughts from crossing his mind that implied he was falling for it. Like the idea that he might be looking at the last link to his mother. Somehow, the fact that Larissa Genrette was his mother, felt like the heaviest part of all of it. He didn’t expect the gravesite to give him some grand revelation, didn’t think the ground would whisper secrets of hidden bloodlines, but it would be something. JJ always felt his sixth sense was strong when it came to people– their intentions and character. The first time he had entered the Genrette house, he had felt something was off, but not in the same way the Pogues had. They had been unnerved by the eerieness, but JJ had felt something else about Groff and Genrette. It was like he could feel the connection he had to them, like there was a string between them, loosening the closer they got. 

JJ was getting ahead of himself, he knew that. Imagining metaphysical connections and imagining what it would mean if the Genrettes were his relatives. As he neared the graveyard, the wind pushing his blond hair back, he didn’t know what came next. His feet slowed before he could get close enough to the gate that would serve as an obstacle, goosebumps erupting over his skin. 

There was someone following him.

He had felt it closer to the Surf Shop, before he had started walking this way, too afraid to ask John B for the Twinkie in fear of invoking questions. The feeling that he had a shadow had shaken off soon after, but it was back now, in full force, too close for comfort. He needed to take care of that before he could worry about finding answers to any life-changing questions. 

JJ slowed his steps, considering his options. He estimated that there was still half a mile left before he reached the gate, but the brick wall that blocked off the graveyard was already on his left. On the right, there were tall trees that he knew became more dense the further in you went. JJ started angling his body towards the right, making a show of planning his turn away from the straight path he’d taken for the last 10 minutes before he veered his body to the right completely. 

As the trees grew denser, that feeling of someone following him went in and out, like a spotty connection, but he knew whoever it was was still there. He should’ve run. He was usually so good at running in these situations, but something was stopping him. He was not sure what it was— whether it was the result of the heightened emotions he’d been dealing with for the past couple of days— but he didn’t fight it. If it was the mercenaries after Blackbeard’s treasure, so be it. 

When it felt like the mystery person was further away again, he pulled himself around a huge tree so he was hidden behind the trunk. He’d come a far way from the brick wall and his pace had quickened, causing his breathing to get slightly more erratic. He caught his breath while trying his best to not let his focus shift from sensing the other person. After what felt like hours, he heard a crunching sound. The footsteps were quiet which could have been why he couldn’t distinguish it from the sound his boots were making earlier. The footsteps neared on his left and he positioned himself for his ambush. He wished he had his old gun. Or at least a knife. 

A figure appeared in his periphery and before the figure could retreat, JJ was pushing off the tree trunk and shoving the person up against the rough bark of another. His hand clamped over their mouth while his opposite arm pressed into their chest, his muscles were taut as he held their body in place. A smaller body. And a familiar one. 

Y/N’s eyes widened but quickly returned to normal, concealing her surprise. However, the rapid rise and fall of her chest beneath JJ's arm gave away her shock. Her bare skin brushed against JJ’s with every breath, leaving a buzzing sensation with every exhale. Y/N reached up to wrap her fingers around his wrist, prying away his hand from her mouth, but instead of stepping away, JJ leaned in, crowding her body with his. 

“What the hell are you doing here?” JJ's jaw clenched adding to the tensions he felt in every other part of his body. He hadn’t wanted to see her today, but especially not now. JJ’s face was so close to hers that he could feel the warmth of his own breath as he spoke. 

Y/N’s chin tilted up defiantly and her challenging gaze stoked a fire of rage in his as he heard her reply, “Following you.”

“Why?” His voice was a rasp, entwined with the strain of his frustration. The simple word was all he could get past his straining as he looked at her, not backing away for even a second. 

“I told you not to do this alone.” There was no point in pretending he didn’t understand and JJ didn’t feel like he could bother with that anyway. He was so tired of her thinking she knew better than him. She couldn’t bother asking him to pass food at the dinner table, but she was always chock-full of unsolicited advice. This was his fucking family life, why did she get to decide how he handled it? 

“Yeah? And you thought what? ‘JJ’d probably appreciate me tagging along?’” JJ leaned in closer, his nose only an inch away from Y/N’s. He caught the moment her breath hitched, just as it had last night, and he was spurred on by whatever this effect he had meant. “You’re the last person I would ever ask to be with me.” 

The words were meant to cut, an eye for an eye, a harsh word for a harsh word. But if he had any impact on Y/N at all, she didn’t let it show. Within a second, her knee aggressively struck JJ’s thigh, making him pull back.

“Ouch–” Suddenly, JJ’s back was against the tree Y/N had been pressed against. Y/N didn’t have him strapped against the tree with her arms, but the closeness of her body to his was enough to keep him in place. Her left leg was planted between his and her hip was making contact with his upper thigh. JJ blamed the heat he felt at her touch on his anger. Reaching up, her hand cupped his face, her fingers pressing into both sides of his jaw, as she tilted his head down. 

“Trust me JJ, no one wants to be here less than I do.” Y/N’s voice was void of malice, sounding neutral and completely matter-of-fact. “But you can’t do this alone.” 

He knew what she meant. She meant that if he handled this alone, the rest of them would have to pick up the pieces of his eventual fallout. He knew that and still, the part of him he tried so hard to suppress read a different meaning. You don’t have to do this alone. I’ll take care of you. If he’s honest with himself, he didn’t want to carry this alone, but he couldn’t bring himself to ask for help. Pogues didn’t get help. They just had to deal with their shit and that’s a lesson JJ had learned much too early, so why bother. That desperate part of him that wanted someone’s help took over and selfishly accepted whatever she would offer. 

“Whatever. Just stay out of my way.” It was the best JJ could offer, his anger still right at the surface, fighting against his need for help. Y/N stepped back, her hand sweeping over her backside to clean off any dirt. 

“It’s easier to pick up behind someone than in front of them,” She chided. Clenching his fist, JJ turned away, beginning to retrace his steps. He’d wasted fifteen minutes all for it to be Y/N. The two of them walked in silence, not bothering with fake niceties. JJ had too much on his mind.

Y/N tried to focus on the sound of her low-top sneakers pressing against leaves and branches instead of the silence that was enveloping her and JJ. The irony wasn’t lost on her. The boy she had done her best to avoid recently, was now causing herself to second-guess her actions. Y/N never second-guessed herself. She could never afford it. Ever since she joined Terrance, her life relied on her ability to make the right choice with speed and confidence. If she had second-guessed herself for even a second, it could have given some dangerous people a chance to attack. 

It was that quality that made it so difficult for her to think twice before she spoke to JJ the way she did. She never felt like she had enough time to make mistakes and when JJ made a mistake, she felt that same crippling anxiety that whatever happened would be life-changing. Y/N hadn’t adjusted to her life in the Outer Banks. For her, it didn’t matter that there were laws and authority figures who would protect her– or at least were assigned to protect her. Y/N sometimes thought she’d always view the world as her against everything else. Well,  Cleo and her against everything else, but it didn’t seem like Cleo was having the same struggle with adjusting. Y/N knew she could be mean, but she really really didn’t want to lose this life. 

After walking for what felt like forever, a black gate came into view. A black gate that, from what Y/N could tell, led to the Genrette family’s burial plot. She hadn’t asked JJ where they were headed, her head clouded by how close they’d been in the forest and the verbal spat they’d had. This isn’t what she’d expected. 

“JJ–” 

“Just stay here by the gate while I go in.” JJ’s voice was less stiff, his frustration seeming to have decreased, but he still had that dejected air around him. 

“Where – why are we here?” Y/N asked and when JJ didn’t reply she added, “I thought you’d be talking to Groff.”  JJ kept his eyes trained to the side, refusing to look at Y/N. 

JJ chuckled sarcastically. “Bet you’re feeling silly now.” Y/N pursed her lips but refrained from responding. This wasn’t the time to pick a fight with JJ and she should have thought of that before. At least now, she’d try to be her version of supportive.

“Okay,” Y/N said, starting to move towards the gate again. When they reached the gate, Y/N spoke up again. “I’ll wait for you here.” 

Wordlessly, JJ stepped towards the gate, preparing to climb over the barrier. As JJ grabbed onto a rail for support, the gate pushed in with a creek. What… Looking at where She had assumed a lock would be keeping him out, Y/N saw the gate had been opened. Someone else was here. 

“Someone’s here,” JJ echoed her thoughts. 

“Should we come back?” JJ shook his head and she could see the determination in his eyes. He was going to do this. 

“I… I need to do this.” JJ whispered. She understood. She truly did. So she just nodded, reaching up to place her hand against his arm. 

“I know.” She hoped he could hear the sincerity and that he understood she did support him in this. He deserved to know the truth about who he was. “I’m right here” JJ gave her a long look, not making any move to go past the gate. “I won’t leave.”

With that, JJ gave her a nod and finally passed the threshold. Y/N couldn’t stop the nagging voice in her mind that kept repeating this was a bad idea. She needed to push past her issues with JJ and support him in this. Good terms or not, they were both Pogues and Pogues took care of each other. 

Y/N had planned on waiting patiently for JJ. She had told herself she would give him ten whole minutes before trying to find him in the cemetery to check if he was okay. Yet, within five minutes she heard the sound of someone coming towards the gate. The sound wasn’t from JJ’s workboots. The only place she could find to hide was in the trees, but there weren’t many and she wasn’t sure if she’d be caught. Maybe if she stood far enough away from the gate, whoever was about to leave the cemetery wouldn’t look her way. It was a game of luck and Y/N hated those.

Still, she rushed towards the trees and tried her best to stay hidden. Peering over the edge of the tree trunk, she caught the moment the person left the gates. Groff.  She had never liked the feeling she got around Groff. Meeting him had reminded her a lot of her Uncle, which meant it made her skin crawl. Holding her breath, she watched Groff leave the cemetery and turn towards where she was hidden.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

Somehow, some stroke of fate led him to walk straight past the trees, his focus on some object in his hands. Y/N let out a sigh of relief and waited for JJ to come back out. He must have talked to Groff.

But no one followed, even as Groff became a speck in the distance. That eerie feeling returned and Y/N ran towards the gate. It seemed Groff wasn’t the forgetful type because he had made sure to lock the gate. Why would he lock JJ in? Y/N needed to get in.

Taking multiple steps away from the gate, Y/N ran towards the iron gate. Gripping onto the metal bars, she used the momentum from her sprint to lift herself. Her shoes hit a narrow horizontal bar and she used it to push off and swing one leg over the top of the gate. She had to be mindful of where she placed her leg, making sure to avoid the pointed tops. Once both her legs were over the top, she used the same bar as a step to climb down and land safely on the other side. Y/N didn’t take a second to catch her breath, rushing to find JJ. He wasn’t around any of the graves, but there was what appeared to be a tomb. A crowbar had been stuck between the handles to keep someone from getting out. To keep JJ from getting out.  

“JJ!” Y/N called, walking closer to the tomb. She pulled the crowbar out. As she went to pull the door open, JJ was already tumbling out. “JJ, what happened?”

The blond boy remained silent, his lips in a thin, colorless line. Y/N’s eyes swept over him, taking note of how his usually tanned skin had turned pale. He looked as though he’d seen a ghost and considering her where she was, she wasn’t sure how far from the truth that was. 

“JJ, hey,” Y/N’s hand came up this arm just like earlier, but this time JJ shot back. The hazy look in his eyes was replaced with a frenzied one, his hand coming up to his hair to tug as he spoke.

“Groff,” Is all JJ said. “Groff.”

“I saw him. Why’d he lock you in there? JJ, something is–”

“Where?” Suddenly, JJ’s voice stilled. His demeanor was still panicked, but his voice came out clear. “Where did he go?” 

JJ didn’t wait for Y/N to stop hesitating, running out the gate. Y/N followed quickly watching him take the path towards their home, the same path Groff had taken. She wanted to stop him and get him to speak to her, but JJ was sprinting and she was struggling to keep up. She’s not sure how long they ran, but it couldn’t have been more than a few minutes. They’d reached the edge of the forest and she knew that after a few more minutes they’d be hitting a road that was usually empty. 

JJ stopped suddenly, bending over to hold his knees. Y/N didn’t take this as a chance to ask questions because it seemed JJ had started to calm down. His breathing was slowing down and some of the color on his face was returning. Whatever happened between him and Groff had very clearly not gone well and she didn’t want to pull that out of him. She needed to meet him where he was. 

“I’m gonna take the long way home,” JJ said, standing up to his full height. Y/N didn’t argue. They could take the long way home. 

“Alright.” Without any more words, Y/N followed JJ as he exited the clearing of the forests towards the road. Just as she had felt everything returning to normal, it all came crashing down again. Everything felt like it happened in milliseconds. 

Groff was on top of someone.

 Then JJ was charging towards them and pushing Groff off the other person.

Groff struggled under JJ while Y/N took in the third body.

The third dead body. Lightner, Terrance’s killer. The third body belonged to the mercenary that had held Cleo hostage and killed Terrance. And, now he was dead. 

Y/N didn’t have time to dwell on what that meant, because JJ was still in a tussle with Groff. She saw JJ’s head flick to the side, his gaze zeroing in on something: A knife. That must’ve been what Groff had used to cause the gaping wound Y/N could see on the mercenary. JJ flung himself off Groff and took hold of the knife, pointing it towards Groff. Not moving his eyes or his aim from Groff, JJ walked backward until he stood in front of Y/N. He had to sidestep step the body. 

“Don’t come closer,” JJ warned, his body effectively blocking Y/N from being able to determine what Groff was doing. Y/N moved to the side just enough to get a view, but not enough to make JJ’s efforts to protect her go in vain. She watched as Groff raised his hands in surrender and an appeasing smile made its way to the older man’s face. 

“JJ,” He chuckled. “Look, I don’t want trouble. He,” Groff pointed to the lifeless body on the ground. “He attacked me. I was defending myself.” JJ stayed silent, his body rigid, on alert.

“You have to believe me, son,” Groff’s words triggered something in JJ because suddenly he was leaning forward and shouting. 

“Shut up!” JJ yelled, before slowing down, his voice returning to its usual cadence. “Just shut up.”

Groff’s hands rose again, pushing them forward in a way of apologizing for overstepping. He waited another moment before trying again, “Nothing bad has to happen. Just… just get rid of the knife. He was a bad man. You know he was,” Groff said, his tone calm, like the kind a father would use to sing his child a lullaby. “He tried to kill you, your friends. He was doing the same to me, JJ. Let’s just throw the knife. Leave him.”

Groff was right, he was a bad man. The only thing stopping Y/N from agreeing to run was that she was sure Groff was a much worse man. 

“JJ, don’t listen to him,” Y/N drew JJ’s attention over his shoulder. “We can’t throw the knife away. It’s evidence.” Y/N saw JJ’s eyes close for just a second, his eyebrows furrowed in tension. 

“It’s okay,” Groff said, his voice sickeningly sweet. “It’s just us three. We can trust each other.” 

“He’s lying, JJ. We need to leave.” Y/N tried again. Groff stayed silent this time and when she looked at him she was shocked by how sincere he seemed. There was something about his eyes, something he could manipulate. He seemed so genuine like he was the good guy, but a good guy wouldn’t have locked JJ in a tomb. 

“Why should I believe you?” JJ was speaking to Groff with the knife still firmly pointed at him. “You just locked me in a fucking cemetery.” Thank God, JJ wasn’t falling for this. 

“That– that was to protect you,” Groff urged, using his hands emphatically. “I knew these guys were on my tail, I didn’t want you caught up in this. I was gonna come back for you, JJ.” 

Y/N stood out from behind JJ to see exactly where his head was at. She couldn’t decipher what he was thinking or whether Groff’s words were having any effect on him at all. 

“Why?”

Groff tilted his head at JJ in confusion, but clarity spread over his features quickly, “I want to protect you,” He said, walking closer to JJ, suddenly unafraid of the knife pointed at him. “Because you’re my son. My boy.” 

“JJ, please, he’s just–” Y/N didn’t have time to finish the persuasion. JJ pulled out the brown and silver lighter she knew he always kept on him and lit the wooden end of Groff’s knife. The fire caught quickly and JJ let the knife fall to the floor. As the wooden part of the knife began to turn to ash, JJ used the toe of his boot to put out the fire. As soon as the fire was out, Groff was approaching JJ with open arms and a smug smile on his face. 

“JJ, son–” JJ’s arm came out to push Groff away from him, a look of rage Y/N had never seen on him before. 

“Leave.” Groff stepped back from JJ with a hurt expression on his face.

“JJ–”

“I said leave. Go before I change my mind,” JJ warned. Then, so Groff wouldn’t call his bluff, he added “I’m not afraid to go to prison.” Groff’s expression thinned, but he nodded. It took him some time but he began to walk away. 

