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gremlingottoosilly · 1 year ago

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Cleaning services (perv!Konig x fem!cleaner!Reader)

Konig needs help in decluttering and cleaning his house. Unfortunately for you, he takes quite a huge liking in having pretty things like you around. And he isn't very nice about it.

TW: Perverted Konig, age gap, Konig masturbates at you without consent, implied kidnapping, yandere Word count: 3754 This work on AO3

There is no shame in having a professional cleaner, König tries to tell himself.

Yes, he is a grown man with a very dangerous job that requires having a lot of responsibility. He holds the lives of his soldiers in his hands and risks his life every day not for the sake of his country, but certainly for the sake of his wallet and the reputation of KorTac.

Hiring a professional cleaner for his house shouldn’t make him feel humiliated and embarrassed, and he knows it. Cleaners are basically like soldiers – doing stuff that other people can’t for a certain amount of money, providing services for the clients who can afford it. Besides, it’s a support of his local community – after everything he took from the people around his town, it’s only natural that he would support this growing business of cleaning services.

There is no shame in having some nice old lady cleaning his house and watching over it while he is too busy trying not to kill himself or drown his head in liquor after a particularly rough mission. When you lose two guys on a run that was supposed to be the quickest task possible when you’re returning home with an injury that isn’t really that serious but brings your whole mental state into a very dark place, and when you’re forced to take 3 weeks of leave in the place you hate, hiring a cleaner to take care of everything really shouldn’t make him so ashamed of himself.

Even if he can clean his space – the house is just too big for only one of him, and his ribs still have this funny feeling of fantom bullets traveling around his guts. So, he dials up the number of the cleaning services because he is too fucking old to understand their weird website and messenger ordering, even though speaking with a human operator on the other half of the line is somewhat more humiliating that having no idea of how to use a modern interface.

There is no shame in asking for help, his therapist is trying to shrill it in his head all of the time and yet he is still hesitant when the cleaning professional is knocking on his door, finding this place surprisingly fast. König braces himself, thinking about all the ways he could avoid having a conversation – he drew a quick map of the place, put down the room cleaner shouldn’t be entering – his gun safe, mostly, already repeated in his head how he would greet them and swiftly extract himself from the situation.

“Guten Tag, please, come in. This is the map of the place, don’t go to the red door on the right, don’t hesitate to ask questions, I will be on the second floor.” He takes a few wide, swift steps to his door and stops. Thinks again, overthinking, thinking too fucking much about everything, anxiously checking on his phone to read the message that yes, his cleaner is here and he should probably open the door or they would burst down the window. “Guten Tag, come in. Map of the place is here, don’t go to the red door to the right, please hesitate to ask questions, I will be somewhere around the house, lurking in the shadows” He braces himself to open the door, ready to see that sweet old lady who would spend the next 8 hours cleaning his house and then turn back another day to rinse and repeat until his house stopped looking like a place where a very, very miserable man lives. (Even if this is true)

But, there isn’t a nice old lady with a bunch of cleaning supplies and determination to make someone’s life easier.

But, there isn’t a cold middle-aged woman with a very professional no-nonsense attitude who wouldn’t even talk to him before going straight to work.

But, there is a young girl. Well, not a girl, of course, if he had to guess you were somewhere around the “Too fucking young, but definitely legal” spectrum. Young enough to not be alive when he was already going to school, young enough to make him sweat, and definitely not old enough to be accepting a job where you’d have to spend so much of your life cleaning and scrubbing and sorting and…

There isn’t anything shameful in ordering a cleaning service when you genuinely need it, but you’re young and you’re pretty and he isn’t even wearing a mask because he is an old dumbass that forgot about it, and you look at him with your shiny eyes and…

Maybe, he should clean on his own – would definitely be less shameful.

— Sir? H…hello? Good morning? Can you hear me?

Yes, he can hear you.

Yes, he would love to hear you every single day of his life, when he wakes up and when he falls asleep.

— Ja. I apologize, I…thought it was mail.

It’s a dumb excuse, but he can’t really say that he was just too fucking mesmerized by your shiny eyes and perfect hair and nice figure and basically everything about you. He has this nasty habit of imagining a future with people around him – with people who just fucking want to be left alone, and yet he still stares and looks and it’s probably ultra uncomfortable for them – but he can’t help imagining the life with every cute lady in the grocery shop or elegant lady sitting next to him on a train.

He has a pattern – people who are not interested in him in the slightest. He has a pattern, a preference, cute girls, smart girls, popular ladies that were never even so much as looking in his direction. He could probably score someone now, having a colonel’s salary and honorably discharged payments, but he gave up on trying to find anyone. He has friends, company, has work where he spent most of his life anyway – he doesn’t need anyone, he wants to think.

Then you waddle into his life with a bunch of cleaning supplies and a small vacuum, barely able to handle everything in your hands. He rushes to help and envelops your hands with his – you are so much smaller in comparison, he has bear-like arms and horribly big everything. he feels awkward when he gently removes everything from your arms – when he tries to help by simply putting everything on the table of the next room.

König hated this house – it was big, it was empty, and the only reason he didn’t sell it was because Mother’s things were still locked in her old bedroom and every time he tried to clean it and evaluate the cost of the house, he decided that he will Do It Other Day. Coincidentally, all of those days were also followed by three-month minimum missions, making him utterly unable to do everything about this place anyway.

This is why you’re here – a hired cleaner, a sorter, you promised to de-hoard everything and see if there is anything of value. Perfect for someone like him, especially since he is paying you double for spending the whole day and a few days more in his house exclusively.

Now, he looks at how awkward your smile is, how you fidget with the edge of the broom you brought, and how you can’t even start a conversation because he is simply staring at you, staying in the living room of this dead, almost abandoned house. Now, he looks at how cute you are, how perfect, and remembers that he didn’t score with anyone in half a year already – not even in terms of sex, the casual flirting was also forbidden since half of his unit was transferred and the new people weren’t really fun of his tough methods of breaking rookies in.

When was the last time someone genuinely smiled at him?

Ah, he is staring again. Scheisse.

— Where do you want me to start, sir?

He wonders how much he should pay you to clean him instead. Would you be gentle? Rough? Would you call him a pervert, which he is, and then slap him and yell at him for being such a horrible old dog who is ready to pounce at every pretty girl in his presence? He would do anything that would set his mind free of the thought about Mom. Her bedroom. This whole house that he can’t call home ever since he turned 6 and understood why Father was always so, so angry.

— The living room. If it’s not too much.

He barely stops himself from talking more – you look weird, you loom surprised, you look at him like he is fucking stupid and, in fact, he is. Of course, it wouldn’t be too hard for you, you’re his clean, for fucks sake. You come here to clean, you get good money for it, he shouldn’t feel guilty for using your services because, in some way, he actually provides you with a job and a cute thing like you shouldn’t go to other houses, with old perverts that can do unspeakable things with the adorable worker.

Ah, yes, perverts like him. God, he is hopeless.

— Alright. Do you want to note something, like if there is anything I shouldn’t touch?

He would allow you to take your adorable, yellow glow-wearing hands to get into his personal savings and all of his bank accounts, if you’d want to. He curses under his breath, hating how professional you are – hard worker, perfect, simply a fantastic person who deserves more than working for him. You aren’t trying to shy away from the job and he almost resents you for it.

You’d make a good soldier, he thinks – you’re able to hear the orders and oblige to them, you’re obedient and came even before the discussed time. You’d make such a perfect private for his unit, he observes.

Ah, right, he was supposed to answer you. Shit.

— No. Just don’t go to the second room on the left.

— Alright. Anything else?

He grumbles under his breath, trying to get into the right headspace to deal with someone like you. König knows it’s rude, to just ignore and leave you like this – but if he were to stay in he same room as you, he would do something horrible, disgusting, and completely dishonorable to you. So, he leaves – escapes – to his office. Father’s office, mostly, the only thing here that belongs to him are some documents and useless papers – and a laptop that he drags to every other room anyway.

He doesn’t like this room, it reminds him of the worst episodes of his early childhood – yet, this is his only reserve. He doesn’t want to leave the house because the territory is secluded and if something were to happen to you, he would be the only one able to help. He also doesn’t want to leave his gun collection with you – he doesn’t want you to find it and freak out or hurt yourself.

This is what he tells himself, at least. He wants to be there with you, in the same room preferably, but horrible for his anxiety, because he wants this illusion, phantasm of having a loving relationship. Of having a woman in his life, a lovely housewife who would cook for him, clean for him, and would be absolutely spoiled with gifts and attention. God knows he doesn’t have a romantic bone in his body – but he will carve one out of his ribs for you.

And he only knew you for an hour tops.

König feels like literally the worst man alive when he spread his legs and starts stroking his hard, glistening cock. He brushes over the swollen, red tip, not allowing himself to have any lube other than spit and oozing pre-cum – he tries not to cum embarrassingly quickly, thinking about your perfect gestures and smiling face. How perfect you look in your cleaning uniform – not like maids from the occasional porn he was watching, but still beautiful. Your body is perfect even with all of those ugly layers and grey fabric – and he can’t stop thinking about the sway of your hips or glimpses of your legs under your dress.

He thinks about you, bent over his couch, trying to clean the especially dirty spot on the furniture – how the material of your dress would be tight around your ass. The image makes him grunt quietly, stroking his barely wet dick even more – the pain from the dry sensation only makes the pleasure all the sweeter. He is hard, was hard for the past 10 minutes as you were introducing yourself and whatever your deal is. He is dirty, perverted, knowing only your name and your face – and he is still stroking himself, thinking about paying you extra just so you’d get on your pretty knees and suck him. Would you be sloppy, messy, get his cum all over your face so you’d have to wash it off? Would you be experienced, eager, trying to get as much seed as possible with that pretty tongue of yours?

He is a lost cause because he hears the sounds of vacuum – you’re only a few rooms away from him, trying so hard to clean his house for him, to work through every bit of furniture and everything he acquired for the past twenty years or so – and he moans loudly, knowing that you don’t hear anything. You’re probably listening to music or some silly girl’s podcast about planets and gardens and maybe some university lectures. He’d pay for your courses, he would get you any book you want – having his salary and barely spending it made him softer in the saving habits.

He can afford to splurge on a pretty girl who just needs a rich Austrian mercenary to sweep her off her feet. But, he is old – but, he is a monster who preys on someone helpless, using her pretty face to jerk himself off, and he doesn’t even deserve your number, although he has had it since accepting the service.

His cock is big, angry red in his hand as he runs his finger over the bulging vein, teasing the sensitive flesh – always loud in bed, with grunts and moans of pleasure, he can barely contain himself now, only forcing his mouth shut when he doesn’t hear the sound of vacuum anymore. He strokes his dick fast, angry, and slams it into his fist, trying to make the pain last longer, so he won’t cum after a minute or two. He has the stamina to last longer – but it’s also the first time he was so horny since…he can’t even remember.

König thinks about putting you in his bed – like a perfect housewife, you would hug his waist with your legs, would allow him to lick and grope at your tits, and won’t scream too much when he’d force his tongue inside of your precious pussy, taking every last drop of your pleasure. He wouldn’t want to be forceful, angry, you’re too precious for this and too weak for his strength – but he can imagine slamming into you in a matting press, cumming inside and not even pulling out, warming his cock in the heat of your body.

Father would kill him for doing something so dirty in his office – but he is long dead, devil save his soul, and it’s König’s office now. Even when he barely uses it, even if he doesn’t really need this. It came in handy when he had to jerk off to the pretty cleaning girl who cleaned up after him – so, somehow, his father managed to improve his mood 15 years after he died.

He cums with a low groan, whispering your name – he doesn’t understand how a pretty thing like you still works here and wasn’t taken by someone else already, but he would take what he can get. Never the one to get the first dibs, never being someone’s first choice – he feels terrible for thinking about you in such a low way, but his pleasure sticks to his fingers and, at this point, it’s too late to feel bad.

Drying the tip of his dick with a tissue, he spends a good few minutes with spread legs, his soft cock laying on the chair, with cum still oozing out – such a waste, honestly, would be much better to stuff you full of his cock or even take your pretty ass, spread you slowly. Keep only the tip in, not pressuring you into anything more until you’d start moving yourself, like a good slut you will be.

So perfect under him – the images and sounds of your voice are running through his mind, making him breathe heavily. If he was younger and had as much sex drive as before, he would already be hard – but he needs some time to relax, thinking about your pretty legs and adorable face.

It takes him a few minutes of listening to your sweet voice to understand that you were not, in fact, a hallucination or a mystical fairy coming to make him come. You were standing outside of the office door, looking embarrassed and clearly hearing at least some of his horny mumblings – you avoid looking at him, and your fingers are trembling when you tug at the sides of your dress. Guilt immediately rushes to him again, he looks at you like a perfect treasure you are – and he is a horrible monster trying to hoard all of it to himself.

— What is it, liebling?

Petname goes smoothly from his tongue and he can only hope that you don’t know German – he is too embarrassed to talk to you, too anxious, his newfound shyness is a result of both your beauty and the post-nut clarity that already made him feel like a monster. He contemplates just giving you money and sending you off, paying double for the false call, and leaving you a 5-star review so you won’t get in trouble with your boss.

You look so meek from his angle of view – he has to fight the urge to pinch your face, squeeze your cheeks, grab your waist in his firm hands, and just lift you in his arms, holding you to his bed. Maybe getting a nice set of cuffs to ensure you would never escape from him.

— I finished with the living room and…well, I just wanted to ask if you want the decluttering work to be done today or tomorrow.

He remembers how he basically paid you for a few days worth of work – and he smiles at exactly how perfect this decision was. Of course, you are a smart girl, a modest girl, you aren’t staying the night and would rather waste time on the road, much to his dismay, but at least he would see you for a few days already.

He might not even let you go after.

— Ach. Today, if it’s not too…

He stops himself again – of course, it’s not too much, you are a professional, not just a friend that comes to clean his place for a pack of beer and maybe some pizza. He doesn’t know how to talk to you, anxiety eats him whole, and he has to just avoid looking at you to avoid further embarrassment.

— Alright. I will do it right away then.

You smile awkwardly, your lips are twitching and he already knows that you could hear him moaning your name and sweet little praises while stroking his cock. You aren’t biting the hand that feeds you, not running away screaming at how perverted he is – poor girl, you probably need money more than you need personal safety if you’re fine with him heaving like this. If you were his, he would never allow you to be so careless.

He moves behind you in the most dreaded room of the house. Mother’s bedroom, a room that she only used for sewing and only allowed him in when he was extra whiny after another failed fight with his bullies. All of her thighs are here – ever since she passed away, he just moved everything to one room and locked it, barely bothering to keep a key. He hates being here, almost as much as being in Father’s office — this room smells like death and old paper and you scrunch your nose in an adorable expression when you take a step inside.

— I will divide everything into categories, alright?

— Gut.

You look at him nervously, clearly scared that he is watching over you now. It might feel like a logical decision – after all, it was his mother’s vintage things, who knows what kind of jewelry she kept here, something that he won’t even notice gone until it’s too late. You and him both know, however, that this isn’t the reason he is looming over you. A perfect obedient thing, you deserve something better than his affection, but he still locks his gaze with yours, looking at your hands and going through various furniture pieces.

You work like a fairy, not an ounce of laziness or exhaustion in your actions – even after you already spent a few hours cleaning his living room, you act like a Cinderella that got a bunch of magic mice up her rags. He licks his lips, looking at your perfect ass you as sit on your knees, starting with decluttering every little box there is.

— Can I just put it back in boxes or…

You look the the contents – vintage makeup, some jewelry, head pieces that don’t look particularly expensive but were definitely well-loved. You wonder who they belong to – probably a wife, or, maybe, some of his relatives who lived here. He doesn’t seem like a married or divorced man – he does, however, look insanely lonely.

It takes him a good few seconds to respond, too mesmerized by the little song you were humming a minute before. He imagines you in that old, chunky jewelry, some necklaces that cost more than your salary – and the thought makes him salivate.

He smiles, leaning closer to you – hot breath on your face, you shift immediately, scared. He is so fast for someone so big, his movements are perfect and his eyes are cold – you feel the chill deep in your bones when he moves even closer, his lips almost brushing against yours.

Suddenly, you are very aware of the fact that he locked the door to this tiny room when you both moved in.

#cod #call of duty #cod x reader #konig x reader #yandere konig #cod x you #konig mw2 #reader insert #yandere cod #male yandere #konig #konig x you #konig cod

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a-shade-of-blue · 2 months ago

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I’ve been messaging with Mohammed (@ahmed0khalil) and he told me they feel as if this world has abandoned them. Every night his 6-year-old brother Ahmed asks him “Will we become numbers? Will we be just a number that appears on the TV screen in the evening?” Mohammed has no answer to that question. He has seen people being blown into pieces, he has witnessed no fewer than 6 massacres during his displacement. He wants to help, but knows he would be killed if he does. How does anyone fight against bombs that drop without warning? Mohammed lives in fear that he will fail to save his family. He had thought of killing himself, but he knows that his family, his younger siblings, need him. So he keeps on fighting daily, standing in line for 10 hours just to get bread for his family, begging for our attention on Tumblr to try to raise funds for his family’s evacuation. Mohammed is only 19 years old.

He tells me that the Internet is often bad and they are often cut off from the world. Sometimes when massacres occur and people are bleeding out around them, they cannot even call the ambulance because there is no connection. He describes to me how he would sometimes see ambulances moving under heavy shelling, his helplessness in not knowing if it will come towards them, if the bombs will hit the ambulance. He tells me a lot of his friends who worked in the emergency department had been murdered under attacks against medical personnel. He fears that he will be killed, he fears for the lives of his family.

Mohammed is only 19 but he has lived through more than 8 wars. When he was 9, his house was bombed when they were inside it. He was a small child then and he was so scared and he could not breathe. They managed to escape, but soon after the whole area where their house was located was blown up.

Mohammed is only 19, how much more must he bear? How much more must his 6-year-old brother Ahmed bear? Another question: what were you doing when you were 19? Were you at school, preparing for uni, hanging out with friends, getting your first job? At 19 Mohammed is trying to survive a genocide, he is witnessing massacre after massacre, dead bodies after dead bodies, trying to raise funds so his family can survive, trying to convince his younger siblings that they will live to see another day. He is telling me piece after piece of his suffering under an unstable connection, and here I’m writing and thinking how can I get your attention, how can I convince you that he and his siblings and his family deserve to live?

Mohammed’s campaign has been shared by 90-ghost and I’ve also been talking extensively with him. He has 5 siblings, including a brother who is blind, another who is severely autistic, and young 6-year-old Ahmed. How much more must they suffer? How many more massacres must they live through?

Low Funds! Only €1,685 raised of €50,000 goal!!

Donations have been coming in slowly for Mohammed's campaign. Your donation will help a family of 8 people reach safety. Please don't turn a blind eye to these children calling out for your help! Please share and reblog, and please, please donate if you can!

#ahmed0khalil #campaign shared by 90-ghost

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hazelfoureyes · 7 months ago

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A Doe in Fall (part 5)

⟢HumanAlastor x FemaleBurlesquerReader - A Doe in Fall

Part 1 - Pretty in Red smut💦 Part 2 - Liar smut💦 Part 3 - A Tragedy smut💦 Part 4 - Enough Part 5 - Too Much Part 6 - Learning smut💦 Part 7 - Recognition smut💦 Part 8 - Trust sexual 🥵 Part 9 - Shiny Things Part 10 - Good Deeds Part 11 - Caught Part 12 - Eddie

Part 5 Too Much

Actions famously speak louder than words, so what did you say, exactly, to Alastor with your actions that night? You were briefly rattled by what happened in the park but not for the obvious reasons. Despite everything, despite your fears, you found the situation deepening between you two when he suddenly invites to stay the night at his home. Perhaps he had fears of his own?

「Warnings/Promises: Human Alastor x Fem Burlesquer reader, No smut! That’s next part because this part was already super fucking long 😭 , but we do flirt our asses off and get taken by the hand, crying, panic attacks, discussions of murder, dead bodies, you really have to stop smoking, deer, adorably nervous Alastor, this man owns more than one mug you fucking know it��

19 days later… 😩 please don’t kill me. 5000 words here, Another like 6000 words are posting this Thursday, also tumblr wouldn’t let me post this for like an hour , just gave me error messages, I had to copy and paste 4 times so there may be some errors in here so let me know if you find spelling or format issues🙏

When he came to, momentarily either unconscious or just incapacitated as his brain started up again, he was frantic for his glasses. He could hear the sounds of a brutal death, the crunch of anger, the squish of rage.

His eyes focused now, slightly askew and smudged glasses helping him see you clearly.

Leaning over the man, hands red and face twisted in a marriage of fear and wrath, you were bringing a large rock down on the man’s unrecognizable face over and over and over and—

You flinched when Alastor’s hands delicately slipped down your arms and peeled your fingers from the rock.

Full body shaking, “He was going to kill you!” You said it too loud, too fast. “He was going to—,” Your breath got caught in your throat, “He wanted to— He was trying to kill you, Alastor.”

Wet with mud and blood and the rain still left on the grass, you were pulled into Alastor’s lap. He tucked your head into the crook of his neck with a small wince and hugged you. “He was. He almost did.” Low and slow, his chest rumbled when he said it. “You did such a good job.”

You looked down at your hands, but he pulled your face back up to look at his, “Always surprising me in the best ways.”

You’d forgotten already, how when adrenaline wanes you’re left with terrible tremors and a suddenly clear head. Alastor almost died. You hadn’t thought at all when it happened. Everything had taken place so fast, faster than your brain could process.

You had seen Alastor stop struggling against the man, his body went still and your eyes were blinded with tears, there was a horrible sound that may have come from you, and then there was nothing. A flash of running Colors. Distant muddled sounds.

Maybe you saw someone grab a rock.

You might have hit the man on the back of the head.

You think he fell down and something didn’t stop moving against him.

Perhaps you thought if you hit him enough you could make it have not happened at all. If you killed him fast enough, Alastor would have been fine and standing.

But you weren’t sure. You blinked and Alastor was touching you and underneath you was a pulp of a man’s face.

Alastor’s heart was racking against his ribs. Arms tightening around you unconsciously as his eyes landed on the dead man.

He’d gotten too comfortable. He pushed too hard. He wanted too much. He was too much.

He felt himself spilling over and staining your hands metaphorically and now literally.

You didn’t feel anything. Not during. Now you felt too much.

Your mind was filled with an echoing chorus of, ‘He almost killed him. He almost died. He almost killed him. He almost died. He almost died. He almost died.”

There was a strange fear that Alastor had died, and any second you’d blink again and be alone in the trees with two dead men. You twisted in his lap, hands rocketing to Alastor’s face and gripping the sides of his head. You were staring into his eyes, panting.

“You can’t die. I’ll—,” tears poured down your face in streams not drops. Your throat closed around the words. Short and fast, your breath ran wild. Hands tingling, your lips felt like they were pricked with a hundred tiny needles.

Alastor pushed down his own mess of emotions, “One deep breath in.” His hands settled on yours, still on his face. He could feel the familiar stickiness of drying blood in his hair. “Keep breathing in.” You coughed, shaking your head no. “You can, I promise it. Would I lie to you?”

You laughed, managing to catch your breath for a moment, “Y-yes.”

“Well, now you’re adding insult to injury.” He made a show of rubbing his neck. You smacked his chest lightly, breathing in twice in a row.

He held both of your hands in both of his, “Name a time I’ve ever lied.” He distracted you but wounded himself. He could name a time.

You tried to think. “I don’t know. Maybe you’re just a really good liar.” Your voice was hoarse.

Alastor nodded, “That’s true, there’s actually nothing I can’t do well.”

Another laugh, a cry, “Stop it.”

His warm, clean hands wiped your tears. “You’re being aggressive again, sweetheart. You know I prefer soft spoken women.”

The laughter helped break the cycle of hyperventilating. As your breathing finally got to a manageable speed you felt exhaustion deep in your bones.

All at once the sensations became prominent. Your knees were red and muddy, your hands bloody, your left side and back wet. You were sticky and sore and cold. “Alastor,” his legs were framing you, yours now folded under yourself and digging into rocks, “I wanna go home.” You adjusted his glasses, “Together.”

If he had a reason to say no, he ignored it.

“I thought I was the messy one.” He washed your hands with the water cans and settled you into the passenger seat of his car. Alastor took care of filling the trunk and cleaning the ground before sliding into the driver's seat.

He turned to you, his face dirty and clothes worse. You looked down at yourself; knees a color of wine, and blue dress now dyed brown.

“I know you have to get rid of him. So, I won’t ask you to sleep over. Just,” you felt sleepy, mind asking you to let it catch up, “let me take care of you for a little bit. Okay?”

His hand slipped onto your leg, he wanted to make a joke about sex or murder hoping to make you laugh again. But it was obvious he needed to be quiet, so he just nodded.

Alastor left the car on a side street behind your building. The man whose name you never asked concealed under canvas and red oil tins.

Luckily everything was clean in your apartment. It was small, just one room and a bathroom. The other apartments you’d seen had communal toilets and showers so you were quite proud of your space. You’d made it yours, gifted trinkets here and there, walls decorated with hanging dried flowers you'd had thrown at your feet. A shrine to your abilities.

You peeled off his clothes, tossing them in the kitchen sink and wiping off as much dirt as you could with a damp rag.

Clothing hanging over the radiator, you both got into the shower. Cold and wet now hot and soaking, you took his hands and sat you both down in the tub while the water ran down. Taking your time, you gently scratched the blood and mud from his hair and let it all wash away.

When fully cleaned and dried off he slipped on the only bit of clothing he had left, a loose pair of boxer shorts. You had a slip, silky and soft, to comfort you. Your mother wore silk, and it always made you feel safe. The way the fabric slid around its self and others, never catching or bunching up, was something you always hoped to emulate; smooth and cool, but always in need of a little caution and care.

A small bed meant for one, but you offered it. When Alastor motioned for you to slide in too, you didn’t hesitate.

Nose to nose, the room was quickly heating up with the radiator's help.

You hadn’t been in a bed with Alastor in nearly two months, not since that first time. His words stuck to you like embroidered messages lovingly stitched into a handkerchief you didn’t want to lose. So you kept your hands between your thighs, still and away, to make sure he had space to exist in your bed.

“You saved my life.” Alastor whispered, one of you finally bringing up the obvious.

A hummed acknowledgment, “That makes us even.” He saved you before, you did the same in turn. A little piece of you worried the contract was done and he’d disappear.

“No, my dear. I owe you so much more.” A kiss to your cheek.

A terrifying thought took hold of you. “Roll over.” He looked confused but did. You were always asking him to turn away, always trying to hide your face when you said things that scared you. You hooked your arms under his and held tightly.

“If I wasn’t there, there’s no one to have told me. How long would I have waited,” another torrent of tears into his back you couldn’t keep in if you tried, “at the phone booth for you to call in the morning.”

You were crying like a child, uncontrolled and with your entire body. Pathetic.

He had never had someone to worry about those details. Everyone truly close to him was dead. Until now, of course.

Of course.

What a natural addition you provided to him. He thought it like that it was a long standing fact.

He hugged your arms tighter to his chest.

A shiver of fear in the warm bed as you continued, “I want to be there. With you. Always.” You gathered your courage. Shields completely down, if just for a moment, “I know there was nothing right about tonight but,” you wiped your tears off his back with your palm, reabsorbing that pain before he could soak it in, “Please. Don’t shut me out now. I’ll go to hell tomorrow for you but please don’t damn me to picking up a newspaper and seeing your name in the headlines; Learning you died in block letters for a nickel. I wouldn’t survive it.”

You didn’t want to meet his eyes, worried rejection was waiting for you there, so you’d asked him to turn so you could hide. He picked up your hands and kissed your knuckles one by one. “Please don’t say things like that outloud. Things like ‘go to hell’ and ‘tomorrow’ so close together. The spirits can hear you.” A kiss to your palm, “And I wouldn’t dare shut you out.” He couldn’t. The very idea of going back to how he was before, alone and mumbling to the dead, made his heart race with his own panic. If you disappeared tomorrow he was scared to think what would happen to him. “Plus, I know you’d just find me anyway. You always do.”

Had you not been there, he would have still tried to kill the man. Waiting in an alley or for a walk home through an empty space. You weren’t at fault. He’d been hurt before, but this was by far the worst situation he had been in. But he would have been in it regardless of your participation. Alastor pressed his lips into your hand, smelling the soap you’d washed him with.

You hadn’t hesitated. He had thought you would run, that he’d slip away into death and you’d book it to safety. Something he never planned to ask you to do, to kill someone, you’d done it for him when it was the most selfless option. Did he mean so much to you? He wanted to ask, but if you said anything other than an immediate yes he feared he would turn to a pillar of salt and crumble.

If you both could find the courage to just look at each other you’d have all your answers. But you couldn’t. The fear still too strong. So you changed the topic for a chance at an escape.

A small confession, to turn the conversation away from death. “After our dates, your cologne always lingers on my clothes. Sometimes I just fall asleep in them. When I wake up, my pillow smells like you.” Your body formed against his back, pressing as tightly as you could. How was that less embarrassing than everything else you’d said when it was arguably more pathetic?