“One more thing,” JJ shouted. “Stay away from me and my friends.” Y/N saw the way Groff’s shoulders fell before he turned away and followed JJ’s orders. Y/N looked around at the empty roads. They needed to get out before someone else came.  

JJ was on the same page, it seemed because he grabbed her hand and began running into the woods. Taking the shortcut JJ had forsaken earlier, he didn’t stop or speak to Y/N until they were safely back on the Maybank property– their property. JJ tugged Y/N’s hand, stepping closer to her. He didn’t say a word, just watched her as they stood right by the chartering shack. Y/N couldn’t get her thoughts straight. Groff had murdered a man. They’d covered it for him. But that man wasn’t exactly innocent and Y/N couldn’t get that thought out of her head.  

“He killed Terrance.” JJ’s eyebrows furrowed before a look of realization passed his face. “Terrance’s killer is dead.”

JJ moved closer, his hand coming up to cup Y/N’s cheek. He’d never done that before and Y/N had a fleeting thought that maybe she’d have liked it if the circumstances were different. 

“It’s over okay?” JJ murmured. His hand was still against her skin, but he didn’t make any move to take it away. “All of it. The treasure, Groff– we’re done. I’m…” Y/N waited, letting JJ gather his thoughts. “I’m sorry.” Y/N’s hand wrapped around JJ’s wrist, clinging to his promise. She just wanted to be done. 

“It’s over,” Y/N repeated, the most she could offer in return for his apology. For once, she wasn’t angry with JJ. Maybe it was because the body was Lightner’s or maybe it was because he seemed to understand the gravity of this situation, but she wasn’t angry. She just wanted to forget this and move on. JJ nodded, before taking his hand away, and Y/N missed the warmth immediately.

“Y/N! Y/N wake up!” Cleo’s voice was barely noticeable as Y/N clung to the last bits of her sleep. Sleep had been fleeting, her grasp slipping every time she got close, last night. Her body had felt heavy like the weight of JJ’s decisions had somehow seeped into her bones. Destroying the evidence had been a horrible decision, to say the least, but it was done now. 

“Cleo, what?” Y/N grumbled, turning the other way to ignore her unwanted alarm. That’s when she heard it: A familiar voice coming from the living room. It was Shoupe’s voice. Y/N shot up in bed. Cleo’s expression was stern, not betraying a hint of worry, but Y/N knew her much too well to fall for that. 

“Do you think he knows about Terrance?” Cleo asked. Y/N was already getting out of bed, running her hands through her hair. Y/N knew that wasn’t the case, but if she said anything, Cleo would know something was wrong. She could read Y/N as well as Y/N could read her. 

Y/N took a quick look at herself in the mirror. Allowing herself enough time for only one deep breath in and out, Y/N left the bedroom. The door of her bedroom, well more like her storage closet, led straight into the living room. Shoupe on the couch, Sarah and John B sat with rigid posture in front of him on pull-out chairs. Her arrival had drawn the attention of the other three and just as she came in, so did JJ from the front door. They had only a second to make eye contact before Shoupe was speaking.

“Ah, Good Morning,” Shoupe gave Y/N an easy-going smile that did nothing to make her feel at ease. Shoupe looked up towards her literal partner in crime and gave him a nod. “JJ.”

“Morning, Shoupe,” Nothing about JJ seemed like he could have any inclination as to why Shoupe was here. Y/N did her best to follow his lead. “Didn’t bring any donuts, but…” JJ made a show of looking down at his almost empty water bottle. “I could give you a sip.” 

Shoupe’s smile turned into a sarcastic one as he shook his head. “I’ll pass. Just wanted to ask y’all a couple of questions.”

JJ’s eyebrow shot up, curiously. “What about?” 

“Nothing of worry. I was just asking these guys where they were yesterday. Say around 4 p.m.?” 

JJ gave him a questioning look, walking further into the room. “Why would that be of interest to you?” Y/N suppressed a groan. Why was he being difficult?

“Look,” Shoupe sighed, standing up from the couch. “I don’t want trouble. Sarah and John B. answered my questions. Why don’t you just cooperate for once.” Oh. Of course, it would have been more of a giveaway if JJ hadn’t been asking questions. 

“That’s all fine, but don’t I get to know why I’m being questioned?” JJ waited as Shoupe looked at him, an unsure look on the cop’s face. Finally, Shoupe began speaking. 

“A body was found on a back road and we’re just trying to make sure all our bases are covered,” Y/N went still. She’d been quiet this whole time, but now she was scared she wouldn’t be able to speak even if she was asked to. The cops knew about the body, but how did Shoupe know one of them was involved? He doesn’t know, Y/N reminded herself, it’s just a theory. 

“And we’re a base because?” JJ continued his act of oblivious defiance. “Don’t know about the rest, but Y/N and I were together around… what time did you say?” JJ’s voice seemed muffled over the blood pumping in Y/N’s ear. 

“Four.”

“Yeah, I was with Y/N. Here, at the shop,” JJ offered. “We were trying to fix the charter shack's generator. Y/N kind of fried the thing.” With that, all eyes were on Y/N. It was her turn to make JJ’s lies believable enough for them to get past this. 

“I didn’t fry it,” Y/N argued, rolling her eyes before focusing on Shoupe. “But, yeah, I was with JJ working on the generator. You can stop by the shack if you want. You’ll get to witness JJ’s handy work firsthand.”

Shoupe nodded his head before it slowly turned into a shake, “No, that’s alright. We think the guy got into something with the Genrettes. I know y’all have been heading to Goat Island a bit more so I thought I’d check in. Thanks for your cooperation,” Shoupe shot JJ a pointed look, before heading out the front door.

“Explain,” Cleo said, her accent coming out thicker like it always did when she was going big sister mode with Y/N. They were only a year apart but she had always treated Y/N like she was her little sister rather than a friend.  

Y/N bit her lip and sighed, “Call Pope and Kie, we need to talk.”

“So you tampered with evidence and left a body in the middle of a road?”

“You know, for someone so smart, you ask an awful lot of dumb questions, Pope,” John B quipped at Pope’s recap. Y/N and JJ had spent the last fifteen minutes catching the Pogues up to speed. On everything: Genrette’s letter, finding Groff at the grave, the confession JJ received, and JJ burning the knife. Turns out, Pope, Kiara, and Cleo had all been questioned before Y/N had woken up, each having an alibi and someone to attest to it. For Kie, it was her mom who had asked her to meet for lunch somewhere. Pope and Cleo had been together at his parent’s place.

“JJ, why did you tell Shoupe we were together?” As soon as Shoupe had left, Y/N had been reviewing every word of the interaction. She was trying to find any part that could have gotten them caught, but Shoupe had been surprisingly willing to listen and the conversation had been much shorter than anticipated. 

“Cause we were?” JJ was sat on the floor, his back against the couch, as he looked up at Y/N.

“Now we’re each other’s alibis and no one can back us up to say we weren’t near the crime scene,” Y/N was trying extremely hard to not lose her patience. Yes, this was JJ’s fault, but she knew it wasn’t black and white. None of the messes they found themselves in ever were. 

JJ was quiet for a while before he looked away. “No one else could have been our alibi.” He probably hadn’t meant for it to hurt, but God did it. He was right. The only people who could have covered for JJ and Y/N were in this room. This was the only family they had.

“What do we do now?” Sarah piped from next to Y/N on the couch. 

“Nothing. The only people who were there were Y/N and me. There are no cameras. We’re fine.” JJ’s nonchalance was met with a slap against the back of his head from Cleo.

“Ouch?”

“You’re forgetting Groff, idiot.”

“Okay,” Kiara cut off any possibility of a fight between JJ and Cleo with a question of her own. “What happens if they do tie this to the two of them? Or, more likely, if Groff tries to pin this on them?” The entire room was silent as they considered this. It almost felt like no one had considered where Groff fell into all this. 

“He wouldn’t—” JJ sounded exasperated by this conversation, but it was obvious to everyone that this was so much deeper for him. “Groff doesn’t get anything from trying to pin this on us.”

“Um, except maybe innocence,” Pope chipped in his usual wise guy way that he couldn’t help sometimes, but Y/N knew he didn’t mean any harm by it. She watched JJ with a steady gaze as he simply shrugged and looked away. This was going to be such a long conversation if someone didn’t take the lead. Y/N looked over to John B with a desperate plea on her face that she hoped he’d understand. Luckily, he did. 

“Alright look,” John B said, getting up from his seat on the couch. He moved to the edge of the room so that he could be seen by everyone. “What we need is a backup plan if this comes back to Y/N and JJ.”

“They could get married.”

Y/N was surprised everyone’s heads didn’t roll off with how quickly they turned to look at Pope. 

“What?” 

“What?”

Y/N and Kiara looked at each other briefly after their simultaneous outbursts before looking back at Pope. He was sat lazily against the other side of the couch, opposite to JJ, mischief in his eyes. 

“What? Spousal privilege and all that,” Pope chuckled. 

“Cleo, wack him in the head,” Y/N fussed. “This is no time for jokes.” Pope lifted his hands in a surrender gesture, but the smirk never left his face.

“Okay, well, any other ideas?” John B waited a minute, letting the silence settle in until it felt as if it could be infinite, before sighing and placing his hands on his hips. “We stay low. JJ, don’t make contact with Groff. At least for now. And we’ll take a backseat on the treasure-hunting stuff.” 

Y/N watched as the Pogues immediately began protesting in various ways. The treasure was their last chance of making it out. JJ was the only person aside from John B and herself that was quiet. He had promised her there would be no more treasure hunting, but she hadn’t taken him seriously. JJ was always the last to back down from any fight, but especially one like this. 

John B lifted his hand to silence the others, “There’s been too much death surrounding us. This thing…it seems bigger than us.” He offered when no one looked convinced, “Just until the Ligthner thing blows over. Then we can try and see if it’s worth finding.” 

“So no wedding?” 

“Shut up, Pope.”

The ban on wedding talk didn’t last long in Poguelandia 2.0, because by six p.m. Y/N had been called into the station for more questioning. JJ had been going stir-crazy waiting for her to come home since she’d left with Pope as her driver two hours ago. Pope had been sporadically updating the group chat, but it did little to quell how his stomach kept lurching. He hoped this wouldn’t catch up to the two of them, even though all points were pointing to it. 

The group had come out to sit on the patio, unable to bear sitting inside while they waited for Pope and Y/N to return. The sun was beginning to set and JJ had to keep absentmindedly swatting bugs away, but he barely registered anything around him. In the past 24 hours, he’d seen things he had never imagined and he never should have. And it just kept getting worse. 

“JJ, can I just ask,” John B spoke up, breaking the silence that had set amongst the five remaining pogues. “What were you thinking?” JJ looked up at John B with a deadpan look. 

“You tell me, 'cause I’m not the only one to turn a blind eye to my father killing someone,” He gave John B a pointed look and then turned the look to the others. “Or try to cover up a murder, for that matter.” 

Everyone stared at him for a long moment, before nodding and mumbling some version of acceptance. JJ shook his head, letting his mind wander back to the day before. Seeing the man who was supposedly his father murder someone wasn’t the worst part. No, the worst part was seeing the corpse of his mother and her resting place in ruin. 

He couldn’t get that image out of his head. His mother. He’d never known her, never known she was anyone to him, and the first time he saw her – at an age where he’d remember forever– it had been in the most haunting way. He’d wanted to throw up every time he remembered the sight, but he couldn’t stop reminding himself of it. JJ reached his fingers in his pocket trying to find the letter from Genrette–  which had ironically become a comforting item. He felt nothing but the cotton lining of his pocket. Sitting up straighter, he checked his other pocket and found the same. There was no way he’d lost it, he’d kept the letter with him since he’d received it. 

Just as JJ was beginning to stand from his seat, noticing he’d drawn Kie’s attention with his movements, he heard the Twinkie pull onto the property. Soon, Pope and Y/N exited the Volkswagen, their expressions somber. JJ stilled, waiting with bated breath as they stepped onto the porch. Y/N wordlessly slid the white banister and let her head fall against her knees. 

“What? What happened?” JJ asked, moving to crouch down next to her. When she didn’t respond, just releasing a muffled groan, JJ turned to look at Pope. “What did Shoupe say?” 

“According to Y/N, he has some sort of evidence,” Pope took a seat in front of their porch bench, letting his head fall against Cleo’s thigh. “That could tie y’all to the scene.”

JJ’s eyebrows furrowed as he processed what Pope was saying. Just as John B got out the words to ask what evidence they were referring to, JJ realized what had happened. 

“Oh shit,” JJ thought aloud. He was still crouched beside Y/N, who was looking up now to see what JJ was cursing at. He just looked at her waiting for her to confirm his worst suspicions. 

“The letter?” Y/N’s confirmation came in the form of a question, checking to see if JJ had already put that together. When his head fell, he knew she’d gotten her answer. “You knew?” Her voice was so accusatory, so full of unreleased venom that it made his head spin. 

“No, yes– wait, ugh no,” JJ stood up to pace the porch and clear his thoughts. “I just realized a minute ago, that I’d lost it.” JJ wasn’t looking at Y/N as he explained himself. “It must have fallen out of my pocket.”

“Can someone fill us in,” Sarah, who was leaning against the opposite banister from Y/N, asked. “What letter?”

JJ filled in the rest of the Pogues about the letter from Genrette and him having the letter on him. He promised that he hadn’t known it had fallen out until just then and this time he looked at Y/N as he did. She just looked exhausted. Cleo, who had slipped inside without JJ noticing, gave her a water bottle and she didn’t speak until she’d chugged the entire thing. 

“Shoupe asked if I knew anything about it. About the letter,” Y/N finally spoke. “I told him no. He wanted me to confirm where I’d been, so I told him here. With JJ. Asshole tried to say I wouldn’t be in trouble if my answer changed,” Y/N added with a scoff. JJ felt himself soften at that. She’d covered for him and it seemed she’d done it without a second thought. 

“Was that it?” JJ said, instead of expressing any gratitude. Y/N shook her head.

“He basically asked how the letter could’ve been on the road if you hadn’t been. So…” Y/N pursed her lips, looking away from everyone. JJ felt his heart start to beat faster. This must have been when she admitted the truth: That this was all his fault. 

“So?” Pope asked, clearly not having heard this part of the debrief.

“I… told him Groff came by here.”

No one said anything and no one moved. 

“You did what?!” John B was the first to express the shared sentiment.

“I told him Groff came by!” Y/N doubled down, her voice more confident. “He wasn’t letting the idea go that I would know this about JJ, something about all of us not being able to keep our social securities a secret from each other. So I told him I knew he thought Groff could be his dad, but didn’t know about the letter. 

“I told him Groff came by when I was manning the register and said JJ had called him over, JJ and him went to have a private conversation, and when he came back all JJ said was that Groff being his dad was fake news. I kind of suggested that maybe Groff took the letter back without outright suggesting it.”

JJ looked at Y/N, always careful Y/N. Y/N wasn’t careful in an innocent way. It was more…calculated. She took risks she knew had a higher probability of ending in her favor and never ones that would deter her from her end goal, whatever that may be. He couldn’t believe she’d lied to the cops in such a risky way.

“Y/N, that’s crazy,” Kie said. “What if they find out you’re lying? They could ask Groff.”

“I didn’t know what to do, Kie,” Y/N’s head was in her hands now. “I know, it was stupid.”

“Not completely,” John B offered. “Technically, it’s still you and JJ’s words against Groffs. That’s got to count for something. JJ nodded. 

“I just… can’t get what Kie said out of my mind. Groff could easily take us down with him. What if this shit goes to court?”

“He’ll be gone before that,” JJ cut Y/N’s line of questioning off before she could go further. “He told me he’s headed to Morrocco. At the cemetery. Said he had everything: the map, how to read it.” 

“Why would he tell you all that? He didn’t even admit you were his son until it was convenient.” JJ tried not to let Y/N’s words sting. 

“He was trying to make me sound crazy like I was plotting to take the crown somehow by posing as his lost son. He kept saying it was ‘too late for anyone to take what was his’. I don’t know,” JJ shrugged. He avoided the pitiful gazes of his friends by looking out at the now night sky. 

“I guess that’s something. But it still doesn’t get rid of the what if. This is a murder case, so if JJ and Y/N are linked to it, they’ll go to court. We all know KCPD doesn’t have a great track record of putting the real murderer in jail.” How Sarah could speak about her family trauma so nonchalantly, JJ would never know. “We can’t let Y/N perjure herself if they find out JJ tampered with evidence.” 

The Pogues let themselves sit in what Sarah said, trying to find any solution. JJ was never the problem solver, but right now he couldn’t even come up with one of his bizarre ideas. Well, except–

“Guys, I know I was joking before, but…” Pope gave Y/N and JJ a sheepish look, lifting one shoulder in a shrug. There was an absence of even a trace of humor on his face.

“No way,” Y/N argued. “That’s crazy. We can’t get married.”

“Yeah, what?” JJ agreed, even though he’d been thinking the same. He didn’t actually think that would be an option. 

“Y/N…”

“Cleo, there’s no way you think that’s reasonable.” Y/N and Cleo often did this thing where they’d communicate with only their eyes. JJ’s not sure if they actually knew what the other was saying or if they just filled the gaps with assumptions, but whichever it was it had Y/N storming inside the house. 

“Y’all aren’t serious right?” JJ asked, but he had a feeling he didn’t want to hear the answer. 

“Spousal privilege, JJ. If Groff tries to bring you two to court, the only witnesses to his story are you two. If they can’t force you to testify against each other in court, then he has no leg to stand on.” JJ hated that Pope’s silver tongue. He could make almost anything sound like it was right. 

“It makes sense,” John B added. JJ looked to Sarah who was nodding, but giving Kiara a sad look. 

“Us getting married is not being left to a group vote.” 

JJ turned to look at Kiara and felt his face flush. He hadn’t had a full conversation with her since he’d told her about the letter, but in his defense, he’d been a bit tied up. He’s not sure if it was completely intentional, since whatever he and Kie had wasn’t acknowledged in the group, but Pope, Sarah, and John B all went inside. 

Kie avoided JJ’s stare, as she sat on the bench picking at imaginary cuticles. JJ walked over to her slowly, not feeling deserving of talking to her now, after he’d been so shut off. Still, he had to say something. 

“Kie,” His voice was soft as he sat down on the bench. 

“They’re talking crazy right? Marriage.” Kiara asked, letting her brown eyes meet his blue ones. “You’re nineteen.” 

JJ and Kiara had a complicated relationship. For the longest time, JJ had a crush on Kiara. All the boys had at some point, most of those points overlapping. She was a pretty girl and for a while the only girl who hung out with them. It was impossible not to have a crush. But as they got older, JJ was able to look past that, and see Kiara for who she truly was. To him, she held the same place as John B and Pope did in his life, just with the bonus of being hot. Nothing ever came of that childhood crush and JJ didn’t think of Kiara in any way other than a friendly one for many years. Until they’d started working on Poguelandia 2.0.

Maybe it was because they were surrounded by couples, but the air between them had changed, and it wasn’t just on his end this time. When JJ would flirt, Kie would flirt back. When he’d sit a little closer than necessary on the couch, she’d close the gap. He’s not sure when or how, but it hadn’t taken them long to take that give-and-take into the bedroom. He couldn’t say that’s all they were– friends with benefits– because of course that wasn’t all they were. They’d been best friends before everything and you couldn’t sleep with your best friend and not let feeling get involved. But neither of them ever tried to define their relationship and JJ didn’t know if they ever would. Sometimes he would think of it as a situationship that would fizzle out, but then he’d feel guilty because this was Kie. He loved her. He knew he did, but was he confusing platonic love with romantic? And if he wasn’t, if he did romantically love Kie, did she even feel the same? They never talked about those thoughts though and the other Pogues never gave their fire the air it needed to grow– except one time, over a beer, John B had echoed JJ’s thoughts and let it slip that he thought that their arrangement would end eventually. Regardless, she still deserved for him to address her role in all of this. 

“They’re definitely talking crazy, but…” He lacked the conviction he knew she needed to hear. JJ watched Kie’s nose scrunch, in the way it always did when she had something to say but wouldn’t let herself. “What? Say it.” Kie’s nose scrunch disappeared and she gave JJ a small smile. 

“I just…” Kie’s scrunch returned, but she pushed through. “I know we’re not exactly exclusive. But I just thought we were more than…”

“We are,” JJ insisted, his hand reaching out to take hers. “Of course, we’re more than that.” Kie squeezed his hand once, but her smile was half-hearted.  

“Are you seriously going to go along with this?”

“Y/N would never agree,” JJ said to ease her worries, but really to ease his own.

“If she did, though?” Kie’s hold on JJ’s had tightened and it felt like her hand was wrapped around his heart. He let his mind run through that possibility, deciding what he’d do.

“It’s my fault she’s in this situation.” That’s all that JJ could offer Kiara. Because in truth that’s all he knew. No matter what plan of action the Pogues took, his priority was making sure Y/N came out of this unscathed. He couldn’t live with himself if one of his friend’s lives got ruined because of him. 

Kiara took her hand away from his and he felt the lack of it more than the touch itself. “If you do, we couldn’t keep doing…whatever we’re doing.”

“It wouldn’t be a real marriage, Kie,” JJ argued, but he felt gross as he said it. It wasn’t a real marriage, but he couldn’t expect Kie to stick around and wait for all of this to blow over.

“It would just make everything weird,” Kiara voiced JJ’s thoughts. JJ didn’t get a chance to offer any more to this conversation, because John B was yelling his name from inside. Sighing, JJ got up and waited for Kie to stand before they headed inside the house. 

“What?” JJ asked, taking in the Pogues, who had now assembled in the living room. Y/N stood in the corner, her arms crossed across her chest and a look of defeat on her face. Y/N never looked defeated. 

John B clapped his hands with a shit-eating grin on his face, “I’m gonna be your best man, right? Not Pope?” 

What? 

“I’m not walking down the aisle with you,” Cleo shot at John B.

“There’s no aisle,” Sarah reminded. “It’s at the courthouse.” JJ felt the hairs on the back of his neck raise. 

“What’s at the courthouse?” He shouldn’t have asked. He already knew. 

“Your wedding, of course.” JJ wanted to wipe that smile off Pope’s face with his fist. 

taglist: @theater-bitch @ayy1234567 @tpwkyarely @lovesanimals0000 @B3rryb3t @mvaldez7821 @ummmmokaynotme @velyssaraptor

[multiwreckedmess]

Kinktober Day 29

Prompt: Edging Pairing: sub!Bang Chan x dom!Reader WC: 1k Summary: A leader sometimes needs to not be so in control. At least, according to you and him.

This is a work of fiction, it does not represent Bang Chan or any Stray Kids member. On top of this it is an 18+ work. For my comfort and boundaries please if you are under age do not interact with this. 

I feel the need especially with “rougher” prompts like this to put the disclaimer - fanfic should NOT ever be used as a guide to relationships or sex. ESPECIALLY SEX. Again, it’s fiction. Stuff gets glossed over for the sake of a good story. Please PLEASE please again, not fact, not a guide, just a fantasy.

Additional TW/CW below the cut.

CW/TW: NO Pronouns/gender characteristics for the reader, Chan is called “baby” “baby boy” “good boy” and “Channie.” Sub!Idol, dom!reader. edgeplay (m receiving). jerking off (m receiving). unprotected penetration. everything is consensual but this is in medias res so nothing is directly discussed in the fic.

 Cock red and aching, Chan writhes in the simple wooden chair he’s tied to. Silken cords crisscross his milky skin flushed pink from hours of play. He could stop this at any time, just say the word, but where would be the fun in that. After all, this is what he wants. This thrill. A steady stream of shiny precum flows from the tip down the veins of his shaft as your nails skim the tender surface. Chan whimpers.  “Please, I-I’m close,” he manages to hiccup.  “I know baby boy, I know. Just a little longer for me okay? You want to be a good boy right?” You coo, settling with your legs bridged over one of his thighs. His wet cock nudges your flesh as you lean into his chest. His hips falter as even the slightest stimulation has him near climax. He’s gorgeous like this. Eyes shining with tears threatening to pool and fall. Sweating like the room was on fire. Yet it was all because of you. You and your hands, and hips, and thighs, and tits, and lips.  Chan likes that you prolong it as long as he can physically stand it. Yielding to your better judgement. He belongs to you after all. He loves being a precious toy in your collection, ready to be pretty and played with and that is all you expect of him. Wait for you, listen to you, obey you. That’s all he needs to do, follow your command and you will take care of him.  You do take care of him, you always do. That’s why he trusts you.  His eyes lock and vision blurs as you tip the bottle of lubricant once more, drizzling an almost excessive amount over his rock solid erection. Chan barely manages a strangled wheeze as one delicate hand wraps loosely around him. You hold his shaft just enough to spread the liquid evenly, your other hand cupping his testes equally as gently.  “P-p-please, oh please, oh god-” he pleads as his chest heaves. It’s not enough traction to finish him off and for that he bucks up, against any direction you’ve given.  Thwack.  Your palm strikes his length, rebounding it onto his stomach. His hips go wild as he jerks forward, almost able to fuck against his own abs.  “Did I give you permission?” You ask calmly.  “N-no. I’m s-s-sorry! I-I-I- couldn’t help-” he starts to blubber, a fat tear slipping down his cheek. Chan cranes his neck back to try to stop the cascade, to stay strong. Your hands slide over the soft parts of his inner thighs, waiting.  Using his legs to push yourself up with you crane over him, kissing his wet cheeks. “I know you didn’t my good, good boy. That’s why you have me, right?  “Y-y-es. Fu-uuuck.” His nerves sizzle as your nails scrape slow half circles out from his inner thighs over aching muscles in his quads. Chan tries to find peace in the frenzy of fires burning in his body.  Chan practically screams as you sit down on him, letting your wet heat engulf his oversensitive cock completely. The entire chair shakes and groans with him, legs scratching the floor as his full force jolts through his legs. Your arms hold his shoulder down, draped over them just so, settling until he’s done writhing. You don’t blame him for this, you know he’s at his limit. Face pressed into your chest you can feel the wetness of his tears, saliva, and sweat.  “Want me to use your big fucking cock Channie?” You coo, slowly rotating your hips. “You waited so long, let me treat you.”  “Let me- let me-” he chokes, hips shifting again. His shoulders tense and tug at the restraints. “Please let me- you’ve done- let me-”  “Let you what, baby boy?”  “God damn it let me fuck you. Let me touch you. Please god damn it, let me take care of you. I’ll be so good I promise, just let me- please, please,” he’s breathless, half blind with lust, practically chafing his soft skin by pulling at his ropes.  “Oh baby,” you softly chuckle, reaching farther down his back, “you only had to ask.” One yank in the right direction frees him quickly. Chan’s arms pop free first, flexing his biceps, he doesn’t bother with the rest. It always surprises you how strong he is, arms crossing over your back as he draws you closer, practically knocking the wind from your diaphragm.  Holding you in his embrace he jackhammers eagerly, clumsily, upwards into your silken walls. It’s his hard earned reward for being your plaything. Getting to hear your wanton groans spilling from your lips, knocked loose by his efforts, has him chasing your high as well as his own. Somehow he can hold himself off just that little bit more despite it all as long as he is promised something greater at the end.  Chan’s gut burns, all he wants is to cum deep inside you but he knows he hasn’t earned it yet. Your groans turn to whines and your walls squeeze him harder. Just a little more. He bites at your neck, small little nips, just enough for you to stiffen and clench.  “Cum for me, please, fuck, cum in me,” you whisper as your wet heat floods over him. “Fill me, please.”  Grasping tightly he thrusts deeper than he thought possible, practically hallucinating a second pop as he white out. Painting your walls with his release, each pulse has him dizzy as you stroke his hair softly.  “So good, so good for me Channie. Did so well.” You praise him endlessly with small murmurs and whines as you let his release drip out and around the both of you. Softening in you, you wait for his pulse to return to normal, for his eyes to dry and head to start to nod softly into your chest.

[shapard]

Feather of Fate🕊️

Lucifer x Seraphim!fem!reader

Soulmate arc

Michael proves that he needs help

Angst, Gore (?)

A/n: So, Originally the chapter was longer. But it was wayyyy too long, so I choose to split it.

La Vaguelette

Chapter 8 > Chapter 9 < Chapter 10

Leonardo was reading peaceful one of his science books. One of many he owns in heaven.

He loves these kinds of pieces like electric, Atomic and the other things that the human created with his little help. 

Even though sometimes it ended in war or weapon, which was kind of disappointing for Leonardo. Why would they create something to just destroy themselves?

He stopped reading as he felt the sudden familiar power of an opening a portal. 

He looked above his book trying to catch what was disturbing his peace. 

Leonardo watched as Michael came through a portal and carried you in his arms. 

Of course it is Michael.

“The Seraphim?” Leonardo asked his smaller brother as he raised his finger towards his face to adjust his glasses. 

Michael looked over at Leonardo, and cursed.

oh he is so fucked. 

Leonardo was the responsible one.

Always listening to what father has to say and always do his job 100% correct.

Mostly he keeps heaven in control so nothing gets out of hand.

It was till they created Sera, and now he's thinking about getting his old responsibility back.

Sera couldn't be trusted anymore. She had one job and Michael did it for her.

Bring the seraphim back.

“What?! Nooo that’s just an exorcist who needed help-“ 

“What is she doing here?” Leonardo stated clear. He is not in the mood to play with Michaels dumb little games.

“Just doing my job.” Michael said, his emotionless eyes looking at Leonardo. 

Leonardo sighed laying his book aside. “He said not to hurt her,” He looked down at your broken legs and hands. “And you obviously did.” His golden eyes burned into Michael’s soul, making him shudder. 

“Calm down brother! You really think she’ll come without a fight? You’re too naïve.” Michael laughed nervously.

“I could’ve done it better.” Leonardo said in a matter-of-fact tone. "Maybe even Sera." An cold wind blow freezed the tips of Leonardo's Black hair.

Michael was not pleased with the comparison with Sera.

Michael stepped forward his icy blue eyes bored into Leonardo golden one. “I will handle it.” 

…

Michael pulled you along with him. Not caring that you got a cut added every time you slammed against a rock, that laid on the floor. 

You were in a place in heaven that looked identical to hell, maybe even worse. 

The floor was worn out and every surface was uneven and had holes. 

A place that was hidden before bare eyes.

A prison or worst a torture chamber.

Creatures were behind those bars and are more terrifying than anything in Hell. 

Except maybe root.

It was Michael playhouse, his palace. 

The place where he can live his sadistic and psychopathic ways fully. 

And everything else is his Hunting ground. 

Making people disappear out of nothing and bringing them in the depths of this lovely place.

Someone who lands in here never goes back, not at least in the form how they came. 

They get completely mangled and stitched together like in the worst horror movie. 

You are Michael's new subject that he got in his claws.

The one he’ll break and re-build.

You’ll be the one who’ll destroy her loving partner.

His perfect subject.

How is he still in Heaven you ask? 

One of daddy’s Favorite. 

He threw you into an empty dark room and you hit your head hard against the dirty cell wall. 

Blood started oozing out of the fresh wound, but no reaction. 

The pain is nothing compared to the old wounds. 

It was just a little pinch. 

The hole in your thigh pulsated harshly reminding you of its very existence.

You squinted your eyes open, only to realize that you were hanging high above from the ground. 

You tried to move but the chains on your wrist held you in place. 

It hurts. 

The chains scratched your wrist open in a slow pace. Your broken hand was pressed firmly against the chain. It feels like your hands are getting ripped apart from your Arm.

It hurts so bad.

You wanted to scream but you can’t, his ice was still on your lips making you shiver from the cold.

Lucifer help

Legs were unmoving and you got in a panic like state. 

You can’t move an inch. 

Please Lucifer it hurts

You’re a damsel in need and Michael could you whatever he wants with you. 

And right now, he was watching you suffer. 

He probably got an erection seeing you hanging there with the broken limps He caused. 

“So, you’re awake?”

He sat down on a chair that stood in front of your cell, your new home. “Choosing not to talk, huh?” He chuckled when the sound of moving chains echoed through the dark hollow walls. 

The magic this place once held, was completely sucked out by Michael's evil thoughts.

“If you think that is the worst it can get, I must disappoint you.” A monstress scream and a slashing sound of a whip was what caught your attention.

It is unbearable.

The sounds of Angels that were getting ripped apart and sewed together to create some of Michaels weird obsession.

And you may wonder how Michael ended this way. He used to be a happy Man, and now he is a cold hearted psychopath.

And echo in those walls gave you the answer. A small whisper in the last bits of magic the Playhouse had.

It gave you the answer to this question.

He wants to create, just like his twin brother Lucifer. 

But he can’t.

So, he took this place to make creatures for heavens protection. But these creation never worked. They were brainless and brutal monsters.

Killing everything that was near them.

And he fell deeper into despair.

He never could be Lucifer and it was pissing him off.

He wasn't as creative as Lucifer. He never could be.

Lucifer was God’s favorite.

So, Michael sabotaged him.

Making Lucifer fall for Lilith and letting the forbidden Apple into Lucifers grasps.

It was Michael's duty to protect. But he didn't protect the Apple, no. You could say he gave it to him like a wrapped up gift.

Lastly Michael gave father the Idea to create Hell.

And after that Michael talked to his brothers to banish Lucifer into hell.

For his sins.