He was quiet. You worried you’d pushed too far. Alastor worried he’d already hurt you too much.

“If you asked me,” he spoke slowly, hands resting on yours above his heart, a deep breath, “I’d stop.” He would.

But, “I’d never ask that of you.” You said it so quickly, like blinking or yawning it happened without you needing to think about it. Alastor did something he felt he needed to do, you saw that look in his eyes before and understood this was Alastor at his truest. And the people he killed weren’t good people. He provided a service to New Orleans that no one appreciated.

He smiled against your palm, making sure you felt it, “Why are you so good to me?”

Without hesitation, Because I love you.

After a beat of silence, “Because you know where I live, obviously.”

A huff, “And where you work.”

“And the park where I like to get fingered.”

Finally, his unburdened laugh, “I didn’t expect you to say that.” That sound of his joy bounced off the thin walls around you both. He rarely expected anything you said or did. It was part of your charm. Normally he could predict what people would say like reading a bad story, but you were something else. Effortlessly entertaining, was that a compliment? He was sure you’d say no and make that face you always did, something between a pout and a glare, between sad and angry.

He had been asking genuinely. Why were you so good to him? Why so patient? Why care at all?

“Can you sleep? Or do you need to go?”

Alastor thought about it, if he left early enough he could still get home in time to empty the trunk. He hummed an affirmative, when he didn’t move you understood it was the former. He didn’t want to go. He needed more time. He needed to feel you nearby. An odd sense that if he pulled away now the thread holding you two together would pull him apart at the seams with the distance.

You would think nightmares would plague you after killing someone in cold blood, but no. You practically killed Tommy, when you considered it thoroughly. And while this night was not a joy, you had defended yourself and Alastor. You didn’t feel bad. You didn’t regret it. You were just scared you did a bad job. That you’d get caught.

The kind of dreams you had were different kinds of scary. Of Alastor always leaving a room when you entered, of falling off the stage and landing too far down, of waking up to feel Alastor cold beside you.

When you did wake, your arms were still tight around him and he was warm. Your forehead rested between his shoulder blades. You didn’t feel different this time, you didn’t feel changed like after Tommy.

Alastor always had nightmares so he wasn’t surprised to have them in your bed. He dreamt he awoke on the ground, the man was gone but you were there broken into several pieces.

Had it been a dream though?

After he dressed, you brushing his hair over a shared cup of coffee (you only had the single mug), you walked him to his car. The sun was nearly up and luckily no one else was. You had just wrapped a coat around your slip, not exactly acceptable clothing for being in public.

A shared kiss, small and chaste, Alastor’s mind elsewhere. He opened the door but stopped and turned back to you. It was always in these moments before you two parted that he felt the most frantic.

“I know we love talking in circles and making jokes, but I have to ask you, bluntly. You killed a man. Are you alright?” When you only blinked, he quickly added, “It’s okay if you’re not.” His expression was pure worry, furrowed brows and flat mouth. “Nothing will change if you say you’re not.”

When you started to smile, Alastor thought he had lost his mind. The sun was rising behind you, making the shadows on your face slowly shift. He took a second to take in the scene. Ankles naked with sockless shoes. To your right was a trunk full of a dead man. And you just smiling like he’d made a joke. Which he explicitly said he wasn’t going to do.

“I don’t feel like I killed anyone.” You said it with a levity that made him glance around, wondering if you’d hit your head a little too hard earlier, “I feel like I stopped someone from killing you. Which feels,” you fought to suppress your smile from growing any further, “kinda good. Like I’m strong. I’m just scared I made a mistake and police will find out. I’m terrified we’ll be seperated. But I don’t feel bad.”

A normal man would be deeply concerned. You didn’t feel bad? For killing a man with a rock? Arguably one of the most brutal ways to murder a person. A normal man would worry he would be next.

Luckily for you both, Alastor was not a normal man. He stared at your face, trying to discern any hints of deceit there before he fell into the comfort of trust.

Your pinky came out, “I’m fine, and if I’m ever not, I will tell you. Promise.” His eyes left your face to stare at the tiny digit, “If I break the promise, you get to break the pinky.”

“Pinkies are useless, we should use a finger that matters.” He offered his index. You let yourself laugh, hooking your pointer finger with his.

Smile to smile, he exhaled his stress and slipped into his normal demeanor, “No worries, darling! No one will ever know what happened to him.” He leaned beside you and patted the trunk. “Leave it to me.”

Alastor drove away with the man, ready to disappear the body and try to sleep before work if possible. A nagging still sat in his stomach, a little pull that maybe you’d change your mind.

He asked you the next morning, on your routine call, if he could stop by the theater when he finished with work that night. No reason in particular. He’d pull into the side street, and you could run out to see him.

When he arrived, you were in your stage outfit waiting to greet the crowd. Alastor smiled, “The prettiest bird I’ve ever seen!”

“A bird? Alastor just ‘pretty’ woulda been a fine compliment.”

He offered an apology by way of kiss, soft hands coming to your cheek as he leaned against the door of his car. “I just wanted to see you. Steal a kiss before you stole some hearts. May I return tomorrow?”

Ah, that feeling again. Stupid school girl with her first crush, her first taste of love. “I wouldn’t complain.”

That flow of conversation eased Alastor, things felt normal already. For you, they were. A small worry remained he may begin to act differently but the only difference was he seemed to be embracing you deeper.

After your delivered kiss, you took the stage like a woman reborn. The warmth of the light felt like the sun. Pointed toes as you moved along the stage, hips loose and smile coy.

As you looked around the backlit crowd you didn’t search for a good mark. The times you did play a man’s attention for Alastor were different, it felt like art when you lured men into Alastor’s claws.

A shake of your feathered fans, a very controlled lowering of your head, you let a hip rock out into view. A little flash of inner thigh. Then, your favorite part. One hand gripped your fans as you them with the aide of practiced fingers. Free hand undoing your still remarkably heavy and glittering bra and handing it behind the curtain.

Surprise reveal, a naked magic trick done behind distracting whirling feathers. Arms open, fans high, you waited for the applause to die down. Deep breaths were not possible, adrenaline and the weight of your costume keeping you from hiding the heaving of your chest.

The whistles were your favorite. You couldn’t imagine Alastor whistling but you were sure it would be flawless in its ability to capture your attention.

“Anyone wanna smoke? I don’t want to go into the alley alone.” You asked the room, several girls glancing your way and shaking their heads no as you hurried back in from your set.

“Just take the fire escape to the roof. That’s where we’ve been smoking since Mr. Brady said it was dangerous at night.” Florence was normally a perfect smoking partner, never talking too much. The name Brady made your stomach flip though, you had forgotten about him for a second. You’d managed to avoid him until Tommy’s bloody trail went cold, but you knew he still stalked around the jazz and music district.

A dancer laughed, “Nighttime has always been dangerous for women.”

Someone you didn’t see added, “Fuck, daytimes not safe either.”

You climbed the creaky and seemingly forgotten-about fire escape to the roof. The breeze hit your face before your feet even left the metal railing.

It was… a roof. Grey painted floors and brick sides. Nothing special, but you could see the bowl full of discarded cigarettes near the front of the building. You looked over the short wall that edged the front, you were able to see the pigeon shit covered marquee. What an unattractive view, the lights flashing out from beneath actual shit.

There was a metaphor there, you were sure.

Looking around, there were a few wicker chairs hidden in the shadow of the street’s lights, thankfully upside down to keep them clean from the birds.

If more people used roofs instead of alleys Alastor would be out of luck. Tommy was difficult enough with a staircase, the fire escape would have been the nail in that coffin.

It had been a lovely night, absolutely jarring compared to the night before. You leaned back in the chair, you knew you weren’t the best at saying what you meant. Especially when the words you offered could be used to hurt you. Words of affection and love, when true, were daggers given handle-first to someone else.

So you hoped Alastor could guess how much he meant to you. You shouldn’t need to say it, right? Actions speak louder than words. You bludgeoned a man to death for what you had thought was a lost cause. It had seemed Alastor was already dead when you first brought down the rock.

Diamonds are rocks, you considered. The most expensive costume the theater had was peacock feathered with shining crystals. You wanted to say you felt like a peacock, spirit large and wide and colorful. But those were males. Of course they were. The animal kingdom had males compete for mates with pretty colors and lovely songs. Now ladies pranced around in painted faces and short dresses. You didn’t feel pale or small like the ‘fairer sex’ peacock.

You felt like the swan. Vicious and beautiful, not out shone by anyone.

Well there was someone you’d allow to shine brighter. Someone you’d happily let take the lead. You’d thought letting a man walk in front of you was a sign of subservience. It hadn’t ever occurred to you that there could be respect in trusting someone else to go ahead. That the act of going first could be for protection and not power.

“Hey!”

You hurried to the fire escape, “yeah?”

“There’s a man asking for you. Tall guy named Frank?”

Frank?

Oh, Frank.

You’d forgotten about him. He’d left months ago. He was a whale, rich and generous. You took a moment to consider sitting down with him, smiling and laughing at his jokes, letting his hand settle on your thigh. It had been weeks since you entertained scamming anyone, and now you couldn’t even stomach the idea of faking interest in another man. Frank wasn’t one to scam, he just liked having a pretty lady on his arm to make him feel young and wanted, and in exchange you got into private parties and were gifted jewelry and clothing.

“Tell him I’m busy and send him off.” You hollered down. You could buy your own clothes.

“Did he leave?” Alastor asked you the next morning, you leaning against the glass phone booth in the early morning light.

Your finger wrapped around the phone cord, “No of course not! They never do. I snuck out the back.”

There was a hum, “Well my dear, you’ve offered me a wonderful transition into my next question.” Alastor was sitting at his kitchen table, nervously turning his coffee cup around in circles, “Would you like to come over tomorrow night? I can pick you up after your show.”

Like a glacier drifting away from shore, you very slowly crouched down in the booth. “To your home?”

“No, to Alabama.” He waited a beat, “Yes of course my home. I can show you what happens after I drive away.” A cheeky smile evident through his voice.

You pressed the phone receiver into your chest, teeth chewing on your bottom lip. What happens when he drives away? So…where the bodies go. But most importantly, the biggest part of this—where he lives. So much can be gleaned about someone from their home. A bookshelf alone could make or break an attraction. You brought the receiver back to your mouth. “Lovely! Sure thing— Alastor. Yes.” you almost added on an awkward nickname like daddy-o or mister man, like an idiot, because your brain was misfiring like you’d seen him in the sunlight again.

Ah, you could see his bed.

Where he slept.

Did he ever dream of you?

What if it was terribly dirty? Could you still love him if he was a slob?

“I’m quite far from downtown, pack an overnight bag, okay?” He stopped fidgeting with the mug. When the call ended he sat at the table for some time, staring around the kitchen. The home was large by city standards, but it was old. His mother’s charm was evident through every part. A finger scratched at the wooden table, heavy and solid. Why was his heart racing?

He walked to the screened back door, looking from the weathered patio steps to the greenhouse.

No one had ever been to his home. Ever. A teensy part of him was panicking. Was this a mistake? Was he going to fuck up the budding relationship? Throw off the peace of his safest place?

Budding. Okay that was ridiculous even for him. The kind of intimacy gained through murder did not allow any union to be called budding. He’d shared pieces of himself no other living soul knew of. Your image of him was possibly even more complete than his own mother had held, even though he tried to always be the most sincere with her. Even people he did care for and consider close friends had never knew where he lived. Never heard what kept him up at night. Never learned his distaste for a random lay.

Opening the screen door with a signature creak, the sound many southerners could call comforting, he walked to the greenhouse.

The newest part of the property, the glass walled structure was built shortly after his mother’s death. Double doors: locked. Just beyond the glass was a forest of plants and potted trees. They had no need for a greenhouse, but Alastor had a need for them.

He set about preparing his home for another occupant, a task that brought him such a shock of joy and anxiety he began to wonder who he was. New sheets on the bed, extra pillows set against his wooden headboard. Large glass jar in the backyard full of water and tea bags.

It was also unexpected he was thinking so much of his mother. In a perfect world she’d be there to greet you. Though if she was alive, he wouldn’t have been in that alley that night. He made a mental note to not mention his mother, at least not as much as he was remembering her as he walked around the two story home tidying.

Would he have met you if he wasn’t a killer?

A flicker of fear was quickly extinguished by romance. Definitely. You both ran in the same scenes. He’d seen you before that night, he just never approached you. He hadn’t anticipated how much more you were than the facade you put on. Nothing about your sweet face said, ‘I have a high tolerance for murder.’

Alastor spent the day at work physically present but mentally pacing his living room. He nodded along to discussions of who was to be live on set next, smile never faltering as he worried if he had breakfast foods. He rarely ate breakfast, did you? How had he not thought to ask. Sloppy.

The only outward sign he was feeling any stress was the tapping of his finger on his desk, which he hadn’t even noticed until the stage manager commented.

“Alastoooor,” her voice was high, like it seemed many women’s voices were recently. Was it a trend? “Impatient? Hot date with a young lady this evening?”

While she meant well, she always pried, always asked questions he didn’t appreciate.

Alastor shook his head, smile strained. A perceptive person would have picked up on it, but Brenda was not perceptive.

“Oh.” A noticeable disappointment, “That’s boring.”

Actually on second thought maybe she didn’t mean well.

“I’ve had too much coffee, is all, Brenda.” He pulled his hand into his lap. “Was there anything you needed?”

“No,” she pouted, much less endearing than you.

If he murdered purely for fun Debra would be dead before sunset. Unfortunately her only crime was being remarkably annoying.

Alastor waited behind the theater, where it was less likely any staff would see him. It was still important to avoid connecting the two of you together, at least at your workplace yet.

He was quick to grab your bag for you.

“Not the trunk, please.” You said, it took him a second to catch the joke. He set it on the back seat after opening your door for you. You’d only been in his car a few times but he never failed to be a perfect gentleman.

Your palms were sweating, when his hand rested on your leg while he drove you resisted the urge to hold it. Instead you slipped yours under his. Alastor asked you about your day, about work, about if Frank came back. Typically as soon as you left the theater you were in a cone of silence until your phone call with him the next day. It was kind of nice, having someone to speak to. Before meeting him there were times you worried you’d forget how to talk naturally, how to sound like yourself.

The glowing eyes of deer popped up from the side of the road, startling you. Eerie. You held your breath, would they run, stay still, or sprint into the road.

“Is it true their antlers can break car windshields?” You asked not breaking eye contact with a doe as you drove past.

Alastor nodded, “If a buck hits your car the wrong way, not even the car will make it out of the accident.”

“Are there a lot of bucks around?”