And now Lucifers Playhouse is his. The precious thing that Lucifer had in heaven, he even took this.

And now he has you too.

All mine. thought Michael, driven by envy and Jealousy.

How is this place in heaven? How is he in heaven

“We’ll see each other tomorrow rotten Apple. Try to take some rest, tomorrow isn’t going to be a good day for you.”

…

The voices stopped.

The sound of heels meeting the cold floor was the only thing that kept you sane for a second.

It kept the voices away that talked through the walls.

Sometimes you could see how they dragged an Angel down into the surgery Room.

So that happens to those who betray him.

It was cold and lonely down here. 

The sound of voices and clicking of the clock ringed in your ears. It was uncomfortable.

All you wanted was going back to your beloved Lucifer.

You couldn’t sleep because of the pain from the hole in your thigh that started to get infected. 

The flesh around it grew fury red and the bugs started to slowly eat the flesh around it.

You closed your eyes to imagine that you were with him. That this all was a nightmare and you're alright.

But the pain reminds you that nothing is alright.

Everything will be alright.

"You Liar." You whispered and opened your eyes to look at the black surrounding.

The sound of heels hitting the floor grew louder and louder till it stopped.

You raised your head and looked into those golden eyes that brought some light into this dark place. 

“I never dared to go to Michael’s playhouse, but I had to see it for myself. The Seraphim that father wants to have back. And yet here you are chained up by our dearest Brother Michael.” 

Click. 

He opened your cell and released you from the chains. 

You fell right into his arms, and he wasn’t cold like Michael, no. He was warm like Lucifer; you miss him already. His hands raised and touched your forehead, he pushed your hair slowly out of your face and the warm feeling came back. 

It reminded you when Lucifer and you first met. This unknown Angel was helping you. 

Why?

As if he heard your thoughts, he Introduced himself as The Arch Angel Leonardo. 

“I’m here to help. I can’t get you out of here yet, but I can heal your wounds.” Your hand and legs snapped in their right place, and you could feel them again. 

A tear of hope streaked down onto Leonardo’s black coat, and he stroked your back softly. 

The hope will not last long. Not as long you're here trapped into Michael's little Playhouse.

“You can rest for now.”

He laid you on the hard bed that was in the corner from the cell and his grip left your body. 

It was a step back into reality. 

The coldness hit your neck like a cold shower. You buried yourself under the thin sheet for any warmth it may have. And you finally slept out of exhausting.

_____

Lucifer was pacing around the hotel lobby, “We must do something!” He was terrified what will happen to you if he doesn't do anything.

He knows how heaven can manipulate and cruel. 

But Michael was a different story.

He was not allowed in heaven, so how can he get you back? it was against the agreement they had.

But he will go regardless. For you he’d break this one rule he never over stepped. 

For you he'd destroy heaven if it means to get you back.

Charlie stood there in silence, she felt like it was all her fault. She hadn’t put any safety measurements in her hotel to keep any attacker at bay. 

And Michael took you away.

Now Lucifer lost you, and worse they all lost you. 

And maybe she’ll lose her father of her dumb mistake. 

Soulmates can’t be separated for a long time for a reason.

“Luci?” 

A soft voice called out for him. 

He spun around and glared at the person who stood on the staircase. “Lilith?” 

Again, weird timing. 

She stepped in front of him not even glancing at the other members. 

She has something planned, Angel Dust thought as he looked her into the eyes. 

They gave a dangerous look. A glint of hatred reflecting in them.

She's not here to be friendly.

_____

You woke up from the heavy sound of metal meeting stone. Voices were keeping you from going back to sleep.

Michael and another person were standing in front of you observing the scenery.

Michael looked at your healthy body. No Broken Limps.“Leonardo has to ruin all my fun.” Michael pouted and the other one just shrugged.

“He doesn’t like when you’re, you know, you?” The other person said looking at you.

You stood up and stretched your body, the aching pain of your muscles calmed in relief after some movement.

You looked the other person right into their golden eyes, just like Leonardo's.  

His Grin was just like Lucifers just with Humane teeth. 

Why do they have to be all related.

He bowed slightly and introduced himself as Azrael the Arch Angel of Death. 

Your mind spins what type of Arch Angel is Leonardo and what was Lucifer? 

You know that Michael is the Arch Angel of protection. 

You know so much about Lucifer but also nothing.

With a snap of Michaels fingers, you were back up in chains. 

You grunted at the sudden burning sensation from the chains. They were icy cold. “Your little lover boy seems to be in a little trouble my dear.”

___

Lucifer stepped back as Lilith stalked towards him, throwing affection comments on him. 

What is her plan? 

Lucifers back hit the wall with his back, there’s no escape.

He cursed.

Lucifer doesn't want to hurt Lilith.

Not in front of Their baby.

_____

“He spins lies and crawls between sheets.” Michael chuckled, and Azrael crossed his arms in front of his chest the smirk never left his face. 

In front of you an orb appeared, it was deep black with a white aura flying around it. 

“Let me show you something my dear.” Azrael said pointing towards the orb.

The orb showed the Hotel, or rather the scene that takes place in the hotel.

Lucifer and Lilith were standing both so close.

Lucifer wouldn't do anything, he loves you right?

___

Lilith pulled his chin towards him and kissed him forcefully.

Shoving her tongue into his mouth.

A passionate kiss was shared between. Or that's how it looked.

____

You looked at the orb Azrael made for you to look through. 

Your hands ached from being chained too long, bruises almost turning black. And all you could do is watching helplessly how Lilith was kissing Lucifer. 

No that's a Lie.

A piercing pain throbbed and spread in your heart. Like a knife that buries itself slowly into the soft flesh of your heart. The knife slowly gets dragged down, slicing your chest open in the process. 

That's the nearest thing that could describe the pain you feel right now.

“He never loved you.” Azrael’s words echoed through your hollowed skull, your mind was screaming, and you couldn’t take it anymore. 

The pain that resides in your heart and the words Azrael and Michael were planting into your minf.

Stop

This all must be a lie.

This must be fake.

Lucifer would never do that to you. “It’s real darling.” Azrael took your chin between his fingertips, a sadistic grin never failed to appear.

No

Your body felt numb, you slumped down when Azrael let you go. 

You hang on the chains like a dead corpse.

Michael looked from the shadow; he loved the view.

Your suffering was pure pleasure to him, you suffer is his suffer and it filled his icy cold heart with desire. 

He wants more destruction. 

More of your breaking.

He wants to see you break into itty bitty pieces. 

So, pity full. 

Your eyes were empty, you’re shutting down. No more defense reflexes.

You wanted to die right here and there.

Were you not enough?

You should’ve known that this was all a lie. 

It was all your fault after all. 

You broke his trust in the first place. 

Leonardo looked down at your figure and he was the only one who didn’t smile. 

Since when is he watching anyways?

Is it pity? Is it caring? 

Stop, stop. 

Stop looking at me like that.

He should smile not taking pity on your own misery as something sad.

They’re all the same, Arch Angels are all the same, even Lucifer.

He wants to use you just like anyone else.

Leonardo will play with you and then throw you away like everyone else.

You were mad and disappointed. Lucifer made you feel like the only person he needed.

But in reality he just wanted you gone so he could have Lilith back. 

And when you were captured by the one and only Michael. 

And Lilith took the opportunity that you here chained up in here.

She lets Michael do whatever he wants with you. and in return she returns to Lucifer.

Wasn’t she known to be kind and loving and just left Lucifer with their child.

Then she replaced you, taking her spot back that she left long time ago.

Were you living to rot in your own misery.

Who would Love you anyway?

Not even your own mother glanced a second glance at you when you needed her the most.

You felt like a failure.

You couldn’t even keep your own Soulmate that is destined to stay by your side. 

You looked up at Leonardo, his pitiful stare was stirring something in you. Something you never felt, it was indeed a sin. 

In the end you never dared to sin. But the plates have changed. Your life already is horrible.

Anger, and the desire to kill build up in your chest. Filling the pain that is planted deep in the softness of your heart.

“don’t look at me like that. Go on laugh, laugh that I thought he would safe me out of here. NO ONE IS STOPPING YOU!” You clawed up to him, the chains were rustling and the skin of your wrist were scratch open.

You wanted to claw his face open. You wanted the pain to stop. Tears were falling uncontrollably, and the sobbing mixed with the horrible sight of you clawing to get out.

That someone will come and save you out of this.

But no one will come

You feel like you’re going to burst, you didn’t want this life. 

You wanted Love, you wanted to be loved and someone to tell you that you're safe.

You missed him even though he betrayed you.

Love is the greatest curse of them all

God created you out of mere dust and let you stay in the dirt. 

Not even God could love you. 

Leonardo shifted his gaze away from you, “I’m sorry…” You laughed at his attempted apology. And your body fell lump.

"I got you" Sera whispered as she held you close to your body. You giggled and looked up to your mother. "You'll never leave me, right Mom?" And Sera nods. "Never."

She left.

"I got you sweetie." Lucifer's Forehead was on yours and he hums a soft tune that calmed you down.

You had a panic attack.

You dreamed about your mother again and Lucifer came to calm you down."I'll not leave you."

That’s what Lucifer said and look where he is now. 

He's gone.

"You're alone, Y/n."

In the Arms of his beloved Lilith.

____

Lucifer was quick to push Lilith away with brutal force. He rubbed his mouth with his clawed hand in a disgusting meanor. 

“Get the fuck off me.” He said while spitting the mixed saliva out of his mouth.

His lips felt like they’ve touched poison. 

He was glad you haven’t seen this. He is scared that you’d misinterpret this. 

He doesn’t want Lilith he wants you.

And he certainly doesn't want to lose you.

Little did he know that’s why Lilith did it and in fact you’ve saw the kiss they shared. 

Lilith, who was now on the ground, smirked up to him.

“The damage already done love.” Her Voice was full of venom. That’s not the Lilith Lucifer used to know. 

Lilith was kind and loving.

And now she’s rotten and disgusting like spoiled milk.

“What have you done?” He tilted his head rather asking himself what damage Lilith meant.

“Your little Angel. She’s the one you love and care so much and she’s the one who’ll burn this all down.” Lucifer raised his eyebrows. 

“What you mean?” Angel dust asked, clearly knowing who’s she referring too. “Yeah, she’ll never do that.” Husk stated serious catching everyone in surprise. 

He genuinely cares about you and that surprised the others.

The Husk cares about an Angel. Wouldn’t be the first Angel but the other is a demon that carries the name Angel. 

The name of his new Identity.

Lilith laughed, “God has his Plans.” 

Lucifers ears peaked at that, “God? Now you’re a puppet of him? The one who you said made you suffer? Really? That’s why you left me all alone with a child?” 

He took a deep breath closing his eyes, trying to calm down his building anger.

“Where is she?” He asked calmly, his eyes remained closed as he waited for her answer. 

No Answer. 

“Tell him, you pig.” Vaggie said holding a spear deathly on Lilith’s neck.

“I could kill you in less than a second. You’re in the deathly position, Vaggie.” Lilith smirked up at her, tapping with her nail on the Angelic weapon. 

Tap 

Tap

“And in less than a milli second I can wipe you out of existence,” Lucifer opened his eyes showing its fury scarlet color, “So tell me, where is she?” He leaned down towards her face. 

Fire danced along with his words, intimidating Lilith. 

“She is in heaven.” She answered in defeat.

“Oh, we know. But where?” Angel said and his voice wasn’t welcoming either. 

No one hurts his little sugar tits. Not even the Arch Angels themselves. 

“In Michaels playhouse, your old one. That's where she is right now. But I don’t have any more Information.” Lucifer snapped with his fingers. 

Chains appeared out of the ground pulling Lilith down a portal to God knows where. 

Lilith screamed at Lucifer, to let her go. She doesn't want to go there where these chains will drag her.

“We are leaving.” Lucifer muttered, patting the dust from him.

“Where to?” Charlie asked looking her father in his red eyes. 

“It’s time to bring Y/n back.”

Please be alright.

A/n: The Hazbin gang is on their way to Y/n. Let's hope they're not too late.

Thank you all for the Support Pookies<3

💫

Sadly couldn't Tag you

@ayanazoldyck @marydragneell @lunaryasha @cherry-cola-100 @lxkeee @latersgaters-steven @fandom-crashlanding @cupidsgift @steadyconnoisseurnacho @crimsonflameproxy @stormz369 @wooleypeaches @fukingsad @starlitvenus @avadakadabra93 @itzabbeym @asmodeussimpnumber1 @sirenetheblogger @k1y0yo @i-have-no-life-charlie @angelicwillows @0puddleofgender0 @fallenh34art @v3r41ynn @froggybich @pank0w

[kentosovertime]

(n.) a homesickness for a home to which you cannot return, a home which maybe never was; the nostalgia, the yearning, the grief for the lost places of your past

➳ reformed fuckboy!gojo x afab!reader - 3.8k

➳ a/n: just got done saying how fun it is to write gojo platonically but fuck that he's my little slut~

➳ cw: explicit content, explicit language, multiple sex scenes, choking, unprotected sex, longing, reader leaves gojo in the dust, one night stand or so he thinks, mentions of alcohol, snowed in trope

✨Masterlist | Tag List | Ask Box | Open Request Event | AO3 | Ko-Fi✨

“Do you want to get out of here?” The white haired sorcerer leans into your space where you’ve been nursing the drink he purchased for you, not wanting to seem too interested. 

Gojo Satoru, you hum to yourself in thought. Notorious fuck boy of the jujutsu world. There was a dark, predatory promise in his eyes and you knew that the scratch you came out to itch would be satisfied if you went home with him but… You were up for consideration of promotion from a Grade 1 sorcerer to a special grade. You didn’t want to ruin that or make it seem like you slept your way there, especially given how few obtain the title. 

“I don’t know…” You shoot him a sly smile, swirling the liquid around your glass. “Is it my turn in line now?”

“Come on, baby girl. It’s not like that.” His smile doesn’t drop as he gently grabs you by the wrist and lays a teasing kiss on your open palm. “I can’t help myself when I see a beautiful, strong woman who’s so pent up. You need to blow off steam.”

Goosebumps race up your arm where his lips brush against your palm again before nipping at your skin, sending the sensation straight to your core.

“What makes you my best option?” You lean forward, playfully trailing a finger down his black casual t-shirt before tossing your gaze over to Nanami sitting across the local bar. “Your light haired friend has been looking at me all night. Maybe I’ll go home with him instead.”

“Because…” He crowds into where you’re standing, making your face tip back to meet his gaze as he purrs down at you. “You’re not rubbing those lush thighs together with anyone here but me.” 

Your breathing stutters out as he leans forward and trails his nose up your neck, his heavy breaths panting against your sensitive skin. 

“I bet this is making your little cunt drip.” His touch meets the side of your breast, thumbing you through the fabric of your dress. “You can be greedy, baby. I won’t complain.” 

“F-fuck-” A whimper escapes your mouth despite your determination not to react. “You’re so crude.”

“I don’t hear you disagreeing with me.” He only grins wider when your words come out with no bite to them as you choke them out. You wish the rumors included that he was terrible in bed but that was never the case. 

“I’m not…” You chew on your cheek, making the worst decision of your life as you knock back your entire drink and meet his gaze directly. “Your place then?” 

Gojo’s eyes light up as he nods excitedly, half expecting to have to fight you further on this. 

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

A moan rips from his throat as you break from his lips to shove him to the surface of the bed, already flush with the multiple highs he pulled out of you by the time he shut the apartment door behind you. There was one in the cab ride home from his fingers and another in the elevator from his tongue alone. Your bare legs part as you straddle him, your pants lost somewhere in the journey to his bedroom.

“Sweetheart-” He hisses, his hips bucking as you take a hold of his slacks, unzipping them and shoving your hand into where there was a painfully obvious bulge. “Fuck, slow down. I want to take my time with you.” 

Your hand pumps the hard length of him, your thumb rubbing and paying attention to the tip that’s oozing globs of pre-cum as you settle yourself to hover over him, primed to sink down at a moment's notice. 

“I thought you brought me here to fuck me.” You smirk down at him, being your turn to gloat, basking in the impact you had on him. You circle your hips slowly, pushing just the tip of his cock into you, moaning softly as you chuckle at his low whine. “You should let me get on with it. Someone wanted me to be greedy.”

“Well yes, b-but- oh my fuck-” His head tilts back with a throaty moan as you suddenly sink down, taking his length in one motion before you’re grinding at a steady pace to build up your high as he grapples to hold onto your hips, his fingers digging into your skin, leaving crescent moons in their wake. 

“Shit, Sa-Satoru- Ah!” Your hands find their way to his chest, bracing yourself as you lean forward to bounce your hips to slide his glistening cock into your sensitive walls. A whimper escapes your lips each time he uses his grip to push you back down onto his cock harder, meeting your thrusts in the middle so you can feel the vibrations ricochet through your center, sending lightning up your spine. 

“Fuck, baby.” His muscles tense with the need to cum, but fuck he wants to enjoy this first. Your skin ripples with the squelching slaps that echo through the room as he braces his feet under him and fucks up into you hard, forcing his cock to bottom out each time. “You can hear your pussy sucking me deep.. B-bet it wants my cum… fuck.. I bet you want it more.”

“N-not yet.” You stammer breathlessly, your fingers dig helplessly into the pillow next to his head. “Want this to keep going.”

“Oh, really?” His hand flies out to grip you by the chin, to get your attention before he smacks your cheek and moves his free hand to smack your center harshly, pulling a rough scream from you that turns into a desperate sob as he continues the movement in his hips while zeroing in on your clit with terrible precision. “I say it's time to cum, baby girl… and make sure to scream my name when you do it. I want the neighbors to hear.”

“P-Please n-no-” You squirm wildly in his hold, as he grunts in frustration, ready to pin you to the bed to pull more out of you, overstimulating you as punishment. Your legs tremble, squeezing shut to prevent him from thrusting into you so harshly and he growls in need as he swaps your positions, holding you to the mattress by your neck and not missing a beat in his thrusting. 

“You think you’re the one in charge here?” He grits his teeth and doesn’t hold back as he brings you right to the edge, his fingers tightening as you get closer to make spot dance around your vision. “Fuckin’ give it to me baby. I want another one from you.”

“S-Satoru-!” Your hands claw at the wrist pinning your throat as a particularly hard thrust slams into you just right, making your vision go white. He watches with a satisfied grin as your eye rolls back and your breath stutters out in ragged whines as you soak his waist. 

“Nuh uh-” He grapples with your hips, pulling you back into him as he fucks you through your high, bullying himself past the vice grip of your cunt. “God you’re pussy so perfect for me. So f-fucking tight.. Where do you want it, baby girl? You gonna let me finish inside?” 

“Please-” Your voice cracks as you sob out for him needily, locking your legs around his waist so he’s forced to trade his long thrusts for a grinding motion. His pace stutters with a low whine before he slams himself into you one more time, burying himself deep as he shoots ropes of cum into you. 

You swear your ears are ringing with how long it's taking you to come down. What you don’t expect from him is how he gently rubs the side of your hip as he pulls out of you or how he removes your legs from around him before he dips down a leaves soft kisses on our inner leg before he disappears into a room attached to the bedroom. 

You start to shimmy yourself up, looking for where your clothing got thrown before he reappears with a hot washcloth. 

“Lay back down.” He grumbles with a slight pout, taking you by the leg to tip you back onto the mattress. You whimper out in embarrassment as he cleans your center and thighs and he simply chuckles at your distress. “Stop that… I can tell you’re about to pass out. Let me help before you go to sleep.”

You don’t have it in you to argue. You’re certainly not planning on staying here until the morning, but he doesn’t need to know that. 

You don’t argue when he picks you up bridal style to settle you in the soft array of his bed’s blankets. You find your eyes drooping almost immediately, drifting closed as you wrap your arms around a pillow that smells comfortingly like him.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Three years, four months, twenty-three days, and 13 hours since he woke up with you gone. Not that he was counting. 

That morning Gojo had woken up more satisfied than he had been in ages. His hand slid across his smooth sheets to wrap his arms around you and pull you to his chest only to come up empty. The purse he had set on the night stand with your clothing neatly folded next to it were gone from their place as well.

He frowns at the memory, expecting that you would have at least said goodbye. 

All this time must be penance for all of the women he had burned through and pushed out the door after their hookups. That was in the rare instance that he invited someone to his place, much preferring the ability to slip out someone’s front door in the dead of night like you had. Were the sheets that cold when the women had searched for him in the morning? 

Had it been hard for you? Did he make up how good that night was? He tortures himself by thinking about the what-ifs. He imagines that nothing like that has ever been difficult for you. You were so unashamed in taking what you wanted from him. In his deepest thoughts, he fantasizes you’re just as haunted by the memories you made that night and how perfectly your bodies fit together.

And later that day he thanks whatever higher power is out there when he receives a mission assignment for a special grade curse that had cropped up in Siberia and listed under his name was yours. 

He reminds himself of this joy as the two of you trudge through the snow of a blizzard after you had successfully landed a killing blow on the curse. They certainly got your promotion to a Special Grade correct.

On the way back down the mountain a snow storm had hit, leaving you stranded until the weather cleared.

“We should have asked the village for clearer directions back.” You snip at him, squinting against the onslaught of white in your vision. “Face it, we're lost.”

“I can teleport us…?” He suggests unhelpfully, happy to sit back and let your brain do its beautiful brain thing. 

“Not if you don’t know where we are first.” You sigh in exasperation. “Kill a special grade curse only to die from cold exposure. The higher ups certainly have a sense of humor.”

“What about that cabin?” He points over his shoulder to a mass he spotted in the snow, though he doubts you can see it without the Six Eyes.

He snatches your hand and pulls you along, not waiting for a response. He knows your shivering is starting to slow down which is never a good sign. 

“Oh thank fuck-” You groan and hurry inside as he hips the door open, quickly closing it to prevent the snow from entering the small space. 

You wrap your arms around yourself, rubbing your arms until they heat up enough to focus on the space around you. It was quaint, but fully stocked. The surface you were currently sitting on was a mattress covered in fur pelts and flannel blankets. It was shoved into the corner to make space for the wood stove that Gojo was currently crouching in front of, already getting the fire started.

“You’re g-g-good at that.” You shiver violently as you shed your soaked outer layer, trading it for one of the large flannel blankets. The second it's wrapped around you for cover you kick off your shoes and your pants, quickly pulling your legs underneath you so none of your skin is exposed to the air. 

“I think you give me too little credit in general.” He mumbles loud enough for you to catch it. 

You blink at him in shocked silence. Everything had been tense for your trip, the flight here was almost unbearable, let alone trekking through the snowy wilderness together. 

“You know…” He starts softly, tracking the sweat that drips down your neck as the hut quickly heats up. “Sometimes I’m convinced I hallucinated it all.” You don’t respond, but when he looks up, the flush on your cheeks is enough to confirm to him you’re thinking about the same thing. 

“I don’t think it was fair to leave like that…” He frowns, looking intently at his hands. “You didn’t even ask me what I wanted.”

“I know your reputation… this all seems a bit hypocritical if you ask me. You wanted to hookup and that’s fine. I wasn’t looking for anything-” You start before he cuts you off with a lost look.

“Maybe that’s how it started but… I was content to wake up with to you the next morning and you were gone before I could ask if you wanted to go out to breakfast.”

“I don’t know what to tell you…” You gulp, your heart hammering in your chest. You draw the blanket tighter around you, sweltering in the heat but needing the barrier between you and his blue gaze. 

Your cheeks only grow warmer at the memories of that night. How you would have loved to stay if he hadn’t been who he was. Not that he was Satoru Gojo, the strongest sorcerer in hundreds of years, but that he went through women like a child who grew tired of his new toys.

You had never begged a man for anything in your life and you had decided that the night with him would be no exception to your rule. Leaving the bed where he had passed out had been one of the hardest things you had done in your adult life. You’d rather fight a thousand curses than have to do it again, but life wasn’t always fair. 

“Tell me you felt something between us. Tell me it wasn’t just me who felt right being near you.” He stands suddenly, walking the short distance to stand in front of you, his eyes pleading. 

“I… I c-can’t. You’re not going to change who you are for me-” Your voice cracks, betraying the storm of emotions swirling within your soul. 

He moves closer to you, leaning over your frame far enough to force you to fall back against the mattress and planting his hands on either side of your head. 

“I would if you gave me the chance.” His eyes are serious and you find that the look is strange gracing his face. 

“You’ve said that to a dozen women, haven’t you?” You feel yourself starting to shake, wanting his words to be true but you’re not going to let him hurt you. “Including the ones after me.”

“Never.” His voice is steady, as serious as his gaze as his brow furrow. “There hasn’t been anyone else since, baby. Please.”

“It's been over three years. You really expect me to believe that?” Your chest rises and falls faster as your breath picks up, shifting the blanket to fall open, exposing your chest to the air. 

“No, I don’t expect that. But I could convince you it’s actually true.” He leans in further, ghosting his nose up your jaw as he breathes in your scent with a low groan. “You could let me show you what you’ve been missing out on all this time waiting… Please.”

A breath hitches in your throat as he nips at your earlobe, his heavy breath hitting your skin, pulling goosebumps down your spine. Your words fail you, but your body doesn’t, acting on autopilot to take what it wants. 

Your hands let go of the blanket entirely, letting the flannel open entirely to expose where you had stripped down to just your bra and panties while you grip the back of his neck, pulling his lips to yours. 

Gojo moans low in your mouth, climbing fully on the bed to crawl over your prone form. He braces himself with one hand and sinks the other into your hair, tugging your head back to get a better angle to deepen and slow the kiss. 

His pace is worlds different from your first night together. The grip his hands have on you is firmer, more purposeful. Despite the time you had spent apart, he wasn’t rushing this like one the quick fucks you thought he favored. When his tongue pushes past your lips, eliciting a whimper from your throat, he doesn’t greedily lap at you. He swirls his tongue with careful precision, savoring the taste of you. 

“Satoru-” You whine as he leaves open mouthed kisses down the column of your neck. How could you properly convey to him how you were burning alive with the need for him to give you just a little bit more? 

“So greedy.” He chuckles into your neck, calling back to when he told you to be greedy that first night. “But I wanna take my time with you after waiting so long.”  

Any response dies on your lips when he makes his way down to your bra, tugging it to the side enough for your breasts to pop out, immediately latching onto one while his hand kneads the one he’s neglecting. 

“N-Now you’re just teasing me, Satoru.” You huff out a moan, pressing your legs together as you feel him smirk against your skin; the little shit. “At least take these off…” 

He helps you strip him bare, tossing the shirt into a heap across the hut, quickly followed by his pants and boxers after he kicks off his boots. You take the opportunity to shed your bra and panties, leaving you as bare as he is. Needy hands search him out as soon as he joins you back on the mattress with a chuckle. 

“Ya know… a little please and thank you will get you a long way, baby girl.” Shivers wrack your body as he trails his tongue down your stomach to the apex of your thighs, using his fingers to spread your folds, exposing you to his gaze. 

Your body squirms at the light touch, screaming for more friction. 

“Please fuck me.” You bite out, knowing he’s not going to listen to your request.

“Nice try.” A playful laugh rips through him before he leans in and licks a large stripe up your center before expertly flicking his tongue against your clit, pulling a string of curse from you as your body jolts and your hands fly out to grab him by the hair at his scalp. “That’s it, grind this sopping little cunt against my face baby.” He growls before diving back in, sucking down on you hard the second he shoves three fingers into you without warning. 

“Oh my fucking-! S-Satoru- ah! Fucking shit, pl-please-” Fingers bully into you, past your fluttering walls to find the spongey spot inside where they hammer into you until your eyes cross and your ears start ringing. “Satoru- pl-please can I- can I cum please?” Maybe begging will get you what you want at this point. Maybe it will break him down enough so he’ll shove your cock inside of you. “Good fucking girl. Cum for me baby…  make a mess out of this face.” He purrs deep in his throat. The vibrations work through you until your muscles shake with the effort of tensing before they snap inwards, making your back arch off the worn mattress, a hoarse scream ripping its way through your throat before the aftershocks start working through your body. 

You’re so deep in a subspace that you don’t feel him unlatching himself after he licks your cum clean and he’s shoving his cock into you without preamble. 

“Mmmph-! Fuck!” A cry leaves your mouth as you claw at his lower stomach, leaving angry red welts in your wake as you try desperately to get him to slow down so you can breathe, but you already feel another high building. 

“Ahhh… Not too much for my baby now is it?” He goads you on, grabbing at your thighs to push your legs closer to your chest. “You take me like you were born for it. Bet you’re still desperate for my cum aren’t you?”

“Fuck, please.” You pant out, trying to catch your breath as his brutal thrusts knock the air out of you each time. “M-missed your cum, ‘Toru. W-want it all.”

“Then you better give me one more baby…” The thrusts don’t falter in pace as his hand sneaks between the two of you. His hand presses into your lower tummy and his thumb reaches to rub quick circles into your bundle of nerves until you're thrown over the edge for the last time. 

White, blinding light floods your vision as Gojo moans low and lets your cunt squeeze him, pulling him deeper as he presses as close so he can to explode inside of you. 

When you come to, you’re gathered in his arms, his hands grazing carefully across your face as he wipes the sweat that formed there, tucking your hair behind your ear with a soft smile gracing his features. 

“You’re even more beautiful than that first night.” He hums to himself. “I didn’t think it was possible, but you always have had a way of crashing into my life and breaking down my assumptions.” 

“I think it's my assumption you’re destroying…” You lean into his touch, soaking up the attention you never thought you’d receive. 

You both lay there, enjoying the quiet moment you’ve carved for yourself out of this mission by happenstance. You let the storm rage on around you, letting yourselves forget what lies outside these mountains.

tag list: @sugarbooger513 @sugarmapoops @roughwithfluff @severelytalentless @yelzoldyck @silversslut @aazaard @dreamyyholland @wobblewobble822 @vantastic210 @rafzaha @tirzamisu @chososhoney @littlemochi @bebechinas99 @firdaoz @saoney @meromelo @pelicanpizza @sukunassoulmate @damncakie @katgalle @honeyyjems [[ if your blog name is crossed out i couldn't tag you]]

[thewriterg]

𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐚𝐥𝐥

pairing(s): johnny cage x fem!reader, kenshi takahashi x fem!reader, johnny cage x reader x kenshi takahashi

summary: fall was your favorite season of the year and you had rubbed it off on them

word count: 1.1k+

warning(s): poly themes, angst, mentions of an unhealthy relationship, pet names, kissing, mentions of depression, and language

A/n: —GIFs; @mortal-kombat-1— so my stupid ass scheduled the post for the wrong day which is why it’s late :| but here you are

“ ‘Taka just left huh?” Johnny speaks aloud —even though it was more of a statement than a question— taking a seat next to you. Your smile invites him to inch closer, he’d brought your beloved picnic basket filled with your favorite goodies. It was strange how you all felt the lingering presence of one another… a shared uncanny skill shared across swordsman’s and sorcerer’s.

Your hum blended in with the whistling of the trees while the brunette began to unpack the multitudes of fruits and snacks you enjoyed. Not indulging too much you lie flat on your back, the Hollywood star following in suit. You gaze up into the blue grey hues of the sky that took place earlier in the day now that the leaves were changing and the air was crisper.

Johnny closed his eyes taking in a deep breath taking in the cool air; something you rubbed off on him during this time of the shifting season. He didn’t know how long he was there for, with his eyes closed and nose open. When he did open his gaze it was darker than it was before. The sun was setting and his body began to get indecently warm despite the nipping chill that took over the evening. The effects of the top shelf whiskey taking its toll on his worn body as he took his fill in a swig that was a second too long to be considered a swig. You whisper to him, simple and straightforward like you always were —it sounds like the rustling of leaves, still blending in with the sound of the trees— what plagues his mind?

“Just can’t remember how we got like this. I mean- holy fucking Christ, we were something” The swordsman just barely slurs, proof he was decently drunk. You learn to hold your liquor at a young age when you grow up in front of cameras and celebratory parties. He wishes it could go back to what it was, he wishes it could’ve happened before it did so he had more time.

ミ★ミ★ミ★

“I win, again.” Kenshi was getting used to his new blindfolded life and successfully mastering something new daily. It was the best feeling to watch him succeed.

“Well aren’t you two a sight?” You hummed gently and watched both of them perk up like puppies. Johnny jogs towards you and Kenshi takes his long strides across the room before you are engulfed in an embrace. You feel your feet lift off the ground and you can’t tell who’s lifting who but it was warm and it was them and that’s all that mattered.

Both men hugged you like they haven’t seen you for over a lifetime because that was honestly what it felt like. Three weeks. Three weeks you’d been gone on a mission accompanied by Bi-Han and Sub-Zero and the feeling of yearning was strong. Once your feet were back on the ground you just stared at them both, Johnny’s brown eyes and even blind Kenshi’s face ever so expressive stare back. There was something off about you… no sarcastic remark or the immediate action of ‘jumping in their bones’. They scratched that though, Kenshi reprimanded you a million times about returning to full health mentally and physically before you were intimate.

Your palms slipped onto the surface of their warm cheeks, your cold hands able to send a chill down spines. You lean into them, your head landing on their shoulders that were pressed against one another and you let your body weight fall into your knees instead of onto them. Which they let you know they didn’t appreciate by a disapproving grunt coming from the back of the throat, lowering you all to the dark gray marble tile floor of the Cage mini mansion.