“Will be soon, as fall— wait why am I telling you this,” he laughed, “Miss Autumn Hind already knows what makes the bucks run wild.”

You shouldn’t be smiling, it was a dumb rut joke, but it felt like a compliment.

The car lights passed over the home as he turned into the dirt driveway. Powder blue. It wasn’t a color you associated with Alastor. He was caramel, honey, midnight blue, red. His sometimes sinister smile didn’t look quite right against powder blue. But, for a home, it was lovely.

“Is someone home?” You saw a light on in an upstairs room.

Alastor reached behind you for your bag, “No, I leave it on when I’m gone. Gives the impression that the house isn’t empty.”

A minor bit of acting, Alastor opening the door and offering to bring your bag upstairs before a tour like a good host. His anxious energy was barely contained by that grin of his. For your part you played the appropriately impressed guest.

But deep down you were very impressed. An actual house. Your mother struggled to keep apartments rented. Alastor had a home. With stairs. That went to more home, not a neighbor. What a lovely thing. What did he do with all this space?

He could probably hide quite a few bodies in there.

Alastor opened his bedroom door and motioned for you to enter.

You took in every detail as shrewdly as you could. Two circular nightstands, a wide dresser with a few framed photos and a radio. One large window facing the yard, you could see the car outside from where you were standing. “Wow a man’s bedroom. I tend to avoid these.”

“What a coincidence, so do I. Bedrooms in general, really.” He placed your bag on the dresser, offering to unpack it for you. Your smile screwed up, shaking your head no. You couldn’t imagine Alastor folding your panties and setting them into a drawer.

Well.

“Yes please.” You took a seat on the end of his bed, watching him tenderly empty the bag before beginning to put things away like you’d come home from a trip. “A bed big enough for two people. You didn’t tell me you were a fancy man. Ooh la la.”

Alastor laughed, “Your bed was quite comfortable.” He set your dress onto a hook attached to the closet door, hands running down the fabric to straighten out the wrinkles, “But I have a feeling that had more to do with you than anything else.”

The floor was clean, the rug beneath the bed a simple but pristine white. What an odd color for a rug.

You truly did avoid men’s homes. The power dynamic shifts too much.

“Are all men so clean?”

“Oh god no. Have you really never been to a man’s home?” Without a moment of hesitancy his long fingers flattened out your underthings and neatly folded them. You could call it erotic, knowing what else his fingers could do.

A hum, you swayed side to side, “Too much risk. I don’t know where the knife drawer is, which locks stick, what windows open all the way.”

He set the empty bag into a reading chair in the corner, “That sounds stressful.”

You shrugged, “My mother taught me to always have an escape. From situations, from rooms, from people. Not terrible advice.”

That was true, he thought. If the few women he killed had considered that, he would be less prolific. Women tended to be easier in some regards.

Alastor finally let himself look at you sitting on his bed. Were you wearing the black garters today? He liked those. He appreciated the red dress you’d worn.

Taking off his jacket and vest, he hung them up while his eyes kept returning to you. Your legs were crossed, thighs soft and pressed together. He remembered feeling them against his ears. A little cough to clear his throat and mind.

“Are you hungry?”

You werent, but you weren’t ready for sleep either, so you asked for some bread and butter. Alastor sat beside you at the table, watching you look around. It didn’t look like a killer's home.

“Ya know, I was going to rob you. I had been wanting to talk to you, before that guy caught me off guard when I was smoking.” You said it easily.

He smiled, “Oh, why’d you change your mind?”

“Well, you slit a man’s throat in front of me.”

“Tsk tsk, you give up too easily, my dear.”

Salted butter, soft bread. Simple. Happy. “You were so handsome-,”

“We’re?”

A snort of a laugh, rolling your eyes dramatically, “and you looked well off. I was searching the room for the lights reflecting off of your glasses all night.”

Alastor grimaced, fighting the well of his ego, and leaned on his elbows, “Is it too morbid to say I’m glad that man tried to kill you? I like this timeline more than being robbed and never seeing you again.”

“That’s very selfish. I would have enjoyed chasing you down and finessing your wallet off you.” You set the glass lid back over the butter dish, content with the snack. “Some men come back actually and confront me at the theater.”

He howled. The idea was ridiculous, “Seriously? Why not just tell the cops.”

“Men don’t like telling other men they got taken for a ride by a dame.”

Alastor stood, “What would you have done if you had robbed me and I marched into the theater demanding my cash back.” It took a second to realize he was being serious in wanting you to play along.

You popped the last piece of bread into your mouth and stood too, “You rake!” A fake smack to his chest, “I booted you to the curb! You had more hands than an octopus!”

Alastor tried to stay in character but his smile kept cracking through his serious face. “And my wallet? None of my hands can find it.” You took a few steps back, feigning shock at the accusation.

“Sir! You were so drunk I’m not surprised you lost it.” When Alastor closed the space between you with two wide steps and pulled you into his chest you giggled, hitting softly at him, “You should be ashamed of yourself. Trying to take advantage,” his hands wandered down your hips, making your voice catch in your throat, “of a good woman like me.”

His mouth came to your ear, “Well, miss, I think you owe me the opportunity to try again.”

You went stiff against him, the sudden turn of his voice into seduction taking you by surprise, “If you were a real mark, I’d punch you in the face for saying that.”

“But for me?” Breath against your neck.

Your hands slid up his chest and to his collar, pulling him down and into a kiss. His smile spread across your lips.

His mouth stayed against your cheek as he pulled you into a hug, “Ready for bed?”

“Are you sleepy, hun?” You pulled away, a sincerely worried face. Two nights now you’d interrupted his normal routine.

Alastor’s eyes seemed to sparkle behind his glasses, head shaking, “No, not at all.” You felt the heat rise up your face. Wanting to avoid assumptions, you tried to temper your expectations.

His hand pulled you toward the stairs, you dragging your feet, “Did you want to show me around?”

“In the daylight.” He led you up the stairs and to the right.

“Oh okay….”, your mind was reeling, mouth dry. No dead body in sight. No blood. You hadn’t pressed him or asked for anything. Maybe he just wanted a good cuddle, or some kisses. You often enjoyed necking near the car before he would go home. Right. Let him lead.

You followed him, letting him guide you hand in hand back to his bedroom.

ᡣ𐭩ˋ°•*⁀➷ masterlist

∰ Summoning the Horny Little Deer Cult (general tag list):

@cxrsedwxrlds , @nonetheartist , @tsunaki , @janchei , @wettiny-in-smutland , @moonmark98 , @hoebihoeshi , @pansexual-opera-house , @polytheatrix , @lorddiabigmommymilkers , @backinthefkingbuildingagain , @harley2223-blog , @coffee-colored-hopeless-romantic , @poinappel , @midnightnoiserose , @spookieroz , @missmidorima , @ivebeenthearchersstuff , @downbadforfictionalppl , @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx , @sleepylittledemon , @aether-th3-enby , @dontfuckbutimfab , @breathlessaura , @aperfectidiot , @certainlygay , @jth12 , @star-kujo-platinum ,

@ivebeenthearchersstuffn, @rubyninja1 , @simphornies , @alleystore , @readergirlstuff , @berry-demon , @chirimeimei , @fairyv-ice , @olive-frog , @thonethatflies620 , @tiredkiwiii , @ilikemyteawithmilk , @whateverlololo , @psipies , @howabouticallyou , @roxxie-wolf , @ive-no-idea-what-to-call-this , @fizzled-phoenix , @fjorjestertealeaf , @phobophobular , @surusurusuru , @mariaclarade-la-cruz1 , @whateverlololo , @simplyonehellofanotaku , @xixflower , @i-am-nonbinary-bean-deal-with-it , @roxxie-wolf , @a-case-of-attachment , @multifandomfanatic02 , @watereddownmilk , @raynerrold , @crazii-saber-wolf , @valkyrie-expeditions , @bontensbabygirl , @sillyb0nez , @oo0lady-mad0oo , @jazzmasternot , @pseudobun , @fraugwinska✨, @alitaar,@straows , @alastorssimp , @angelicwillows , @b-o-n-e-daddy , @one-and-only-tay , @asleeponelmstreet , @tremendoushearttaco , @mutifandomkid , @sapphirecaelis , @itzzzkiramylove@saccharine-nectarine , @viannasthings , @looking1016 , @ultimate-duck-king-lucifer , @blakeaha , @astraechos , @reath-solia ,

🏹Alastor stalkers: @celestial-vomit , @amurtan

@faeoffaith , @sailorsmouth , @jeannyjaykaydeh , @jyoongim , @cosmic-lavender , @saturn-alone , @lustylita , @radio-darling , @kaylopolis , @dickmastersworld , @leviskittywh0re , @asianfrustration13 @alittletiredcry @sirens-and-moonflowers @alastorssimp , @angelxx7 , @katgirl05 , @impulsivethoughtsat2am , @sugurubabe , @zzzykiek , @phamtasic

#human alastor x reader #alastor x reader #alastor #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel smut #hazbin hotel alastor #human alastor #alastor smut #alastor x you

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ohraicodoll · 2 years ago

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DESPERATELY NEED FERAL READER WITH EP 8 WITH AN INJURED JOEL AND KIDNAPPED ELLIE…….. I KNOW OUR CRAZY QUEEN WOULD KILL EVERYONE ♥️♥️♥️♥️

Yall asked for it lol

Violent Delights Joel Miller x f!Reader The Last of Us 6.7k Words/ 3rd POV Feral Reader Masterlist Summary: They took her kid and she was getting her back. Warning: Graphic depictions of violence and torture

She woke up with a start, having drifted off unknowingly after trying to keep watch, a sense of disorientation as she tried to figure out where she was and what was happening. The basement. They were still in the basement, the cold leeching any warmth from the walls and floors, the haggard breathing of her companion her only company. It’d been over 48 hours since she last slept, since Joel was hurt and they’d had to drag him into the house and patch him up. He wasn’t in good shape. Joel was so close to death’s door, it terrified her. They were so close to losing him and she had never felt more helpless.

She could still hear his pained groans, the glazed and blank look in his eyes, as she put pressure on the bleeding hole in his stomach just a couple days before. “Don’t you dare die, Joel. You still have to make shit up to me and you can’t do that dead. You can’t leave us again.” He’d tried to tell them to leave him. To go back to Tommy’s and leave him behind, the stubborn asshole. But Ellie managed to find the first aid kit and they’d sewn up the hole, wrapping it best they could with the little supplies they had. She knew it wasn’t enough. There could be shards left from the baseball bat, they weren’t the cleanest, nothing was sterile. She didn’t even know if something internal had been damaged. But it was all they could do. They’d been so focused on getting to Colorado they’d been using their food storage rather than hunting over the past week. Now it was biting them in the ass, their supplies dwindled. She’d managed to briefly go out and hunt down a rabbit, but game seemed scarce and leaving meant leaving Ellie and Joel alone. Without Joel, it was hard to sleep, look after Ellie, look after him and keep him stable, look after the fucking horses, and hunt. She was overwhelmed. So sleep went out the window. She took watch when Ellie was asleep, went and tried to hunt and scavenge the nearby houses when she was awake, and kept an eye on Joel in between taking care of the two horses in the garage. But at some point she’d fallen asleep finally, fallen deep and hard enough that she hadn’t noticed Ellie slipping the rifle from her hands and leaving the two adults alone. A small scribbled note was placed on her lap on a piece of what looked like newspaper, “Be back soon -E.” She scrambled to her feet, looking around and cursed herself. Joel was still breathing steadily but his brow was covered with sweat from the infection he was staving off. Both their packs were against the wall but Ellie’s was gone and the panic that took hold was like a lightning bolt. It stole the breath from her lungs. Ellie was gone, Ellie was gone, Ellie was gone- it was a racing thought that circulated over and over again. Her main purpose, main job, and she’d fucking fallen asleep.

Her heart jumped further at hearing footsteps above her head, the slight creak and shift in the old wood, a door slamming…then it all came out in deep relief as she recognized the light shuffling.

Ellie raced down the steps, cheeks pink from cold and wind, and breath huffing out in a rush as she entered the basement.

She grabbed the girl immediately, shaking her by the shoulders with the vestiges of panic still in her blood, “Where did you go, Ellie? You weren’t supposed to leave!”

The teenager paused, eyes frantic and a little wild, but a tough set to her lips as she shook her head, “I went hunting and you needed sleep! I had to, but look! I got Joel medicine!” Ellie took the bottles out of their wrap, quickly moving away from her and kneeling down to Joel, beginning to lift up his shirt before she could even get a good look at what she had. The wound was ugly and discolored and she could hear him groan at the small touches. Her mind was still caught up in the panic of discovering the girl was gone and she quickly snatched the bottles away before the syringe was inserted. “Where did you get this?” she asked, turning it over in her hands. Penicillin. Two whole bottles of penicillin, practically liquid gold in their world, and Ellie had managed to get it while she slept. The teen looked nervous and tried to snatch it back, but she was quick even if she was exhausted and pulled her hand away, “Please, can we give it to him first and then I’ll explain?” Her eyes were so big for her face, cheeks pink. Her desperation to help Joel was evident. Ellie knew how bad he was doing and believed she held the cure to it all in her hands. She could only sigh and hand it back over, instructing her to give just a fourth of the bottle and to tap the syringe. Joel would probably have a heart attack if he knew she was letting the kid give it to him, but she knew Ellie had to do this herself. It was her win and she had to feel like she was the one saving him so she let her. But then they both stared, her knowledge only getting them that far. “Where the fuck am I suppose to put this?” Ellie cursed, looking at the wound and Joel’s arm, eyes switching between hers and his closed ones, “Fuck, how are we supposed to do this?” She cursed herself. Her medical knowledge was mediocre. Stitching, cleaning wounds, pulling out bullets, the basics they needed. Infections and medicine she had no clue about, “Just give it to him in his stomach. As long as it enters his blood stream, it should be fine.” At least, that’s what she thought. Ellie winced and inserted the needle, Joel giving out pained groans as it sunk into the sensitive area. They both watched the plunger empty the contents and then she pulled it out, trying to clean the needle the best she could. They only had one syringe and would have to reuse it. “And now we wait,” the teen commented and looked at his face as if at any second he would be magically better. He would wake up and smile and tell her good job. But he didn’t, staying silent on the small makeshift bed. “No, now you tell me where you went and how you got that,” she bit out, sitting on the other side of Joel to face her. Ellie winced and looked down at the small glass bottles in her hand, “You needed to sleep and we needed food. I know you think you can take care of all of us, but you can’t and I wanted to help by trying to hunt.” “That’s not your responsibility-” “It doesn’t matter. I wanted to help,” Ellie cut her off but then sighed, “And I did manage to actually get a deer…but I ran into these guys...” Instantly, she was on high alert, eyes searching everything that was visible and checking her for any wounds, “You ran into people and you’re barely telling me!” “I know!” the young girl argued back, hand resting on top of Joel’s, “They found my deer before me and said they were from a group with starving women and children. They offered to trade for half the deer and said they had medicine. I did everything I was supposed to! Got them to drop their guns, unloaded their rifles, and had them back away. One went to get the medicine and I kept the gun on the other.”

“So you gave them half the deer and they gave you the medicine then just let you go?” she asked and clenched and unclenched her fists. Ellie wouldn’t look so nervous if that was the whole story and she wasn’t nearly tired enough to have been dragging half a deer carcass back. Shrugging, Ellie grimaced and refused to meet her eyes, “That was the deal…but they knew who we were. The people that attacked us at the university belonged to their group and this guy started talking about how one of theirs had been killed by a crazy man with two girls. He knows that was Joel. I don’t know why he let me go, but I think they’re looking for us.” With a curse, she quickly stood, hands on her hips and pacing in a tight circle, “Fuck. Fuck. And they didn’t come after you?”

“No, I think they let me go because I was a kid.” She doubted that. People rarely were that charitable, even to children in this world. Especially a child with a gun and an attitude like Ellie’s. The unspoken words were there though. That didn’t mean they wouldn’t come for her and Joel though. Ellie may be deemed innocent but the two of them were problems and only one of them was in commission currently. But what could they do? They couldn’t move Joel in his state. They couldn’t leave him behind either. They were stuck. “Okay. Maybe if they let you go they don’t plan on coming. Maybe they think both of us are injured if you were out on your own and won’t come,” she lied comfortingly and tried to speak the words into existence, knowing the kid was probably feeling guilty and needed some hope. They needed rest, needed to breathe for a second, and panicking now wouldn’t help. It took a while to relax enough to let the adrenaline fade away.

Ellie laid down, exhausted, tucking into Joel’s side as she had the past couple nights and resting her head on his shoulder. He subconsciously leaned into her, still alive for now. Her heart ached at the sight, the way they held each other in their own ways. She didn’t have the strength to get after the girl more or uproot them out of precaution. They were all exhausted and Ellie had somehow managed to bring hope even if there was a cost.

She sat down by the stairs, flipped her knife between her fingers to keep her awake and focused, and watched the two sleep with her heart in her throat.

The men would come. Now that they knew they were in the area, they would come and they were stuck in this spot until Joel was better. There was no way they could get him on a horse and move him now without undoing all the healing he’d done. A thousand scenarios went through her head, sleep now a distant memory in the face of the panic and anxiety plaguing her. How was she supposed to fight off a group and keep them both safe?

She couldn’t. That was the reality of the situation.

The thought hit her over and over again like a blow to the chest, the knife turning between her fingers. _________________________________________ Morning came and she could see Ellie’s disappointment that the medicine hadn’t instantly woken Joel up and made him all better. To ease her mind, they gave him another dose, trying to make the bottles last before shoving the remainder in their bags. They were out of food, the rabbit she had caught two days ago long gone without a way to store it. Joel still wasn’t eating or drinking and she worried that even if they got the infection under control, his body wouldn’t be strong enough to get better. Things were bad. The possibility of Joel dying was a constant chime in her head. It felt like a mockery that he had left and came back only to be almost taken from them permanently. She was angry. He wasn’t supposed to be the one that took the hit. It had been meant for her but he’d pushed her out the way as the bat swung, breaking on the tree, and then tackled the guy. If it had been her, Joel would know what to do. He could take care of them both or at least would have the strength to leave her behind if necessary. She wasn’t sure she could. She was failing him. Failing them both. The basement was suffocating, pressing in on her, and she took the opportunity to go tend to the horses, leaving the girl and her unconscious companion to the pressing weight of disappointment. Her body was beginning to ache from the lack of sleep and food, joints protesting her movement, but she reached down and scooped snow into the small metal bucket for them to get some water. Soon the horses would starve too or be too weak to carry them. Death was creeping up on them. Looking over the neighborhood they were held up in, she sighed at the obvious foot steps leading up through the streets before beginning to methodically cover what she could. Ellie knew better than to leave a trail but she guessed in her hurry to get the medicine back to Joel and get away from the men she had forgotten. And as birds took off in a rush further down the road towards the wooded outskirts, she froze and her heart thundered in her ears.

She felt fear run through her as her thoughts from the night resurfaced and became reality, a living nightmare. They were coming. They had waited for daylight to search them out and were coming now. She knew it, could feel it, and they were out of time. Quickly covering what she could and making false tracks from the other houses, she ran back inside and flew down the stairs to the basement taking two at a time. No time, there was no time. Ellie startled at her rushed appearance and the way she flew across the room to the rifle and her own pack, “What’s happening?”

“Those men you saw are coming,” she huffed out, grabbing the rifle and checking it was loaded before looking around the room as if she could find the answer there.

Turning to Joel, Ellie began to shake his shoulders as if he were merely sleeping and not borderline in a coma, “Fuck. Joel! You have to wake up, Joel. Joel, wake up! Wake the fuck up, Joel!” But he only gasped, pained whimpers leaving his lips, eyelids fluttering.

She bent down and grabbed Ellie by the shoulders, forcing her to look into her eyes, “Ellie, I need you to listen to me. I need you to take the horse and run.”

“What? No, what about-”

“You run and I’ll follow behind and try to pick them off,” she interrupted, voice adamant, “They’re going to search every house and they will find us eventually. I can’t hold them off like this. I need to know you’re good first and if we’re away from here then it will take the focus off Joel.”

“You want me to go without you?” Ellie’s eyes were wide with fear and her heart ached at the sight, but there was no time.

“I’ll find you,” she promised and dug her fingers tightly into her shoulders as if she could sink the words into her skin, “I will. But you have to go now. We’ll block the entrance to down here, give Joel some time.”

Ellie pressed her lips together and nodded, running to grab her backpack and last minute grabbed one of the larger knives they had. Running back over to Joel, the teen knelt down and placed it on his chest, forcing his hand to grab it. She let her while grabbing the rest of her stuff and placed Joel’s pack into a small cubby under the steps to make it less noticeable.

“Okay, look at me,” Ellie whispered to him while he only groaned in reply, “There are men coming, okay? I’m gonna lead them away from you, Red is going to help get rid of them. But if anybody makes it down here, you fucking kill them. You got it?”

“Ellie, hurry,” she bit out, peeking out the small window along the top of the wall. “Joel, do not fall asleep,” the teenager pleaded desperately, squeezing his hand around the knife. She could see his eyes partially open, see his lips trying to move and his fingers twitching trying to grasp the knife. But Ellie finally got up quickly and rushed up the stairs. She went to follow after her and paused, staring back at the unconscious man on the floor. A part of her whispered that this could be the last time she saw him alive. One or both of them could be dead if this didn’t go right. Heart in her throat, she ran back to him and kneeled, kissing his forehead and grasping his hand. “Stay alive for us, please, Joel,” she whispered, squeezing the hand around the knife, but getting back up and running up the stairs. She tried not to look back. Both of them moved the tall kitchen cabinet over the door entryway to the basement, trying to shuffle things around to not make the spot obvious before heading to the garage. They got both horses out, grabbing what she needed from hers and sending silent apologies to Tommy before forcing it to gallop away in the opposite direction with a sharp smack. The other she saved for Ellie to ride, closing the garage door behind them. They’d figure out transportation later when they were out of this mess, but they needed the guys off their trail and two different horse tracks would help. With quick hands, she helped Ellie climb up onto its back.

Shakily, she bit out, “You ride hard and fast and loud. They’re going to come after you but if you go fast they won’t catch you and I’ll hit them from behind. They only know for sure about you right now. Do not look back, Ellie. I’ll find you once it’s safe, I promise.” Ellie was shaking but tried to put on a brave face, nodding and holding onto the reins. She wanted to hug the girl, tell her it was going to be okay, but she wouldn’t lie to her. Not now. The men were close, she knew that. She patted the rear of the horse and nodded a final goodbye, beckoning her to go forward. Her heart screamed to not let her go, that it was safer with her than alone, but they were backed into a corner and she had no choice. They wouldn’t win in a shootout and losing meant Ellie would die. So she watched as the girl rode away down the street away from her, turning until she was completely out of sight, and tried not to flinch at the gunshots that came soon after and the yells of men. She tried to shut off the part of her that wanted to panic, to react and worry. That wasn’t the part she needed to listen to at the moment. Running as far as she could, crossing over fences and staying against the walls of the house, she followed the sound of loud hoof beats and chased after them as they chased after Ellie. Her ears caught on one of them screaming that she was to be left alive, but that didn’t ease the worry in her. Being captured alive wasn’t always a good thing. One of the slower men chasing Ellie fell the furthest behind, wheezing in the cold and trying to clamber in the dense snow. Her own knife in hand, she ran and jumped onto his back, using both their weight to send them forward onto his front behind the cover of some of the shrubs.

He hadn’t been expecting to be attacked from behind and it took him a moment to try and struggle, to lift his face out of the snow to breathe, and she took advantage of that by stabbing deep into the back of his neck. He groaned, the sound muffled, and she pulled the blade out and sunk it in again and again with a growl. The snow was staining red around them. He stopped moving. One down. She stood and took off, the cold biting into her lungs and stealing her breath. The terrain was hard and the one kill had put her farther behind the group, forcing her to cut across more backyards to catch up, but she could only hope Ellie had done what she asked and was out of range. She could catch the rest of them once they scattered. But then a gunshot rang out close by. The sound of a horse’s cry ripped through her, tore her soul to shreds, and she knew if she lived beyond the day she would hear that sound forever in her nightmares.

She ran. She left all care of stealth behind and ran fast and hard, dodging trees and fallen branches and then ran faster when another gun shot rang out. The chest felt like it was being cleaved open by the panic, fear gripping her tightly. They wouldn’t have shot her. They wouldn’t have killed her. She was a kid, they wouldn’t-

And then she watched from the trees as the group surrounded Ellie who was on the ground, her horse unmoving not far away, and a tall skinny man picked her up and began to walk away with her. She raised the rifle, looking down the scope, and cursed as the men separated and began to head back into the neighborhood. No doubt to continue their search for Joel and her.

She could see Ellie’s face through the scope, the loll of her head, but she was gripped too closely to the man’s body. He was walking further and further away. Two sides of her screamed. Leaving to go after them meant abandoning Joel, but staying behind meant leaving Ellie. She wanted to press the trigger, shoot, but knew it was too risky with Ellie in the man’s arms. She could so easily accidentally kill the girl if she was one inch off and her hands were too shaky from exhaustion to be precise. Only some of the group was going back, the others looking like they were continuing to scout the area.

She knew what she had to do, what Joel would tell her to do, but the reality of it felt impossible. If they found Joel, he’d die for sure. But she wasn’t sure she could live with leaving Ellie.

The men with the girl were getting farther away and a choice had to be made.

So she swallowed the sob in her throat and let the rage she felt consume her completely, push her forward, and followed behind the group to where they would take her kid. __________________________ It was getting harder and harder to follow along as the wind began to kick up a notch. She needed to see where they were taking Ellie, but she was tired and the cold was sinking in, her body struggling to keep going. And as they entered the town, it was getting difficult to avoid being seen. Too many buildings, too many open areas, and she didn’t know who could be watching. She knew they had entered one of the nearby buildings, but wasn’t sure which. The clock was ticking in her mind, Ellie’s life on one hand and Joel’s on the other. What good was she if she couldn’t save her people? Blood crusted on her fingers as she entered the first of the buildings quietly, finding a back entrance. It was dark but she could hear voices nearby as she found herself in some kind of storage room, the cold still reaching her through the walls. She wasn’t used to carrying the rifle. It had always been Joel’s weapon thanks to its weight, her preferring knives or a small pistol or even a bow when she could find one. So when she crouched down to ease her way over to the swinging door leading further inside, she winced when it thudded and scraped against the floor, the sound so loud in her ears. The voices paused and she froze, eyes wide and watching the door. There was shuffling and she quickly backed away into a darkened corner, pulling her knife out. Steps came closer and she held her breath, trying to calm her racing heart. The door swung open and she could see a man enter, beard a little rough and looking a little ragged, cheeks red from the cold. He frowned, looking around, gaze shifting over what he could. He turned to look at the back door, back facing her, and only then did she realize she had tracked snow inside and it hadn’t quite melted. Lunging, she stuck the blade deep into his lower back with all her might and threw her arm around his neck, choking him hard. A cry of pain tried to leave his lips, breath cut off, and he struggled wildly. She twisted the knife, feeling blood coat her hand. “Where is the girl?” she hissed, jerking the blade deeper. He sobbed and made pathetic mewling sounds of pain, voice wispy from lack of air, “Please, I don’t know-” She twisted, hearing the squelch of flesh tearing, “The teenage girl your buddy grabbed, where is she?” The distinct smell of piss lingered in the air and he sobbed out, “I don’t know! Oh god.” Steps were coming close again and she growled, keeping her grip on the knife buried in his body and shifting her arm away from his neck to hold the back of his collar. He wheezed in air, blood starting to bubble from his lips. The door burst open and the distinct sound of a gun rising echoed in the tiny room, only to pause as she held the man in front of her like a shield, mostly hidden by his body. “Howard-” A woman’s voice. All the people who had attacked them had been men.

She wouldn’t have the information she needed. With a growl of frustration, she shoved the body at her, letting his dead weight hit her and trap the woman against the wall. She let out a startled cry and the delay gave her just enough time to unholster her pistol and shoot her in the head. The numbness that was a twin to her rage had sunk into her skin, blanketing her all over. She’d search the buildings, one by one, and kill whoever she had to to find her kid. She didn’t care. Stepping over the bodies, she moved into the area they had been in before she drew their attention and paused, icy horror filling her. A leg was in the process of being cut apart, small chunks set aside and being wrapped up as if to store for later. It was a kitchen, most likely used to prepare food for stage, large makeshift smokers and pits along the back unused. The ticking clock in her mind sped up as the reality of what she’d uncovered hit her. Cannibals. These people that had taken Ellie were cannibals. A strong hit to her back sent her stumbling forward and clattering to her knees. She grunted and scrambled forward as a stomp missed her, hitting the ground instead. There’d been someone still in the room and she’d been too distracted to notice.

Rolling onto her back, gun still in her hand, she aimed and managed to shoot the knee out of her assailant as he raised a butcher knife. He crumpled to the ground with a cry and she got to her feet slowly, gun raised and trained on him.