They worry, questions, and concerns are flying all over your head in one ear and out the other. You're propped on both knees, your bottom situated on the back of the calves, and your spine bent forward. It's all too much to bear. The mission wracks your mind over and over and over like a scratched dvd skipping and repeating the same scene. Corrupted children, chaos magic, blood, fire, smoke, murderer, ‘I had to’.

I had to,

I had to.

I had to!

The men watch as your shoulders begin to shudder, racking your body in totality. Johnny froze; he's never seen or heard you cry before, Kenshi flexes his arms around you attempting to ground you before you can even attempt to float. The Hollywood star stares at the Taira clan leader while rubbing your back, bending to fold over you, as if he was trying to take the words that plagued your mind for you.

“Hana, you have to let us know what's wrong so we can help you.” (花/ flower)

“Please baby, anything.”

You simply couldn't let the words leave your lips, it was not their burden to bear and you would not continue to let them worry. Yet you could not say nothing, you knew them, you knew they wouldn't let it be no matter how much you swore it. You took a breath through your nose, let it escape from your mouth and just as quick as you started crying is how quickly you stopped. Small hiccups escape your throat and you swallow them down before anymore can escape.

“I just, I just missed you both. I thought I wouldn’t see you again.” You breathe out heavily through your mouth. It wasn’t necessarily a lie but it wasn’t the truth and if they don’t believe you they don’t say anything about it.

ミ★ミ★ミ★

“I-it wasn’t supposed to be you, dolly.” When he registers the first drop of warmth that makes it to his cheeks he struggles to stop the continuous flow. His hand clutches onto the pure white stone of your grave, his forehead leaning against your name. Life seemed so empty of everything, after your death Johnny and Kenshi tried to continue the relationship without you it’s what you would’ve wanted them to do. However, it simply just didn’t work. They loved each other, of course they did… but when such a drastic piece of the relationship was missing so suddenly, it took a toll on them. Arguing, coming in late, throwing things, after a while of denial they best though it be good to go their separate ways.

“This is your stupid season. Your stupid color changing leaves, your stupid cold nights, y-your stupid air. How am I supposed to live without you this fall?”

©2024 thewriterg spooktober do not copy, translate, or modify.

[psychedelic-ink]

𝐑𝐮𝐞𝐟𝐮𝐥 - 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐓𝐰𝐨 𝐨𝐟 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐲 𝐈𝐧 𝐁𝐞𝐝

pairing: pre outbreak!joel miller x f!reader, one sided tommy miller x f!reader

genre: angst, smut, romance, slow burn, mutual pining, secret relationship

series summary: After your grandfather’s passing, you find yourself moving into his home in Texas. You meet the Millers; Tommy, his older brother Joel and his daughter Sarah. With time, you and Tommy become close friends and Sarah visits you often. But Joel…Joel keeps his distance. The reason for this is due to one crucial fact you don’t know but he does; Tommy has a crush on you. Which means you’re off limits no matter what. But as your own feelings for Joel grow, things start to get more and more complicated.

word count: 3.4k

chapter summary: You have dinner with Joel and Sarah. Tommy has a preposition that starts the process of healing.

warnings: mostly fluff with a hint of hurt/comfort, mentions of grief

a/n: I should've just called this chapter "I wanna hangout with the millers" Also thank you to all who showed interest in the series, I'm really excited about this one 💜

Chapter One || Chapter Three

Joel sits at the head of the table. There’s a navy blue napkin between his fingers, his eyes continuously darting to the kitchen. The napkin is subjected to his fidgeting, twisted, tugged, and torn, the remnants scattering across the table like confetti. You can’t stop staring. Your own fingers, too, betray your nerves, as you nervously trace the contours of the fork, its smooth surface a pleasant chill against your burning fingertips. 

The only noise that occupies the silence is the clatter of dishes and the sizzling of meat. Your eyes move from Joel’s fingers to Sarah in the kitchen. Your gaze drifts from Joel's fingers to Sarah in the kitchen, where she hums a melody unknown to you, her head bobbing in time with the tune, her wild curls escaping the confines of her hair tie. She seems at peace. Which is in complete contrast to what you and Joel are feeling right now. 

It's a mystery to you, this strange dynamic between you and Joel. You're neighbors, you see his brother and daughter nearly every day, yet when the two of you are alone together, which is a rarity in itself, words seem to fail you both, as if they've become adversaries instead of a means of communication. It leaves you to question why it is that you both seem to struggle when in each other's presence.

Taking a deep breath, the lingering garlic and tomato scent filling your lungs, you call out to her, “Are you sure you don’t need any help?” 

“I’m sure,” she answers without looking up. “I’m almost done anyway. Just soaking the buns in the sauce,” 

Buns…in the sauce? 

When you turn to Joel, he’s already looking at you. His lips turn up, arms crossing over his broad chest. He beats you to it before you can voice out the question echoing in your head, “Don’t knock it till you try it.” 

The effect his voice has on you is instant. It’s playful, soft, a barely there cool wave of the sea. A ghost of a shiver licks your spine, forcing you to sit straighter. You both relax and tense that you’re finally talking. You swallow, look down at your plate, then wet your lips. 

“As long as there aren’t any mushrooms we’re good,” 

He cocks an eyebrow and scratches his beard, “Now, what kinda person doesn’t like mushrooms?” 

You blow a raspberry into the air which makes him grin. With a dramatic flail, you raise your hands to the air and tilt your head back. “Everywhere I go it’s the same. When will this judgment end?” You call out to an invisible god. 

Joel laughs. 

He laughs. 

And it feels so fucking good to hear the sound. You’re pretty sure this is the first time he openly laughed next to you. Not a polite giggle, or a stifled chuckle. But a full-on, chest-vibrating laugh. It feels good. Sure maybe you didn’t paint anything today, again, but you made the neighbor that you thought hated you laugh. If that isn’t a win you don’t know what is. Your own smile blossoms on your lips. It’s a small one. However, you think it sends the point across that you’re happy to be here. 

His hands fall to his thighs, hidden underneath the tablecloth. “Maybe me and Tommy can change your mind. Our grilled mushrooms are to die for,” 

“Good luck with that,” you tease. “I’ve been hating them since the day I was born,” 

As soon as you finish, Sarah places a large plate of burgers down the middle. They aren’t really big, maybe a bit bigger than your hand. Just like Sarah said, they’re covered in sauce. But the smell is to die for; meaty, garlicky with a hint of spice. She plops down to the spot right across from you.

“Hating what?” she asks as Joel reaches out and places two burgers on her plate then two on yours. He takes four. “Because if it’s fish I agree,” 

“Fish?” you balk at her. “You don’t like fish?” 

Joel snorts, “Don’t act like her’s is sacrilegious when you don’t like mushrooms,” 

Sarah’s eyes go wide, eyebrows reaching all the way to her hairline, “You don’t like mushrooms?” 

“Okay, I did not come here to be judged for my food dislikes,” you silence them both with a light-hearted click of your tongue. Father and daughter look at each other, smiling. “So what are we eating?” 

“Wet burgers,” Sarah perks with excitement. “The buns are dipped in a garlicky tomato sauce and there’s just a beef patty in the middle. They’re really good.” 

Joel nods and picks up a burger with one hand. He addresses you without looking, “I wasn’t sure about it either, but the darn things actually taste decent,” 

“You should never doubt my cooking skills,” Sarah answers and stick her tongue out. You let out a hushed giggle. 

“Darlin’ I pick out eggshells from my breakfast every mornin’” 

“The eggs you buy are faulty.” 

“You guys should join me for breakfast,” you cut in, raising the burger to your lips. Red sauce stains your fingers tips. “I make some mean chocolate chip pancakes,” 

You don’t look, but you feel Joel’s eyes on you. The small hairs scattered over your arms raise, heat building under your skin. Ignoring it, you take a big bite of your burger. 

You’re mad that it tastes so good—good enough that you moan, very loudly, and follow it up with another bite without even properly swallowing the first. 

“Told you,” Joel grunts. 

Sarah’s eyes sparkle. It’s such a beautiful display of emotion. The eyebrows move first, lifting at the same time her lips start to stretch from side to side. The happiness always hits the eyes last. It’s also the place where emotion lingers the most. Long after it drains away from the rest of the features. 

The happiness that Sarah feels is so vivid there that it almost sparks something within you. A faint image of a girl appears in your mind. A girl similar to Sarah sitting in front of a window closed in with climbing roses, only bits of light shining over her skin—

The image fades as quickly as it appeared. You chew thoughtfully, a sting settling behind your eyelids. 

“You like it?” she asks. You nod and she turns to Joel with a smug grin. “See, people like what I cook. I should be a chef,” 

“I never said the burgers taste bad.” 

You chuckle, taking another bite. 

“Cut the girl some slack. It’s harder to function in the mornings.” 

Despite your protests, Joel is set on walking you home. 

You tell him that it’s only two steps away, he doesn’t listen and shakes his head, “If it’s such a short distance it shouldn’t be a problem to walk it with you.” 

You’re holding the doggy bag Sarah prepared for you. It rustles in the wind, the burgers still radiating a bit of heat, it makes your skin come alive where it brushes against. The pleasant conversation that seemed to flow effortlessly with Sarah present is nowhere to be found. You dared to open your mouth a total of two times but not a single syllable followed through. 

So instead of forcing it, you focus on the pleasant ambiance; the soft wind that feels like velvet on your skin, the soft blades of grass that tickle your bare ankles, and the moon that pours from the heavens. All of it combined to form the perfect night. 

You cheat a glance at Joel, his hands are in his pockets, one cheek hallowed out, a clear sign that he’s gnawing at it from the inside. He’s a perfect canvas for the raining moonlight. Dark hair, dark eyebrows, dark eyes. His skin glows in a hue that you can only describe as angelic, the fading scars more vivid in color. 

You stare longer than you realize. He steals a glance and clears his throat. 

You notice that he’d stopped walking, and your body had too, just by instinct. 

“We’re here,” he says, voice thick with an emotion you can’t place. 

“So we are,” you answer dumbly, forcing your eyes to move to the door. Recollection hits when you see the two chairs on the porch. You turn back to Joel. “Do you want to sit with me for a while?” 

He blinks, brows pinching together in confusion. “Is something wrong?” 

“Oh no, sorry I should’ve made that clear. I just remembered that when I first moved in I asked if I could ask you questions about my grandfather then never did,” your eyes drop to the ground. Your chest feels tight and uncomfortable. “I guess I never had the chance to ask you before. But we don’t have to now.” 

Joel isn’t the type of man to feel regret. But he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t feeling it right this second. 

His hand touches your shoulder. A brush of fingertips that takes you by surprise and makes you flinch. Joel recoils quickly, fingers curling into his palm as he pulls away. 

“We can sit,” he says. “I have time.” 

You observe the stars and the moon. Something you used to do frequently with your grandfather whenever you stayed over. 

Something must be wrong with you because you don't remember the last time. 

You take a series of deep breaths. Collecting your thoughts and preparing yourself to ask Joel what you wanted to ask. You know what your first question is going to be. It scares you to actually go through with it. The minutes tick by. The night grows darker, the stars brighter. But he doesn’t rush you. He doesn’t say a word. He looks up to the sky with you, dark brown flicking from star to star. When you look at him you can see the sky directly reflected in his eyes. Your breath catches in your throat. 

“Was he happy?” you finally ask. Your voice sounds scratchy to your own ears. Joel leans back into his chair, fingertips digging into his palm enough so that he feels the sting of blunt nails. He swallows thickly before turning to you. 

“He was,” he answers. “He talked an awful lot about you and your brother. He was proud of you,” 

You laugh at that, it’s a sudden voice that booms from your chest. Unexpected, and jarring in the silence of the night, “Not so much my brother?” 

“Let’s say he ain’t a fan of the choices he made. Not a fan of the military that one,” a small smile peeks underneath his mustache. “He did still love him though. You can tell him that if he asks,” 

You nod, eyes once again tracing over every star in the sky, “Noted.” 

Comfortable silence envelopes you both. Joel makes no move to get up and return home. His words had doused the fear that lingered deep in your heart. 

He was happy. In his last days, he was still talking, complaining about your brother, and saying that he was proud of you. You’re sure you have more questions but all of them seem to slip your mind for now. He was happy. That’s all you need to know. 

“Hey,” you hear him call out, voice a rough whisper. “Are you okay?” 

Without looking away from the sky, you raise your hand to your face, fingertips touching the wet streaks going down your cheeks. Your hand drops to your mouth, the salt stings your chapped lips. You close your eyes and take deep breaths. You should be done crying.

But then why is your throat swelling? The simple act of breathing becomes harder and harder. 

When you open your eyes he’s there, kneeling, one leg tucked under him with the other firm on the ground. His fingers brush a line down your forearms, goosebumps rising in their wake. 

“Do you need me to get you anything?” he asks, his eyes looking rounder than ever. “We can talk about it if you need to darlin’. All I want you to do is say something to me so you calm down okay?” 

You nod, and his fingers tighten around your wrist, “Words. Please.” 

“I’m—I’m good,” your voice sounds like it belongs to someone else. You wet your lips and try again. “I’m good. Sorry, I was actually happy. I don’t know what came over me,” 

“You’re still grievin’. And I doubt anyone with a heart would expect you to apologize for that. Do you need anythin’?” 

You shake your head and Joel stands up, the warmth of his hand going away with him. There’s a brief pause where you don’t know what to do. Your eyes are still wet. Chest tight. You follow the way he moves; taking a step back and rubbing the corner of his jaw with the pad of his thumb. The sudden mood change disorientates you. He’s anxious. The hand that touched you, twitching like it’s been burned. 

“I think you need some sleep,” he says, taking a step down backward. “If anythin’ happens call me—or Tommy,” 

Tommy. 

The uttered name feels like a slap to the face, a rekindling of a feeling that makes you feel small. A complete mess. 

Of course, Joel doesn’t want to deal with all your shit. He’s just being nice that’s all. He already has his fair share of baggage, he doesn’t need yours to stack over it as well. You understand. And to a degree you’re grateful. It had been a lovely evening, one that would make you smile upon remembering. In the end, he’s giving you the comfort of knowing that you can call him—as a last resort. 

Standing up, you smile. He’s about to hug you good night, you can tell by the way his body leans forward, arms starting to stretch from both sides. But you stop him by extending a quick hand.

“Goodnight,” you say. His eyes drop to your hand, confusion stirs in his eyes. A soft sigh part his lips and he closes his eyes, taking your hand into his. 

“Goodnight, neighbor.” 

You stand behind the counter, wiping down the counters with a damp rag as the last of the customers filter out of the shop. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee lingers in the air, mixing with the scent of baked goods from earlier in the day.

Beside you, Olivia moves with an easy grace as she washes the final dishes of the night. Her hair, thinly braided and made into two separate low ponytails, falls in loose waves around her shoulders. Her dark skin glows in the dim light of the shop, and her hazel eyes sparkle with amusement as she catches your eye. 

“You have someone waiting for you,” 

Your brows furrow as you follow her gaze. There’s a matte grey truck out and inside you see Tommy, thumbs impatiently drumming against the steering wheel. You hold your gaze, he peers inside the coffee shop, he waves and you wave back, then you hold one finger up signaling him that he’ll have to wait a bit. 

“You should go,” Olivia says. “I’ll close up,” 

You raise an eyebrow, not really willing to leave your only friend alone to clean up after you, “You sure?” 

“Yeah yeah,” he waves you off, glossy lips stretching into a full grin. “Tell your boyfriend I say hi,” 

“Liv…he’s not my boyfriend,” you shake your head but you’re smiling. “He’s a friend. A good one,” 

Olivia pouts and you let out a laugh as you untie your apron. “Why not? He’s cute,” 

“I didn’t say he wasn’t—Also we’re still on for Saturday right?” 

“You know it, babe.” 

You head to the back of the shop to grab your bag. As you sling it over your shoulder, you make your way back to the front of the shop and bid Olivia farewell. Tomorrow is your day off so you’ll be seeing her Saturday. She waves to you and Tommy, who—in a state of slight confusion—waves back. 

Outside, the warmth of the night envelops you, and you can feel sweat beads starting to form on your skin. You make your way over to Tommy's truck and he greets you with a grin as he leans over and opens the door for you.

“How was your day?” he asks, turning the key and filling the inside with a familiar hum. “I’ll save you the trouble of asking mine; It was shit and I don’t wanna talk about it. I just need food—you good for some fried chicken?” 

“If you wanted me not to ask about it you shouldn’t have phrased it like that,” you grin, playfully punching his shoulder. “So what happened?”

Tommy sighs. He flattens his palm against the steering wheel and makes a turn. “Let’s just say that I fell into some very questionable fluids and Joel has pictures,” before you can say anything he adds. “Chicken?” 