The guy was younger, but thin and haggard looking. His bravado hadn’t fully left him though as he stared her down, anger in his eyes, “You fucking bitch. You blew out my fucking knee.” He tried to get up but she aimed at his head, making him freeze. “I’ll shoot the other one too if you don’t shut up and tell me where the girl you kidnapped is,” she snarled, adrenaline helping to keep the firearm steady on him. His nose wrinkled and he spit at her, brow furrowed.

Stubborn. Younger guys were so stubborn.

She pulled the trigger and watched his other knee explode as the bullet met his target. The man screamed and she quickly knelt down, shoving her hand over his mouth and placing the still warm barrel against his forehead. Tears leaked out his eyes, making little dirt tracks through the grime on his skin.

“Where the fuck is she?” she screamed into his face and the sound was almost inhuman, gravel and fury warping it almost into a howl.

But he only shook his head, eyes defiant. Frustrated, she stood, looking at the meat cleaver in his hand and the human leg on the table. She didn’t have time for this. Ellie was out there and the situation was worse than she thought. Not even meeting his eyes, she raised the gun and shot him in the head. He wasn’t going to give her any information.

She raced back outside through the back door she had entered, heart in her throat and a panicked scream wanting to leave her lips.

The storm was picking up as an idea hit her. If she searched each building, there was no guarantee she’d find someone with information in time. She had to draw their attention. Maybe lure them out. They had wanted Ellie alive for the moment. If she could distract them, it may buy her time.

Chewing her lip, she kneeled behind the building and swung her pack around to dig through it. Her hand wrapped around a small glass bottle that had been carefully secured in the middle of her clothes and yanked it out along with one of her old shirts. They’d been saving it for emergencies, using it to sterilize what they could, but she needed it for something else now. Her face stung from the cold wind and her hands shook, but she managed to tear cloth and shove it into the liquor bottle, saturating the fabric, before she put her pack back on and stood.

Time to make a big fucking distraction.

Blocking the wind with her hands, she lit a match and watched as the tip of the cloth burned bright with flames.

With a snarl, she tossed the molotov through the window of the next building, ducking down and watching as the flames exploded inside. Screams and shouts followed, telling her there had been people inside, and she waited for more voices to join them. Someone would investigate or come outside.

Like clockwork, a man rushed out into the cold and she gripped her bloody knife at the familiar face. One of the men that had come back with Ellie. He cursed and ran through the snow, yelling that he was going to grab the fire extinguisher next door while the others scrambled to put the flames out. She followed, quiet, lava flowing through her and teeth bared. She couldn’t even feel the cold anymore.

The wind blocked any sound she made as she rushed after him into the alley and lunged, shoving him into the cold brick wall with a loud crack. She growled and grabbed his hair, gripping it tightly and smashing it into the bricks once then twice. He tried to push away and turn, but she kneed him hard in the spine, driving him to his knees. “Where is the girl?” she snarled into his ear, knife to his throat. Blood poured down an open wound on his forehead, one eye blinded by red, as he finally took in who had grabbed him, “fuck you,” “Wrong answer,” she yanked his hair and slammed it into the wall again. When he went to raise his hand to fight her, she stabbed the blade through his hand and into the ground. His screams were carried away by the wind and snow, the shouts of his group telling her they were still distracted by the fire. “The girl your group grabbed,” the words were all razors and broken glass, almost the sound of an animal snarl, “Where did you take her?” He sneered at her, trying to put on a strong front through the pain, “That bitch is probably soup by now.” She stepped on the knife, the blade so far in his hand the hilt was pressing against the back, “I can make this last a fucking lifetime. Your choice. Where-” “Please, don’t-” Frustrated, she ripped the knife out and placed the tip just inside his mouth, “Last chance. Where is she?” The tip clinked against his teeth and he hung his mouth open to avoid being cut, his beard a mess of blood and spit and green eyes wide with fear finally. She tried not to feel satisfaction as seeing that, understanding setting in for him. He lifted his bloody hand and tried to point across the street, stuttering out, “Steakhouse. The fucking steakhouse. David has her in there.” She looked at him, eye swollen, and blood coating the front of his face, clearly terrified.

Slowly, she took the blade away, watching his lips wobble with sobs and slight relief. Then she slit his throat, continuing to move behind the buildings even as his blood sprayed out and soaked her clothes and his pleas gurgled and quieted.

The steakhouse was a few more buildings down across the street, “Todd’s Steakhouse” still written on the sign out front. The storm was a blizzard now, sharp stinging snow hitting her skin and turning the blood on her into patches of ice. There were yells, panicked screams, and she wondered if they had found the bodies. If they had found the blood and chaos she had left in her wake.

But with a destination in sight, she had let her guard down and she cursed herself later on for it. Arms wrapped around her torso, crushing the rifle into her back, and she kicked at the air as she was dragged back against a brick wall.

“You fucking bitch!” Screamed into her ear and she was tossed to the ground, teeth clattering from the impact.

A kick landed in her stomach and she grunted, the air leaving her lungs, but she had enough sense to grab onto the leg and cling to it. The move caught the man off balance and he tripped, falling to the ground next to her. Her blade was somewhere in the snow and she struggled to dig around for it, sharp steel nicking her fingers as she found it only to be thrown onto her back.

The man climbed on top of her, straddling her waist, his weight so heavy and her pack on her back making the move crushing. She grit her teeth and bucked, thrashing to try and get him off of her. But he only grinned, pulling back and decking her in the face. Stars lit up behind her eyes, a high pitch ringing all she could hear as pain exploded through her head.

He pulled back to punch again and her fingers found the cold metal in the snow. She wrapped her hand around it, feeling the sharp steel cut into her palm as she grabbed it by the blade instead of the hilt, and stabbed it into his lower throat. She didn’t stop, only switching to pull it out by its handle this time, and stabbed again and again, blood reigning down onto her.

With a howl, she shoved him off of her and sent a final stab into his face, snow soaking into her and pain a radiating heat. Everything hurt and it was an effort to get up and roll onto her side, staring at the decimated body next to her.

She spit blood on him and stood. There was smoke coming from all around her, the fire having caught from the molotov and moving on building to building. Across the way, smoke could be seen from the steakhouse and she swallowed her pain, letting adrenaline carry her to the front doors. Her hands shook as she tried the handles, pulling again and again but they stayed locked and shut. Growling, she threw her shoulder into it. She was so close. She had found the place and was so close and a locked fucking door was all that was keeping her away. Her breathing was quick and frantic as she looked over the front and tried to reason that there had to be a back door or an employee entrance. Her hands skimmed the wall to try and keep upright, knowing soon the exhaustion and pain would take over, but she tried to push it back. Ellie had to be close. She needed to keep going a little bit further and then she’d get her kid and they’d go get Joel.

Her steps stumbled and she pushed off the wall, screaming at herself to stay steady. There, she could see the back door. Plain and wooden, easy enough to shoot the lock off and get inside. With shaky fingers, she unhooked the rifle from her shoulder, the weight of it almost unbearable, and took two shots to get the lock blown off. Her legs were shaky as she climbed the few steps and opened the door, smoke pouring out. She coughed and tried to wave it away, stepping inside and feeling the heat. She had taken only a few steps into the building and stopped, hearing a familiar voice. “Red?” Relief flooded her, eyes instantly filling with tears, as Ellie emerged from the smoke not too far in front of her. Ellie was there, hair a mess and half tumbling out of her ponytail, blood splattered and smeared all over her face and clothes. It took her a while to realize she was standing there, actually standing there, watching as the girl stumbled forward and wrapped her arms tightly around her waist.

Smoke and fire was all around them, but she couldn’t care because she had Ellie and they were both alive and safe now. With shaky hands, she managed to direct them back out of the building and into the cold, fresh air. Her promise rang in her ears and she whispered them out loud as she clung to the girl, “I found you. I found you. I’ll always find you.” And she had, but not quick enough. She knew that something awful had happened, that Ellie was now one step closer to being what her and Joel were. The tough exterior had crumbled away and all that was left was a shocked girl who’d had a piece of her soul cleaved away. Her nose was busted and she knew that look in her eyes, the horror and pain at doing something ugly but necessary. Ellie’s lips were shaking as she looked her over and she was so focused on the girl she almost didn’t see Joel coming around the corner. Joel, standing and whole and alive, coming towards them like Ellie was a gravity well pulling both of them towards her. His eyes met hers and the relief was bright, even if she was dripping in blood. But Ellie hadn’t noticed the shift in attention, hadn’t heard his steps, and when he went to grab her she bucked and thrashed in his arms in sheer desperation. So much like her, a wild animal fighting not to be caged. Her heart tore apart, shredded to pieces, at the painful screams then broken sobs as she realized who was holding on to her.

Joel only kept whispering, “It’s me, it’s me, I’m here.” “He- I-” she stuttered, eyes glazed and searching both of theirs. Joel held on with all his might, trying to ease her, gentle words soothing. And the girl crumbled, falling into his arms and clinging to him tightly as much as he was clinging to her. His eyes met hers and she let the exhaustion hit her and carry her towards them, falling to her knees and wrapping her arms around them both. All three of them, blood soaked, finally home with each other.

______________ Feral Reader Taglist: @alouise20 @faceache111

#joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller x feral reader #joel miller #joel miller fanfic #joel miller x female reader #the last of us fanfic #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfic #tlou fanfiction #joel miller x oc #tlou ellie #ellie the last of us #tlou #the last of us #feral reader #series: feral #raicodoll writes

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staysdelulus · 1 month ago

Text

Stray Kids - Bang Chan [MDNI!!]

Kinktober Day 11!!

Summary: You and your CEO <3

Warnings: fem!reader, pinv, no protection, oral (fem!receiving), and more

Word Count: 1644

“There you are.”

You flinch, jumping as your eyes dart up to see Bang Chan waiting, standing impatiently as he glared straight at you. Bang Chan is your boss, him being the formidable CEO of his company, you being his personal secretary, always working at your desk or finding him to organize his busy schedule.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Bang,” you say softly, looking down as his eyes pierced you, baring you down to the soul. “My bus was running late.”

He scoffs slightly, his eyes hardening. “I don’t care. You have a job; get here on time.”

“I understand, Mr. Bang,” you say again. “I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again-”

“You say that every time, Ms. Y/l/n.” Bang Chan’s voice makes your blood run cold, his footsteps echoing on the ground as he comes near you. His head moves down to you, hissing in your ear. “I would suggest you do, Ms. Y/l/n, if you really value this job.”

Without another word, he turns away, stalking away and leaving you behind, standing at your desk shaking. Your eyes move to the clock. 8:06 AM. You were barely late, late by only a few minutes. And also rarely late. In fact, the last time you were late, it was months ago. Late by just a few minutes. And again, Bang Chan had scolded you, hissing in your face and threatening you.

You. You. It was always you. Just you. Others would be late, dipping into the office without a worry, Bang Chan’s eyes glazing over them. But as soon as they caught onto you, seeing you walk into the office, out of breath, he would grow angry, annoyed at the sight of you.

And so, here you were, turning on your computer and quickly getting to work. You could feel your head throbbing slightly, stomach clawing at you for some food. Ignoring the pang in your stomach, you focus on your tasks, eyes flicking over the agenda Bang Chan had sent you.

And as the hours passed, your eyes began to glaze over, eyes blinking wearily as you worked. And worked. And worked. Bang Chan’s scolding had gotten to you. It was easy to see, with the way your usually cheery smile was gone. The softness in your eyes seems to have died into slight hurt.

And Bang Chan sees it. From his office, peering through his glass windows to observe you. Ever so hard-working. Ever so diligent. Skipping your lunch break, hands trembling, eyes wide, glazed so much it almost looked like you were crying.

9 o’clock. On the dot. Your shift was long over, you should’ve been home long ago. Yet here you were. Unaware of the darkening sky, the silence in the office seemingly more deafening than the usual loudness it held.

Bang Chan sighs, standing up and leaving his office. When he sees you. Hand trembling, lower lip caught in your teeth as you continued to work, eye unblinking.

“Why are you still here?” Bang Chan’s voice rings out as he moves to you, your body flinching slightly in surprise.

“Oh, Mr. Bang,” you say, eyes wide. “I finished the reports you were asking for. I also rescheduled the meetings this week to make room for the interviews you wanted to host. As soon as we fill our Marketing Department, I’ll send over the budget for this year, and then we can-”

“Y/n,” his voice is quiet, slightly softened as he looks at you, his eyes unreadable. With a flick of his hand, he turns off your computer. “Did you even eat today?”

You pause, surprised at his question, before flushing, looking down and shaking your head. “N-No.”

“Let’s go eat.”

It’s not a question. Just a command. And that’s when you find yourself in front of Chan, seated down as Chan orders a few dishes, watching you with slight irritation in his eyes. “Do you really need people to take care of you, Y/n? Why would you even skip your meals? You’re just trying to kill yourself, aren’t you?”

You shrink into yourself at his words, looking down at your hands. “I’m not-”

“Just save it,” he suddenly snaps, huffing out in annoyance. Pressing his eyes close for a second, he opens them again to speak. “Just… just eat. Just- whatever.”

And so, the both of you end up eating in silence, his anger seeming to simmer below the surface. When you’re done eating, he stands up silently, paying at the counter before grabbing your upper arm and pulling you with him without another word, practically pushing you into his car before he slams the door shut.

The drive is silent, his hands clenched on the steering wheel tightly before he arrives at your apartment building. “Get out.”

“M-Mr. Bang-”

“I said, get out,” he snarls, slamming his fists onto the steering wheel. You jump slightly, mouth parted as you stare at him, lips trembling. His voice rises into an angry shout, eyes fixed on yours. “GET OUT!”

Without another word, you leave the car, tears welled in your eyes as you whimper softly. His heart clenches, his hand reaching out for a second. “Y/n-”

But you’re already gone. Bang Chan closes his eyes, clenching his fists as they shake, a lump in his throat. He could feel it, the tears that were pooling just under his eyelids, his hands shaking as his body slumped forward, forehead against the steering wheel.

The sight of the feat in your eyes, so different from your usual cheery self killed him. You were always shy, shying away from the spotlight, taking whatever scolding he had for you as he huffed angrily each time.

And now, he had finally lost his mind, hadn’t he? Yelling at you like it was your fault you felt the way you did. Without another word, he gets out of his car, running into the apartment building before he knocks on the door quickly.

You open it, and his heart clenches. Crying. Eyes slightly red as tear tracks ran down your cheeks. Without another word, Bang Chan steps in, kicking off his shoes as he cups your face, his forehead falling against yours. “Y/n- I’m sorry- I-”

His voice catches, and he pulls you into his arms, groaning heavily as he inhales your scent. Fuck. This felt good. This felt right.

And in that moment, he wanted nothing but you. And so, he pulled back, hand intertwining with yours as his eyes searched yours. Leaning closer, his lips found yours.

Soft. Sweet. Tentative. Your lips were so sweet, a taste of the food lingering on your tongue as he gently seeked entrance, hands finding your waist as you whimpered against his touch. He wasn’t supposed to do this. He was your boss, yet somehow this just felt right. And so, there he was, holding you as his, kissing you so desperately it was like he had been starved of human touch for years.

As the kiss grows, his desperation seems to as well. His hands find yours, a small groan coming from his lips as he gasps softly, hands reaching for his tie and pulling it off. The both of your hands clash, him finding your clothes as you did his, pulling each other bare.

“Y/n,” he whispers, eyes wide as he stares at you. You swallow nervously, chewing your lower lip as you lead him to the bedroom.

He groans softly, pushing you down onto the bed and spreading your legs apart, kissing the inner thigh before he laps at your entrance, your knees buckling at his force. “Ch-Ch-Chan-”

“Say it again,” he gasps, voice raspy as he thrusts his tongue into you. Just the taste of you drove him crazy, your senses overwhelmed as his hands intertwined with yours. As you continue to cry out his name, he gently moves over you, pushing your hands above your head, holding your wrists down with one hand.

“Stop me,” Chan whispers, kissing your lips as he groans softly, his arousal pushing into you ever so slightly. “Stop me now. Or I won’t be able to stop.”

When you only whimper in response, he thrusts into you, hips moving at a slow and languid pace as you cry out, begging for more. Feeling himself deep in you, his cock buried like you were his home.

He doesn’t stop. He just keeps on moving. Fucking you harder as your body bounced on the bed, his lips falling to suck on your breasts, whining at the taste of you, you, you.

“Ch-Chan- going to- to- to come-”

“Fuck, Y/n,” he grits out through his teeth. “Y-You can’t just say that- fuck- come- come for me, baby- fuck-”

You clench around him, squirming desperately at his words before you reach your high, his hips still thrusting in and out of you as he chases his own. And when he does, he pulls out, cock aimed over your body as his warmth shoots over your body, you crying out at the sudden emptiness.

“Chan…” your voice is breathless, eyes wide as if you had just suddenly realized what had just happened.

Afraid. Afraid that he would just pull away and go back to being the cold CEO he was before.

“Y/n.” His voice is soft, his hand cupping your cheek as he gently lays besides you. Eyes soft. Hands gentle. Voice tender. “It’s okay.”

Your lips tremble, almost relieved as his heart clenches. Kissing your temple, he exhales slowly. “I’m sorry, Y/n. I-”

His voice catches, but he doesn’t care. Not when you’re besides him, fucked out yet still so beautiful. It didn’t matter that he was your employer. He just wanted to bask in this feeling. The worries of having a work relationship…

That could be saved for tomorrow.

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vraska-theunseen · 2 months ago

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😶h

aughhhh. aughhhhhjhhhh

#i just can't stop thinking about how she mentioned my headphones when many other people were less visibly listening to music and my food #containers in thd classroom and yesterday when i forgot my shoes and i guess also was wearing the wrong pants i felt the stupidest i've ever #felt in my life i wanted to die i woke up at 11:20 because i was so tired and i went through the motions and it was like suddenly sitting in #the classroom i was shunted back into my body and i could feel the slides on my feet and i wanted to die and as i left she said you should #know better! like i didn't already know that like i didn't already feel stupid i had to walk back to main and put my shoes on and walk back #to the other campus it took 45 minutes most stupid and worthless i've ever felt in my whole stupid fucking life and she mentioned all of #that and said 'if you wonder why you're falling behind that's why...' i can't stop thinking about it im not doing bad at my t joint and my #lap joint because i wore the wrong shoes and pants once and i listened to music once while drafting and i bring my lunch in the classroom #it's because i am just slow i always try to pay attention and i take detailed notes and i do the best i can but the best is really really #bad and i knkw what is wrong but i can't fix it right i keep doing it the same bad way i don't know why i am so stupid and bad at learning #and this is training wheels this is easy this is 4 hours a day and i spend some of that sitting around watching lectures or watching other #people weld because there aren't enough booths if i ever want to get a job in this trade or any job it will be at least 8 hours 5 days a #week and i spend most of my time now on hobbies or doing easy but time consuming homework or rotting in bed i don't want to live in the #world man i have so many friends things to look forward to but i always have to live in the world and every day i live is easy compared to #everyone else i know what the hell am i supposed to do #Theres so many bugs in my room can you kill yourselves im trying to work myself into anxiety spiral right now do you fucking mind. i hope th #e wasp comes back and stings me and im allergic to wasps and i die and in my last dying moments i somehow with unprecedented luck and #dexterity pluck the wasp out of the air and crush it and it lays dying as i lay dying hand in unlovable hand kind of like a reverse bee #movie im kind of like the anti jerry seinfeld wait he was the bee fuckkk. ok that snapped me out of it a little im still anxious about all #that stuff and the stuff from the last post but i don't feel like a vise is gripping my mind and my chest anymore

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siffrins-therapist · 4 months ago

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👾censoredmandibiles Follow

OK time to settle something

EDIT: this post WAY ended up breaking containment. GO CLUTCH YOUR PEARLS ELSEWHERE

🦑tentacleovi Follow

YO FREE BLOCKLIST IN THE NOTES HOLY SHIT

#RIP OP's notifs #i don't go here but i suggest making popcorn before diving into those notes #some of it is puritan bs you'd expect #some of it is discourse i never even knew existed

41.6K Notes

🕷️friendofcharlotte

I think a painting my friend got at a thrift store was painted by Mr. Italy Veneziano? Is there a way to authenticate it? Google isn't helping.

⭐wishonadeadstar Follow

Try here. Turns out my nan's portrait of her farmhouse was originally painted by Mr. Romano when he was living in NY during the 1920's.

🕷️friendofcharlotte

THANK YOU

8 Notes

📽️bisexuallightinggoggles Follow

hey yo so the US rep put like 100 hours into playing that game Spiritfarer just this week... anyone want to go check on the guy??

💿newagepirate Follow

There are literally government workers who's literal job it is to check on him

⛰️lesbianmothernature Follow

how tf do you know he put 100 hours into playing a game anyway????

📽️bisexuallightinggoggles Follow

We're friends on Steam. He adds like everyone who asks.

And for everyone in the notes asking what Spiritfarer is it's one of those cozy simulator games here's the trailer.

#isn't the 'deathiversary' of his friend Davie this week? #i'm definitely not the first person to think of that #okay looking at the notes was a mistake #like i'm not one of those ppl who puts #'DNI if your username makes fun of davies death' but #immortal or not #even if it happend centuries ago #you can still be sad your FUCKING FRIEND DIED

12.3k Notes

🥾hikingawayfrommyfeelings Follow

So if I become a citizen of Ladonia can he just... visit me through my computer?

🦝trashypanda Follow

He gets mad when you summon him :(

🦘callmejoeythewayi Follow

"summon him" Like a fucking demon?

🫒shrekbignaturals Follow

We are NOT rehashing that old discourse.

🎱magic8saveme Follow

Oh god I just revived my blog after escaping x/twitter and last time I saw that disk hoarse, my dash was just post after post of this for DAYS

🪄magictrio-dropout

#was there actual discourse about whether the nation-people were demons? #cuz the discourse i saw on my dash was #whether tales of things like demons vampires and #other immortal or 'came back to life' creatures #were born from when the nation-people resurrecting #or like #doing creepy stuff

IDK about tumblr or the first bit (I've personally never heard that at least not from anyone being serious) but the other stuff has been debated in academia for decades! One of my literature professors is ADAMANT that the vampire myth can be traced to old folklore about the reps and them reviving and possibly the blood-drinking comes from an evolution of the myth when before, old stories talked about blood soaking the earth where vampires rose. If anyone's interested, here's where you can find my professor's paper about it.

🎃warongayxmas

So like. *grabs a bat and slowly approaches a hornet's nest* Then does the Jesus story have the same roots then?

🫒shrekbignaturals Follow

WE 👏 ARE 👏 NOT 👏 RE 👏 HASHING 👏 THAT 👏 DISCOURSE👏

🥾hikingawayfrommyfeelings Follow

Wtf happened to my post???

#so did OP become a Ladonian citizen or what?

187.4k Notes

🐦‍pinchforawish Follow

MY DAD GOT TO SEE MR ENGLAND LIVE BACK WHEN HE WAS IN A PUNK BAND

🐦‍pinchforawish Follow

TUMBLR WTF HOW TF DOES THIS VIOLATE GUIDELINES

🏴dinotonugget-deactivated

Finally. Proof that the site runs so shittily bc Mr. Eyebrows works for staff

🫎moosecrossing Follow

Spoke the truth and got fucking killed for it

67.9 Notes

#hetalia #fake tumblr dash #dashboard simulator #i thought of the poll and just had to make another one of these lmao

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hidden-poet · 10 months ago

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Commander Snow

Summary; Under the advice of Dr Gaul Coriolanus returns back to district 12 where without blinding light of lucy-grey he could see you.

Warnings; dead dove to do not eat, stalking, unrequited love, breeding kink, violence, possessive!Snow, unco/dubco, sexual content, she/her pronouns.

Previous chapter

Chapter 2

next chapter

The next day you move yourself and your mother to a friends house. Where you both sleep on the floor in the living room. It costs you half a panem a night but it was still a better living arrangement then laying awake until the yearly hours of the morning wondering if a peacekeeper would knock down your door.

You keep your head down. Going straight from work to the house. It seemed to pay off. Your neighbor had reported that the parcels had stopped after a peacekeeper had noticed it was the community and not the intended taking it.

You don't hear from Commander Snow. There was no summons or arrest order made for you.

It leads you to relax bit. He had probably moved on to another after realizing that you would not sell yourself for a pardon and a weekly box of food. You knew many others would, and you wished them the best of luck with their endeavor with Commander Snow. But your nature pushed away such opportunities. You couldn't even tell him you weren't interested to his face. Fear only played a part in that decision.

It was late now as you walked home from you job. Later then usual as your boss had offered you overtime to clean and organize the cold room. You gladly accepted with the added cost of your stay at your friends house.

Four shiny coins had been placed in your hand before you had even done the job. You couldn't believe she was willing to pay this much for such a simple job. You wondered if it was repayment for all your years of hard work for her.

You were never late, always made sure your jobs were done to a standard of excellence, you even stayed back to help train the new people.

All your hard work was finally being rewarded. You made sure to leave the space the best it had ever been.

The money was at least a month's work.

You hadn't written to your brother in so long due to the cost of the paper and shipping fees but now with your extra cash you could reach out.

You make the journey to the stationary store, getting in just before close and go around the back of the building. Using the flat wall as a writing pad.

Your brother had gone to district 8 after influenza swept through killing half their work force. They had asked for volunteers to relocate. Many young men offered. The pay was higher in district 8 as the Capital had a great need for the fabrics and manufacture that it produced. Your brother was picked being effortlessly strong and healthy.

The day he left was the worst day of your life. You miss him terribly, only communicating through letters which were expensive and took ages to find its way to its destination.

You tell him how much you miss him, and worry about him over at district 8. That your mother is well, and prays for him every night before bed. You thank him for the money he sends when he can. Telling him of your own good fortune with the coins, and how he was to spend his half on a cold drink if he could get one, and a night out on the town.

Your pen stills as your thoughts turn to Commander Snow. Should you tell your brother of the strange officer. He was always protective. Would he try and come back to district 12 for you. would they even let him.

You decide not to. It would only worry him, and in his worry he would make rash decisions. You would not be responisble for his harm.

Instead you reiterate how much you miss him, and warn him to write back soon.

You drop two of the coins and the pencil back into the envelope, sealing it shut and stuffing it in your pocket. It was too late to ship it off. You would have to wait until tomorrow.

You felt scared walking back to the house with the money as if people could sense it in your pocket.

You remind yourself your being silly as you walk through the road dividing the streets. There was no one else out at this time. Only you, and you were nearly to the safety of the house.

There was no street lamps in the districts. The only light coming from the houses you pass. You try to remain in the light but sway slightly into the shadows as you reach the steps of your accommodation.

You scream as you feel hands upon your skin. One going around your mouth to quiet you and the other pulling you back against the house.

"Sh sh, Its just me. It's just me. You're safe".

You feel your kness tremble as you pin the voice to a face. Commander snow stood before you, using his body to press you up against the side of the house. His chest pushed against your shoulders, his leg pushed between yours and melded to the wall behind. He kept his left hand on your right shoulder to keep you still and only removed his right hand from your mouth when you went mute. Who would you scream for that could do anything any way.

With his body pressed against yours in such a tight manner, he had free use of his hands.

You weren't getting out from under him, even you realized that. You looked for guns or knife on him but found nothing in the light the moon and surrounding houses offered. He didn't wear his official Capital issued Commander uniform. Instead he dressed down in high waisted black pants, and a long sleeved cotton shirt. He still wore his dog tags and army boots.

'So this is were you've been hiding, hm?". He ran his knuckles along your cheek bone, and you shuddered from his touch.

"No, Sir".

"yes, Sir. I left boxes at your house like a fool".

You could tell he was upset with you.

"It's fine. You'll be back there tomorrow to take the food in. Did you go through my first box i sent?"

You nod your head and a smile appears on his lips.

'What did you have first?". He pushes back a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

"My mother had a apple" You torn it from her after her first bite.

"i asked what you had first". He pressed his body harder against you.

"We haven't touched the box otherwise, Sir. We can give it back to you. We can compensate for the veggies and the fru-"

He was not happy with your answer, cutting you off.

"Ungrateful brat".

"Sir, we never asked you for it and we don't have money to pay for it"

"You're welcome" his pointer runs along your nose, "I can't have my partner in crime going hungry. Now can I".

You shiver from the familiar way of speaking. You did not want the Commander of district 12 to have a nic-name for you.

"I ought to go inside. They are waiting for me".

You try and move away, thinking he would release you. His cover would be blown if they take to looking for you.

He does not, choosing to place his hands around your neck. Not showcasing his great strength but resting in warning. His thumbs press gently into your throat.

"i think they can wait a few more minutes. Don't you?".

You nod as much as his hold would allow you to. You felt as if he was all around you. With his body wedging you flat against the wall, you felt as if you were sharing the same breath.

"you're ok" He repeats, "i am not going to hurt you".

"Perhaps it would put me at ease if you stepped back a bit, sir"

He shakes his head, "You have a habit of running away".

"You have a habit of appearing out of no where".

You can see him grin under the dim light. That was intentional, He always wanted you to feel as if he was always watching and could turn up at any moment.

"Can you make me some more of those oat bars?"