“Chicken sounds good,” you grin, turning your eyes ahead. “And I can’t wait to see those pictures,” 

“Please don’t.”

You notice that something is off by the way Tommy’s fingers curl around the steering wheel. The truck shakes as you wait at a red light. Your eyes are fixated on it, burning your irises. “Are you okay?” he blurts, prompting you to pull away from the red light. A circle of blue forms right in the middle of your eyes. 

“What do you mean?” 

“Joel said that you cried last night. I probably shouldn’t say anythin’ but he mentioned it to me in good faith. And I’m worried,”

You internally coil into yourself. Your stomach rolls, hands on your lap forming tight fists. “You don’t need to be—” 

The truck starts to move again and he raises a hand, silencing you. “I’m just tryin’ to say I might have an idea that might help. If you’re willing,” 

“And what’s that?” you hate how closed off you sound but you can’t help it. 

“You need to change the house up a bit,” he answers, he’s talking like he always does but for some reason it feels like he’s mocking you instead. “And I know that’s hard to hear, so, how about we start from a room? Just one room that’s all yours, new paint, new furniture, new things. I’ll help you build it,” 

“I don’t want to trouble you,” 

“If it was gonna be trouble I wouldn’t have offered it,” he scoffs, his eyes flitting between you and the road. “I’m off tomorrow so I can come by then. Sounds good?” 

A soft smile breaches your lips, “Sounds great.” 

Joel can’t stop thinking about her. 

Her smile, her laughter. The feel of her skin under his fingertips. The way she looked at the stars. How the night sky came alive in her eyes. None of it he can ever forget. Her voice cracked when she spoke, her eyes sparkled under the white moon. It all felt like a movie to him. The tears. The heavy breathing. He calmed her down. She actually listened and allowed him to help. 

His life wasn’t a movie though. Some stories didn’t have a happy ending—Some relationships are never meant to last— not even begin. His happy ending was Sarah. The moment she was born his life became a bright light that continuously blinds him. 

She’ll have her happy ending too. Just not with him. Someone else, maybe his brother. At least he would still have you close then. He could still see you. 

He wanted to hug her. Wrap his arms around her as an unrealistic promise to never let  go. But she didn’t want that. He blamed the fact that she was still emotional, too raw to be touched. Some part of him wanted to believe that. He didn’t want to feel hurt by the offered handshake. 

Joel swallows down the disappointment. A thick knot in his throat. He grabs his jacket. He’s about to leave and invite her over for dinner again when he hears Tommy’s truck pulling in. 

He really shouldn’t but he goes to look out the window. She jumps out of the truck, almost tripping. Tommy’s laughter follows and he offers her his arm. She takes it, the two of them walking to the door. The sight angers him but he’s not sure why. A warm, boiling feeling rolling in his gut. It makes him feel dirty almost. As if he’d betrayed his brother. He hasn’t. 

He wouldn’t. 

Joel feels helpless as he hangs his coat back, heading to the living room. He falls to the couch, a heave to his chest. 

Joel needs to stop thinking about her. 

[junkissed]

just thinking about Vernon fingering y/n with his cold metal rings 😵

member | vernon x fem reader word count | 900 warnings | fingering (with rings), temperature play, edging kinda, vernon is very much taking his time and enjoying this notes | vernonrot bad today wowie 😓 also idk why my brain decided this was gonna be blondenon skjdgfhs but i'm not complaining. tagging @aceofvernons hehe enjoy beloved :)

“fuck, nonnie, that’s cold!” you gasp, squirming under your boyfriend’s touch. 

vernon just grins in response. his hands roam your body, your skin erupting with goosebumps everywhere that the ice-cold metal of his rings touches. he drags his fingers up to your breasts, drawing circles around your nipples with his rings as you whine out his name, your nipples hardening from the sudden chill.

it feels like your skin is on fire; the only relief is the cool touches of his fingertips ghosting over your body.

his hand skims over your stomach and instinctively you arch your back, pushing into him. he leans back on his heels, his hands sliding lower and lower as he leaves a trail of soft, light kisses down your chest. 

finally his hands come to a stop at your hips as he holds onto you tighter, moving you into the position he wants you. his rings dig into your skin, but the feeling of the cold metal pressing into you sends a shiver of pleasure down your spine.

you can’t help but whine in impatience when he lets go of you, returning to tracing his fingers over your thighs, so gentle you can almost barely feel it, if it weren’t for how cold his hands are.

“vernon, please,” you groan, pleading for more.

he doesn’t reply, but he obliges you, fingertips dragging closer and closer to the burning heat between your legs where you so desperately need him.

he plants one hand firmly on your thigh, holding you open as his other hand begins to trace large circles around your pussy, not touching you just yet: so close, but still so far.

you shudder, spreading your legs even wider, trying to encourage him to do what you want.

but he won’t give in just yet.

“what is it you want, baby?” he asks, voice gravelly as he stares down at you, his normally soft brown eyes now darkened with lust.

you throw your head back against the bed. “please, touch me.”

he grins, moving his hands to drag up and down your thighs, his fingernails just barely scratching against the surface of your skin; not enough to hurt, but enough for you to feel.

you moan and his hands move to your inner thighs. you consider reaching down and using your own fingers, but the way he’s so carefully building you up is better than anything you could do to yourself, and you know whatever he decides to do to you afterwards is more than worth the wait.

another garbled cry of “please” and finally, finally vernon puts his hand right up against your cunt. a mixture of sighs of relief and groans of pleasure escape you as his fingers delicately part your folds, the sudden cool air on your hole making you shiver.

he pushes the tip of his index finger into you up to his first knuckle and immediately you clench around him, already so sensitive even without anything substantial yet. slowly he pulls his finger out before pushing it back in, going even deeper in you. soon his entire finger is inside you, your walls spasming around the digit as he leisurely begins to curl his finger.

just when you’re starting to adjust to the feeling of his long, thick fingers inside of you, without warning he slips in a second finger, this one covered in rings.

you bite back a moan as you feel the smooth metal press against your folds, your thighs automatically squeezing shut around his arm. but he easily pries them apart again, pushing his weight on one of your legs to hold you into the bed as his hand begins to speed up, working you open with his skilled fingers.

with each movement of his hand his fingers push deeper into you, until you feel him add a third finger, even more rings now rubbing against your folds. the coolness of the metal is an almost soothing feeling against the heat of your pulsing cunt, and the mixture of sensations has you moaning his name without thinking, already so lost in his touch that you can only manage to babble out a stream of moans and curses.

he tilts his hand upwards, his rings aligning perfectly with your clit so you feel each thrust both inside and out, rubbing at the perfect angle that has you trembling in his grasp.

you feel your orgasm starting to approach, building quickly with each drag of his rings against your nerves. but vernon must feel you getting close, must feel you clenching around him harder than before, because right before the tension in your core is about to snap, his fingers slow down their pace, your orgasm falling away in a matter of seconds. you cry out in frustration at the loss, whining and begging and pleading for him to give you relief, to let you finish what he started and make a mess all over his beautiful hands.

but to your dismay he pulls his fingers out of you completely, holding his hand up for you to see how they’re covered in your juices. his rings are smeared with the clear liquid, glistening in the light, and you moan at the sight, embarrassed but also more turned on than you’ve ever been.

vernon grins, leaning forward to run the tip of his finger along your lips, and your mouth falls open, knowing what he wants before he even says it. 

“now, be good and suck them clean, and then i’ll let you cum.”

i hope you enjoyed this!! if you did, consider reblogging or leaving a comment or an ask :) it lets me know this is something people want to see more of and it helps a ton with being motivated to write. thanks for reading!!

drabble taglist | @wonderfulshinee @noniestars @onlymingyus @just-here-to-read-01 @floweryjessy @darlingvernon @wonuziex @enhacolor

if you’d like to update your taglist preferences to add or remove yourself from my “short drabbles” taglist, you can fill out my form here: join my taglist here!

[tillthelandslide]

Insufferable Arsehole - Part 6: Inside Your Mind

A/n: Hi everyone :) just want to say thank you to everyone has read this series so far, the support means so much to me and its mad to think some of my fave writers on here think this series is good! crazy to me but thank you thank you thank you!

Hope you like this chapter :)

warnings: smut, mentions of drug abuse, addiction and rehab

over 5k words

Series Masterlist

Part 5

Their lips were on each other's again the moment they were in the hotel room, the drive to this particular hotel had been torture. She had been teasing him from the moment they got in the car, allowing her thighs to spread, dangerously close to flashing all of the boys in the back of the car. The usual tour bus wasn't needed for this seemingly short journey (one which felt far too long with how badly he wanted her)

Her lip was being abused by her teeth and he could see her nipples pressed against the "I hate Matty Healy" shirt she was wearing.

The boys kept teasing him too, commenting on the fact he seemed distracted by something. He was very much distracted: by the tanned flesh of her thighs, by the visible bruises scattered across her neck (of which he just needed to attach his mouth and maybe teeth too, darkening them further), by the fact that her underwear was stuffed into his back pocket, by her lips which were just begging to be kissed and sucked; by everything that was her.

But now they didn't have to hold back, they could simply show one another how badly they wanted each other.

"We should probably have those drinks with the boys like we said" she said as his lips drifted along her neck, down to her chest, pressing against her collar bones. The t-shirt she had been wearing had been thrown across the room as soon as they entered the threshold, as were his trousers, shirt and her skirt. She knew she didn't really mean her words but wanted to see what he said.

"They can wait, let me have you to myself for a bit" he says, lips not moving from her chest. He pulls against her bra, revealing the swell of her right breast.

"Fuck how are you so perfect. God I don't deserve you" he says, lips wrapping around her nipple, her hands fly to his hair as her head snaps back and she moans loudly.

"Can't believe I haven't seen all of you yet. Doesn't seem fair does it love?" He asks and she doesn't even know what he's saying, not really, but she's nodding against him. Now she thinks about it, whenever they've done stuff before, either one of them had been partly clothed, the thought of being completely bare in front of him has her feeling a bit nervous.

As if he could read her mind, his lips stop their ministrations as he looks her deeply in the eyes.

"You're so beautiful love. Unbelievably so. I'm the luckiest, you know that right?" He asks as he takes her hands in his, pressing kisses along each of her knuckles, it was sweet, a clear change from how they were acting earlier.

"And we don't have to do anything okay? Not if you don't want to. I'm just happy to have you here with me. But if you want to go join the guys that's fine" he explains as she pulls him into her for a soft kiss. She was growing to like this side of him, a side she was just learning about, one in which they had barely scratched the surface of.

"I want to, I want you" she says against his mouth, he doesn't speed up his movements, he simply holds her against him, his grasp firm but not harsh. His lips move softly against hers, tongue making languid movements against her own.

He slowly moves them to the bed, hands supporting her back as she fell against it with a soft thump. She knows now this was going to be different from before. And she felt anxious at the thought but was also excited to see a different side to Matty .

"Matty" she says, her voice hesitant.

"Tell me what's on your mind" he says softly, lips wandering to her neck where more soft kisses were placed. Her own hands ran down his bare back, over the muscles, sketching him out like a map, trying to memorise every curve, every bump and vein.

"I'm scared" she admits, her voice quiet. She didn't struggle to be sincere quite as much as Matty, but she always worried that her words (no matter how sincere) would be rejected, or laughed at, or worse denied.

"What are you scared of my love?" He asked. Her heart fluttered at the words "my" and she pulled him away from her neck to look at him. She didn't know whether to tell him the truth: tell him she was scared of all the feelings she was feeling, how quickly she was falling for him, how he didn't even have to say he was sorry anymore because she forgave him the minute he told her his true feelings. She didn't speak and he simply pressed another gentle kiss to her lips, trying to draw the words out of her.

"Nevermind, I'm being silly" she says and his eyebrows furrow.

"Don't do that love, don't push me away. Wish I could be in your mind right now, hear what you hear, all your thoughts and feelings" he says, lips pressing against her cheek.

"That's what scares me" she whispers, fingertips drifting along his skin, not managing to find his eyes, afraid she'll spill every single thought that was bouncing around her mind.

"What love?" His fingers find her chin, slowly lifting it so they're looking at each other again.

"Think you already know all that.... You seem to know what I'm thinking without me telling you" she says and he nods, because he felt like it was true.

"Truth is love. I hardly know you, not in the way I want to. Want to know everything there is to know, all your secrets, all the things you've never told anyone before.... Not G, not Ross... No one" he admits and her heart swells at the idea.

"I'd like that" she smiles up at him and he places another kiss on her lips.

The moment where they so desperately wanted each other seems to have passed, now replaced by one which was more special. One where they wanted to talk, about everything, and so they did, some things he already knew, things he had memorised during the time in which they 'hated each other'.

Like her coffee order, her favourite colour, her favourite flowers, her birthday, all sorts. She was surprised he remembered half of it, but the fact he had made her realise how much he truly did like her.

Matty told her everything she wanted to know too, like his favourite books, his favourite songs, stories about his childhood that she didn't get to witness. Some things he struggled to say but wanted to, like his experience with drugs and addiction.

"What's your favorite song?" He asked, something he was uncertain whether he knew.

"Hmm... Good question, what genre?" She asks making him laugh.

"Probably... Something by Fleetwood Mac. Hard to pick which, maybe Storms, Silver Springs, or Landslide" she explains and he smiles down at her. He notes in his head that they're pretty sad songs, songs about unrequited love. He wonders if that's the only love she knows, a question for another day he thinks.

"Wanna know my favourite song of yours?" She asks, hands pressing against his chest to properly look at him.

His nodding down at her, fingertips drifting along her back, the skin was warm under his touch. She had never spoken about their music to him and he was excited to know what she thought, having spent years writing songs and wanting nothing more than to pick her mind about them.

"Inside Your Mind" she asks and he smiles, a hidden meaning behind his smile.

"Oh yeah? Why's that?" He asks, he couldn't wait to tell her the true meaning of the song.

"Think it's a beautiful song... Remember the day G showed it to me... Couldn't believe how beautiful it was... Remember thinking I wish someone wrote such beautiful things about me" she admits and his smile stretches wider.

"What?" She asks, wondering why he's smiling at her the way he is.

"I wrote it about you" he admits. Her breath catches and she pauses, eyes drifting over his features to see if he was taking the piss.

"What do you mean you wrote it about me?" She asks, shoving him slightly, testing whether he was being earnest.

"I wrote it about you... Remember the summer before the album was released? We spent most of the summer together... Well you with the boys more than me" he says and her mind flicks back to the memory.

George had begged her to go on holiday with them, it was one of the only times their busy schedules lined up. She remembers agreeing despite knowing Matty was going to be there. She was having a difficult time with a relationship and she wanted nothing more than to be with her best friends.

"We seemed to avoid each other the whole holiday though" she says and he smiles at the memory.

"You avoided me... I was watching your every move love. I remember it was one of the first times I really got to see you... Without all the arguing because we hardly spoke..." He admits, she allows him to just speak, not interrupting him.

"There was this one night... Don't know if you'd remember, you were quite drunk... To be fair I was high as a kite too... I remember all of it though" he laughs at the memory. She listens intently wanting to know what he's about to say.

"We were all sitting out on the patio of that house, remember the huge pool? You had your feet in the water and I remember wanting nothing more than to just go up to you and just talk, without all the arguing" she nods at this, she thinks she would've liked that.

"Anyway... You came and sat with us and we were drinking and we were all talking, it was the first time we actually properly spoke without being mean to each other. Remember you like... Squeezed in-between George and me and I was shocked I had you that close" she remembers it now and she can't help but smile at the huge smile that rests on his lips as he tells the story.

"think I remember you were particularly bearable that day so I was nice to you... Also I was high too" she smirks and he chuckles at her, pressing a kiss to her head.

"We all drank way too much and Hann forced G and Ross to go to bed, you didn't want to so you stayed" he says, she doesn't remember any of this and she feels bad.

"I thought you were going to leave because it was just us... But we spoke for quite a while" he says.

"About what?" She asks, genuinely curious as to what they would've spoken about back then.

"About all sorts: your tour, our tour, you told me about this coffee place you had found in New York, told me to visit it, you told me about some douche you were seeing at the time" she groans at the last part making him chuckle

"... And then you fell asleep on me... And I didn't wake you up because I just wanted to have you there forever" he admits and her eyes soften as she looks into them.

"I eventually took you up to your room and then wrote that song... That whole holiday I was trying to memorise everything about you, just in case I never got to see it again" he admits.

"It was the November after that holiday you-?" She goes to ask, stopping her words completely worried she was pressing on something he didn't want to talk about.

He knows what she's saying even though she doesn't say it and he nods, grasping her hand, placing a gentle kiss to the back of it, letting her know it was okay to talk about.

"Can I admit something to you? Without you... Despising me for it.." he asks and she nods.

"That summer... It made me realise how much I had fucked up... I knew I could've had you the way that the guys had you, if I was honest with you from the start... The idea of never having you kind of broke me" he admits, she frowns and she feels her heart hurt at his words.

"I always hoped that one day it would all fall into place. But you went on tour after that and I dunno... I missed you even though... Even though I didn't have you. And I kind of just... Broke" he admits, she frowns up at him. She felt like it was her fault and he's quickly pressing a firm kiss to her lips as he sees her features fall.

"Baby you had nothing to do with it. It was me... Me being stupid and selfish and getting myself into this fucking pit of misery... There was other stuff too, don't want you thinking it was all about you because it wasn't. I got to this point in my life where... I didn't like the person I saw in the mirror, the douche that had fucked up his life... And using, it just made all that go away" he says and she nods, still feeling awful for his confession. She appreciates him being honest and that overshadows his confession.

"In rehab... I kind of realised that I can either pine over you for the rest of my life... Or I can do something about it. Kind of had that realisation about a lot of things in my life. I just knew I had to fix my life and myself otherwise I risked losing all of you"

"Matty" she says softly, leaning forward to press her lips to his. Her eyes were tearing up now, and he felt a tear drop to his cheek making him pull away.

"Why are you crying love?" He asks, pulling her tightly into her chest. She knew now she didn't need to be scared about anything, he was her person. He always had been.

"I just know now. I know how you feel about me. You don't need to prove anything Matty... That- that song, that story, it's everything I need to know" she says, pushing herself away from his embrace to look at him.

"Would you be mad if I said I wanted to prove it?" He says making her laugh.

"Of course not" she says, pulling him into a hug now. In fact she loves that he still does, he could easily settle now, accept the fact that she had forgiven him but he still wanted to prove how much he cared and that was the sweetest thing.

"Thank you" she murmurs against his neck.

"Thank you for what sweetheart?" He says.

"For telling me all that" she says, she knows it isn't easy for him to be like this with people and she's so thankful she is the one he's choosing to be like this with.

"One sec" he says, going to his bag to get something, whatever is, is being clutched in a tight grip in his hand and he hesitates as he puts it into hers, clasping his hands around hers, not letting her see it yet.

"I bought you something on that holiday... I knew... Well no: I hoped, that one day I'd be giving it to you, and have carried it everywhere with me since then... Just in case I needed it" he says, removing his hand, allowing her to open her hands, revealing a gold necklace, attached to the chain was a pendant, a small letter "M".

"Matty..." she says, voice trailing off as she looked at the piece of jewelery. "It's beautiful"

"You don't have to wear it... Not yet. Not if you don't want to" he says and her eyes find his.

"just promise me something yeah?" He says.

"Anything" she nods.

"Promise me you'll wear that when you're mine. When I've proven to you how sorry I am, how I truly feel" he says and she thinks he's already proven all of that, not that she lets him know that just yet.

"I promise" she says, pulling him into another tight hug.

"Let's go join the boys yeah?" He asks and she nods, not before pressing a firm kiss to his lips. He watches her as he leaves the bed, begging her to stay there for a second whilst he grabs his phone, snapping a quick photo of her, she looked so cool, clad only in her underwear, tattoos on display, tanned skin almost tempting him again.

"You're so beautiful love, could look at you all day" he says, palms flat against the bed as he lowers his mouth to hers quickly before they finally dress and join the boys.

----------------------------------------------------------

Two weeks later the band are all sitting around this huge room at one of the venues. The past two weeks have been absolute bliss, it somehow felt that they had all grown closer, they all spent every waking movement with each other, never tiring of each other. You'd think spending 5 weeks with each other, 35 whole days, would make them sick of each other, but she loved the time she spent with every single one of them.

Matty and Lou had almost been in their own little love bubble, every day Matty did something to prove how sorry he was for treating her so badly for so many years. He made her a coffee every morning, sung songs to her when they were alone, scattered loving kisses to every inch of her body he could find. Sometimes in the middle of the night when they should've been sleeping, he would tell her a story, a small fact about the old days, that just proved that he really didn't hate her after all.

The band were now scattered about the room on various sofas. Matty sits on a round leather chair, it almost swallows him, makes him look tiny in comparison.

Ross is sprawled out on the ground next to him, his legs extending in front of him as one arm rests under his head. Matty laughs at how ridiculous he looks, his head resting near Matty's calves as the two spoke, Ross's voice slightly distorted from lying upside down.

The sound catches the attention of Lou, they share a look briefly before she continues talking to George , the two laughing with each other, G's arms wrapped tightly around her shoulders, the two spending some much needed time with each other (especially considering Charli had left to do her own shows) but the sight made Matty's heart swell.

"I've never seen you so happy mate" Ross says from below him, making Matty turn his attention to the lanky lad laid beneath him. The tall man turns on his stomach, looking up at him the right way round now.

"It's good mate" he then says. Matty nods, his eye wandering over to her again. He almost draws her in his mind: laughing uncontrollably with his best mate, tears coating her cheeks, a huge smile resting against her lips, those lips that he can never get enough of. Her hair is up in a ponytail, carelessly showing the bruises scattered around her neck.

"She's just the best" Matty says and Ross nods.

"She is. Thanks for that, glad you plucked your ideas up, glad we didn't lose her in the end " Ross says and Matty smiles at him "one of us forever now".

Matty nods "yeah" he has half a mind to ask her to get the 1975 box tattooed, she was part of the band after all, but she was also so much more than that.

A little while later, Ross has moved from the floor, now mucking around with Hann and George.

Matty remains in the huge chair, too comfortable to move. His phone rests in his hand, scrolling carelessly through Instagram, coming across a photo Lou had posted, the one he took, he smiles before commenting, reading his mates comments too, smiling down at his phone.

His phone pings, notifying him of a text. He smiles when he clicks on it, a selfie of the two of them set as her picture, "Room for one more?".

His eyes leave the screen, when he sees her, her own phone resting in her hands as she leans against a wall on the other side of the room. He nods and she walks over. He holds his arms out as she climbs onto the chair, he adjusts her so her legs are hung over his, holding onto her side as she rests against him. She smells faintly of cigarettes and he thinks that must have been where she was previously, but its her scent that is so overwhelming her; sweet and addictive that evades his senses.

"Hi" he says quietly, a wide smile breaking out on his face.

"Hi" she smiles.

"Missed you" he says simply, she nuzzles into his side, not saying anything for a beat, her lips press against his cheek, feeling the rough stubble he had let grow against her mouth.

"Missed you too" she pulls back to look at him, his red lips call her name and she can't help but push hers against his. His hand flies to her jaw, controlling the kiss quickly. His mouth opens on instinct and her tongue quickly meets his, moving against each other passionately. She pulls away slowly, making him groan in protest against her, only making her giggle. Oh that laugh, he fucking loves it man. He loves her.

"What was that for?" He asks, not complaining in the slightest, just curious.

"You guys are adorable" George says sighing deeply. They break away to look at him. A frown on his face.

"Fuck I miss charli' he says and they both frown.

They share a look, nod and both open their arms up, inviting him to join on the huge chair. He practically throws himself onto the pair, the both of them wrapping him up in a warm hug.

----------------------------------------------------------

They were both acting absolutely feral before the show, they were annoying the shit out of everyone with the amount of sexual tension that was in the room.

The moment he walked out in his suit she felt her eyes darken, her breath pick up and her heart beat faster in her chest (and core). Her eyes raked down his form, how the shirt clung to his chest in just the right way, how his slacks fit his slender legs perfectly. He looked godly and she found herself swallowing at the sight.

He knew that look all too well and he smirked at the sight. She looked fit too: black leather skirt clinging to her delicious thighs as she sat on a high chair, her booted legs swinging, the top she was wearing wasn't particularly low cut but he could see the "M" necklace he bought her resting in between the swell of her breasts.

"Fuck" he muttered to himself, it didn't take her long to wear the necklace at all and the thought had him falling deeper by the minute.

He felt a hand clasp his back making him have to peel his eyes of her.

"Mate, we've got 5 minutes before we have to be on that stage, I know she looks fit but don't start something you know both of you can't finish" Ross says and George nods next to him. He sighs but nods agreeing with the sound advise.

His legs take him to her anyway. The boys flee just in case, getting ready to go on stage and leaving the pair be.

"Wow Healy" she says and a groan grumbles in his chest at the sultry tone she uses.

"Right?" He says, giving her a twirl, trying to ease the tension for his sake only. His eyes find hers again and he almost loses it.

He runs a hand through his curls which aren't tamed by the usual hair gel tonight and she almost pounces on him. His feet betray him and take him the rest of the way to her. His eyes land on her delicious thighs, hands finding them without a single thought. They're spread not a second later and oh how well they welcome him. His eyes catch a glimpse of her black lace underwear and his eyes snap shut.

"You're killing me here" he says as her neck strains to find his Adams apple.

"Baby" he groans eyes snapping open, their dark eyes finding each other.

"You look so good" he says, the vowels drawn out.

"You don't look so bad yourself Healy" she says, fingers playing with his curls, he didn't even see how they got there but they're curling around the strands gently, she knows she can't mess up his hair too much.

He breathes in deeply as he looks at her, breath bated and sharp.

"You look so good baby" she sighs out, repeating his words back to him, her breath hitting his lips.

"Oh fuck it" he says, smashing his lips against hers. Their tongues quickly find each other, meeting messily. He presses his core forward, his hands finding her hips and pulling her tight against him, she almost falls off the chair, but his tight grasp has her held against him, flushed.

Their make out session is quickly cut short, bells ringing to let the band know they're due to be on soon.

"Fuck" he murmurs against her lips, he sighs against her before they both pull away to go on stage.

He had clearly decided to make this show more painful for her. Particularly when he did the 'bit' on the sofa. It felt all to real when his fingers grasped the buttons of his shirt. Usually he would look up, away from the audience but this time he turned to where she was standing on the stage.

His eyes found hers, he took a puff of his cigarette, lips pursing as he blew out, he winked at her making her gasp. His hand smoothed down his chest, he only looked away when his palm lay flat against his trouser covered cock, that's when he decided to throw his head back, he purposely let out a deep sigh.

She swore she heard her name and the fans in front of her looked to her and screamed. Oh shit he said her name.

"You little shit Healy" she murmured to herself.

During the final bows, she made her way backstage and waited for him there. She sat anxiously for a while before she left, deciding to wait in his changing room. When she heard the crowd screaming loudly she knew they had left the stage.

She knew he'd rush to find her so she had to be quick. Her fingers found the zip of her skirt, discarding it. She took off her top, revealing a black lace bodysuit, something Matty hadn't seen her in before. She found one of Matty's white shirts and threw that over her frame. She heard the door slam against the wall behind her and she whipped around to seem him. His shirt was nowhere to be seen and he had already started on the buckle of his belt. He shut the door behind him and turned the lock until it clicked.

"There she is" he said, his voice deep as his eyes found hers.

"That wasn't fair now was it Matty?" She says, stepping slowly towards him. He froze in his tracks as she approached him, finally taking in her attire. A groan rumbled from his chest and his cock twitched in his pants.

"Fuck me you look hot' he says as her hands are placed on his bare shoulders. She lowers herself until she's on her knees, her lips finding his abdomen as he throws his head back.

"Don't get me wrong, you looked so fit. Running your hand down your chest like that" she said, mimicking his earlier actions.

"And the way your head was thrown back when you..." She says, her hand moving down more until flush against his core.

"But it wasn't fair Matty. Saying my name as if no one would hear" she says.

"Lou" he sighs again. She looks up at him through her eyelashes, her fingers find the zipper of his trousers and they make light work of undoing them. He helps her remove them, he knows she's the devil when her lips press against his clothed core.

"Fuck me" he says. Looking down at the beautiful woman on her knees for him, trying to commit the view to memory.

"oh I will, don't you worry baby" she says and he groans. Her hands find the hem of his boxers, pulling at them until his member is free and snaps against his abs.

This is completely uncharted territory but he's thriving off it.

"You're so hard for me" she says and he nods bashfully. She's too turned on and needs him too much to tease him, so her lips quickly find their place around his tip. The red and leaking tip disappearing against her red lips, her lipstick marking his member.

He groans and his hands wrap around her hair, making a makeshift ponytail .

"oh fuck you're good at this ' he groans. Her lips move down his shaft, all the way to the base and she moans against him, the vibrations nearly killing him. She begins bobbing up and down on him, the head of his cock hitting the back of her throat perfectly. She doesn't gag, she moans and it has Matty's stomach clenching.

"Oh fuck you're the best" he says and she looks up at him, continuing her work and making him writhe against her. All that can be heard is his deep grunts and the wet sounds coming from below him and it's like music to his ears.

"Baby I can't, I need to be inside you" he groans, she moans against him and his hands are quickly placed against her shoulders, pushing her off him until a pop sounds. His hand finds her and he pulls her to her feet, he grabs her hips and pulls her flush against him, he quickly picks her up, leading her to the countertop to the left of them. He pops open the lace bodysuit, she grasps him in her hand and leads him to her core. His tip brushes against her clit before dipping into her cunt, coating just the head of him with her juices. He gives her a look and she nods at him, letting him know she wanted this.

"Fuck you're so wet, who made you this wet huh?" He says, lips pushing against hers, tongues fighting.

"You, it's always you" she says against him.

"Please fuck me Matty" she sighs.

"oh I will' he says, a smirk resting against his lips before he thrusts harshly into her. She takes all of him and they both moan loudly.

"Oh god Matty' she moans, hands grasping at his back, trying to get him closer although not possible.

"You were made for me darling' he looks down at where they meet, nearly coming undone at the site.

He pulls back before his hips snap forward again, sending his cock deep into her. Her head snaps upwards as she screams. They moan, groan and scream in unison, his cock driving to and from her at an unforgiving pace, curving upwards slightly and hitting her gspot perfectly. His eyes are trained on where they met, the sight filthy, turning him on even more. He felt unbelievably lucky that he got to have her like this. He had never felt this good with anyone before, but he also couldn't believe how connected it made them feel.

Her mouth opens and forms a "o" as the tip of him rubs against her soft spot.

"That it baby?" He groans and she nods vigorously. He continues driving himself into that spot, the spot that has her convulsing around him. His own head shoots back now, her lips sucking against his Adams apple. His fingertips find her clit and he circles it.

"Cum with me" he says, his words sending her over the edge, he cums not a second later joining her in the white hot pleasure.

It was a hard and fast fuck, what both of them needed to shake off the tension that had started to become unbearable mixed with adrenaline of the show.

He holds her tightly against him, pressing soft kisses to her lips. He pulls back to look at her and finds her smiling up at him.

"Never going to get used to that" he says and she nods in agreement. His pulls out of her, making the both of them groan. His fingertips find the "M" of the necklace as he smiles down at her. He doesn't ask if this means she's his, because the both of them already knew that and neither of them needed or wanted to confirm it just yet. They were enjoying just figuring it out for now.

"Look pretty with my initial on you" he says and she smirks.

"Marked your territory real good" she says and he all but groans at that. His territory. Her words had basically confirmed she was his anyway.

"Spoke to the boys earlier.... We think... If you want. That you should get the box tattoo" he says and she smiles up at him. If anyone asked her about this moment, she knew she wouldn't be able to do it justice, or explain how it made her feel. It was the best thing that had ever happened to her, it let her know that she was where she was supposed to be with the people who loved her most: she was home.

"I think that's a wonderful idea" she says, fighting back the urge to cry at the sentiment.

"Now what are we going to do about the fact you moaned my name in front of thousands of people?" She asks and he laughs loudly, leaving her to get a cloth to clean her up. He's gentle with the process knowing she would be easily overstimulated. She appreciates the softness of it all, especially when he places a soft kiss on her forehead when she winces.

"That's up to you love. We can let them speculate, or we can tell them" he says and she nods, thinking through the possible options.

"Tell them what though?" She asks and he agrees, at this moment in time, nothing was confirmed, they both knew how they felt but nothing was set in stone yet, they were going with the flow.

"I don't know... But I do know I don't want to have to hide. Want to love on you whenever I want... Flirt with you on that stage and over Instagram" he says making her laugh.

"How post-modern of you" and they both laugh loudly at that.

"Well then... Guess we just let them speculate" she says and he nods at her. His lips press against hers before they both get changed, returning to the boys.

"You guys are gross" George says making everyone laugh.

"Oh shut up, we've heard much worse from you" Matty says.

"Oh Charli... Just like that" Ross says, in a high pitch voice, completely taking the piss out of G. She's thankful he's taking some of the heat off of Matty and her.

"I do not sound like that thank you very much!" He says, defensive as ever. They join the group, Lou talking with Hann about various things as Matty messes around with the other lads.

She couldn't see how this could get any better.

Part 7