"Ye-yes" you stutter.

"Do you have the ingredients?"

"yes" you repeat.

"Good. Bring them to my office the day after next".

"Yes, Sir. Can I go now?"

"I haven't seen you for nearly two weeks and you're so quick to run away?"

"'Sir, please I Have to get inside". away from you.

"Why were you so late getting home?" he ignored your plea completely.

His thumbs circles on your throat.

"I had to work back" you admit.

"And then?". He already knew that wasn't the full story so you confess you brought some paper and took some time to write a letter.

"A letter?" he asks, "A letter to who?".

"My brother. He went to district 8 for work".

You gasp as he releases you. Giving you a least two feet of space.

"Lets see it" he demands.

With shaky hands you pull the crumpled letter from your pocket. He grabs it before you could hold it out to him.

He rips it open, and pours the two silver coins into his hand, tossing them around.

"My coins".

"My coins" you state, taking a step forward, "For my over time"

Surely he wouldn't find it appealing to take your coins from you. He was commander Snow he didn't need any money in district 12. He could just take. There would be no one to stop him.

"And where do you think your boss got the coins to give you for your over time. Where's the rest of them".

It was a set up. Not hard work and luck that gave you a few extra coins. But an odd infatuation from the officer.

You pull the rest from your pocket showing them to him.

He scoffs, "i gave her eight , she gives you four. I expected her to take two, but four. Does your district know no limits to their greed".

He mentally leaves his sweet girl out of the picture. She had received four and was willingly giving 2 away. He was sure you would also give your mother one and spend the rest wisely. Tigress always brought him new clothes with her overtime. Using old curtains to fashion her own.

You hold out your hand for him to take the coins back.

Much like his tigress, You were giving what you had to him.

"If I had known" you start.

"The point was that you didn't know". He snaps.

You still hold out your hand for him to retrieve the coins.

"Keep them. You earnt them".

You pocket the change. You had really earnt them.

He balls your brothers coins in his fist and moves out more into the light to read your letter. You were so glad you decided to leave Commander Snow out of it.

he reads fast, flipping the page and going on to the next in a matter of seconds.

He nods satisfied that it was in fact a letter to your brother and not a lost lover, before he folds the letter back up and places the coins back in the envelop.

"I'll mail it for you" he offers but you protest at the thought.

'I'd prefer to do it, Commander".

"You don't trust me? After everything we've been through, and the secrets we share".

"No-I-" you were thankful he interrupted you again, unsure of your own sentence.

"We're friends, right?"

You nod having the feeling it wasn't truly a question.

"Friends do things for each other. Let me to this for you".

"It's too big of an ask" you try again. You reach for the letter but he pulls it back.

"You could", a step forward had you going back, " do something for me to ease your conscious".

He moves towards you again until you were once again pressed up against the wall.

"What?" you breathe.

His hand cups your face, and his body braces itself against yours before his lushes lips capture yours.

The kiss is deep and hard, Barely moving off before coming back for more. His tongue licks at the bottom of your lip, sucking gently when you don't let him in.

He repositions his head to a tilt, keeping his top lip pressed against your bottom as he does. He comes back with full force, your head knocking softly against the wall from the force.

"that" another small kiss presses against your lips. A quick peck to your sealed lips.

You turn your head in case of another one, and his hand on the side of your face follows.

He digs into his pocket, pulling out two coins and pressing them into your hand.

"Take the coins. Buy yourself a new dress"

"I don't want-"

He sh's you.

"take the coins, buy the dress and stop avoiding me".

"Thursday" you remind him, the day after next.

"Yes, Thursday. Don't forget. Tomorrow if you can".

The house across the track opens its door and an middle aged women appears throwing a bucket of dirty water over the terrace. Coriolanus shrinks into the shadows until she return back inside.

"Go inside" He demands, stepping back. You rush away from him not looking back as you run into the house. But you feel his stare upon your back.

The next morning two peacekeepers knocked on the door to drive you and your mother back to your house, leaving you with a large basket of food.

'What have you done?" Your mother asks you behind closed doors.

"I am not sure" you reply honestly.

-----------

You make the worst batch of oat meal bars you've ever made and deliver them to the compound.

You were almost sure you were going to be shot as you approached the gate but they must have been expecting you, opening the gate as you neared.

You had tried to just give the basket to the Peacekeeper but he demanded that you go inside with him. You follow him through the large estate.

Peacekeepers old and new were everywhere. Some without their uniform giving them an almost human look. They eyed you as you passed.

They thinned as you reached a stunning white building made of stone. Everything else was structured out of metal so you knew that the building only housed the most important people.

It wasn't any less busy as people ran about you with stacks of paper. It was loud inside the walls. People talking to each other as they walked, some yelling down a telephone. None of them even glance at you or the peacekeeper you followed.

He leads you to a large oak door, twice the length of you, and he knocks three times.

"Come in" you hear Commander Snow call.

The peacekeeper opens the door but makes no attempt to enter the threshold. You do, and the door is immediately closed behind you.

"You couldn't make it yesterday?" he asked crossing his desk to join you in the center. You hold your basket like a protective shield.

It kept you distanced as places his hands on your shoulders.

'i had to go to work" You explain and you push the basket to his chest, attempting to rid his hands from you.

He does take the basket with a small hmm before returning to his desk. He places the basket down and digs for a oat bar. As he bites down you could tell he could taste your lack of effort.

Still he eats it without complaint as he pours coffee from a tray into two mugs. He motions for you to sit down but you were itching to go.

"I should go" you state.

"Sit" his mouth was full with the oat bar.

You do sit but don't drink the coffee offered. You notice that he had better looking biscuits on his tray.

He leans against the desk next to you and takes another big bite of the bar. His eyes wonder down to you where you sat anxious twisting your ring.

"What's that?" he points with the oat bar down.

It was only a small metal ring. Thin pieces of twisted metal in a circle. So small most people never even noticed it.

Your brother had given it to you on your nineteenth birthday as a congratulations for not being selected for the hunger games.

He obviously knew it was a ring, and you obviously knew he was really asking who gave you that.

"A gift from my brother before he left". You stop twisting it to draw attention off it but it was too late.

He finished his oat bar, dusting his hands clean from the crumbs before standing up to full height.

"Give it to me".

You shake your head no. It was the last thing you had of him.

Still Coriolanus held his hand out expecting.

"It's very dear to me, Sir".

"I'll take very good care of it".

You look up at him with pleading eyes, his softens but he doesn't relent.

"You can give it to me or I can take it", he warns.

You almost cry as you twist it off your pointer finger and place it in his palm.

He flips it around his pinky finger, and wedges both hands between his knees.

"There's sugar there if you want it".

You stand up angry.

"I don't want it. I have to get to work".

You attempt to storm off but he catches you with a firm hold on your upper arm and a hand wrapped around the side of your face.

Under his strong fingers you remember your anger could get you killed.

"Don't be upset with me" he pleads.

"I ain't upset" you remark although you eyes brim with tears, "They dock my pay half if i am even a minute late. I have to go".

"I'll walk you to the gate". You wait for him to take the lead.

You find the walk back less busy as people avoid the Commanding officer. He twists the ring in the same anxious manner that you did. He wanted to say something. Offer something in return but could think of nothing that would compensate.

It's too late by the time the journey ends. He pulls open the gate and the Peacekeepers facing forward don't turn.

You could feel his hand on your back and it shoots you forward. He remains at the gate watching you flea from him.

No one asks you why you're crying at work. So long as you are doing your tasks they don't care.

----------

On Saturdays you have a stall in the markets selling your baked goods. Your friend helps you when she has the day off for a portion of the profits.

Today it was sunny. Hot but with a nice cool breeze. People flooded through the stalls. Your cakes sold great, even better with the fresher ingredients from Coriolanus box.

You could sell the oat bars with chocolate on top for nearly double. Chocolate was rare in the districts. Most people had never even tasted it before.

Coriolanus was doing his rounds letting a younger officer with great potential shadow him for the day. He freezes when he saw you.

He had walked these markets two or three times before, Had you always been there? He must have walked past you and your stall and never even noticed. Fate has a mysterious way of working. He was now certain that it pushed you into the compound due to his ignorance while on duty.

You looked beautiful in a white top and tight blue jeans. You had your hair covered in a bandana again and wore your normal work boots.

He put his helmet back on in case you looked over and saw him. He was sure you were still upset about Thursday, and he didn't want to spoil your good mood.

The young solider followed suit. Hiding from sight without question. He might survive district 12.

You laughed with your friend who sat on a milk crate to eat her apple. At her feet lay a brown sack filled food. She quickly closed it to avoid being robbed but Coriolanus had already seen it.

He tightened his hold on his rifle. No doubt it had come from you. from Coriolanus to be more correct. He agreed to feed you, even if that meant feeding your mother too, but he did not agree to feed your friends.

Your next box would be smaller.

A school group blocks his view of you as they pass, and Coriolanus refocus to his surroundings. He sees a young boy, no more then 6, dilly dallying behind the rest of the group. He goes up to each stall looking at what they had to offer before slowly making his way to his class.

He was going to be left behind at his current rate.

"you see the young boy in the red shirt?'' Coriolanus asks his soilder.

"Yes, Sir". The boy flexes his shoulders as if the child poses a threat.

''When he reaches that cake stand, I want you to push him over".

He pats the boys shoulder urging him to go. He looked confused but followed command going over to a nearby stall to yours and pretending to look at something.

The young boy skips two stalls to come directly over to yours. His eyes go round at the sight of the chocolate oat bar.

Your smile gets wipped off as the boy is knocked to the ground. You glare instead at the Peacekeeper who made a lap back to Coriolanus.

The boy screams and crys at his scrapped knee. Coriolanus ducks behind a large pillar as you round your table to pick him up.

You were talking to him, soothing him as you rocked side to side. He reacted positively wrapping his little arms around your neck.

Coriolanus bangs his head against the piler. That was the reaction he was hopping for. To see you in a nurturing state as you consoled the boy.

"is that what you wanted sir?" his solider stood in front of him, and he pushes the boy out of the way. He had blocked the view of you carrying the child and setting him on your table.

You reach behind the crying boy and offer him a chocolate oat bar. His crying almost immediately stops.

"yes. Good. Go back to base and have the rest of the afternoon off solider".

The solider is ecstatic at the news, and with a "thank you, sir" he was pushing himself back through the crowd.

You were talking but he wasn't sure if it was to the boy or to your friend. He wished he knew what you were saying.

You had taken off your bandana and wet it with you water bottle to wipe the blood off his knee.

It was so natural for you, he thought, to care for others. Once you got comfortable enough, how would you care for him, he wondered.

Would you baby him as you babied this child if he got hurt.

he shuffles back realsing that he had itched forwarrd as you picked up the child again. You gave him another bar to eat. He was certain you were talking to your friend this time, looking squarely at her before you took off after the school.

The primary school was located at top of a large hill. Away from the noise and violence of the district.

The young boy clung to you as you walked. His chocolate hands getting over your white top as he licked the icing off.

Coriolanus followed you out of the markets. he waits until you were away from the crowd before picking up his pace to you.

The young boy catches Coriolanus' eye and begins to struggle in your grip, pointing at him. The big scary peacekeeper was coming your way.

You tighten your hold and spin to face him.

You looked shocked to see him.

"Commander Snow, sir"

A formal greeting to someone who had you pinned to the side of a wall four night ago.

He smiles at you. Trying to distract you so he can move closer to you.

"I saw" he says, "and I've come to help you return the lost boy"

"I'll be fine on my own, sir"

"I insist. You never know who lurking around. My job to keep you safe".

Coriolanus was not speaking from his station as commander.

"Do you want me to carry him?" Coriolanus offered looking at the large hill.

"No, no" the boy begs, but Coriolanus reaches for him anyway.

You turn away, curling your body around the child.

"No. It's ok. I've got him".

Coriolanus was sure you were going to struggle getting up the hill with the extra weight. If the boy was only a sack of potatoes, he would have just yanked it from your grip. But you looked so good with a child on your hip.

You could always swap half way if you wanted.

"It's ok, darlin'" you rub soothing circles on the boys back, making Coriolanus jealous, "we're gonna get you back to class".

We're. we. us. The partners in crime.

He bucks his chest out with confidence.

You begin your journey up the hill, and Coriolanus was right. Not even half way up and you had to shift the child around to your front to distribute the weight. Coriolanus goes to take him but you reject his offer once again.

"He's alright" you insist.

The child rests his head on your chest, his eyes staring at Coriolanus as if to say ha ha.

He was about to suggest you perhaps just let the boy walk, but you beat him through the silence.

"Are you following me?"

"i was showing a new candidate the patrol routes. I just happened to have seen you with the boy, and wanted to help you get him back to class as per my duty".

Close enough to the truth.

"And lydia's? how did you know i was staying there?"

His unclips his helmet and attaches it to his rifle.

"I asked around". Threated your neighbors.

You fall into silence again and this time it was Coriolanus who brecks it,

"Are you going to share everything I give you with others?"

You scoff at his words, ''saw me with the child, hey?'".

He grabs your arm to turn you causing the boy to wail again.

'You might find I am a lot more closed fisted if I can't be certain it's actually going to you".

You tear free and bounce the boy in your arms.

"shhh baby. It's all ok'' You smooth his hair back, cradling him to you.

You step away from the scary peacekeeper as you and the boy talk. You soon compliance him back to a settled temperament, and Coriolanus steps back over to you.

He doesn't mention the sharing again. He would wait for the journey back. He found himself childishly annoyed when your attention went all to the small boy.

You huff as the boy gets heavier in your arms but Coriolanus doesn't offer to take him again. He'll let you struggle.

"Why do you feed people you don't know?" the boy sucks on the remainder of the oat bar, slopper getting all over your shoulder.

You don't answer. He calks it up to the physical labor.

"The prisoners, the boy" he pushes. He leaves himself out of the list. You both feed each other because you innately knew each other. You were partners in crime and partners in crime look after one another.

"Who's to say I don't know em".

"I assure you after I was done if the prisoners knew you they would have given you up. They didn't know".

He half regretted his sentence seeing you tense up. But he was sure he left a impression of a strong, powerful man. You just needed to get over your guilt first to see it.

"We look after each other in District 12. It may not seem like it to you but these are good people here".

You looked after people here, he wasn't so sure that they had the same loyalty back.

He had seen enough flips and crumbles to know that for the right price they would feed you to him.

He wanted to tell you this. To set you straight, and show that he was the only one looking out for you. But he knew the information would upset you and he had already done that once this week. He would save it for another time.

You struggle up the hill, puffing out gratefully as the small school house came into view. A large tree marked the boundary, upholding a wire fence around the small metal huts.

You turn to Coriolanus, "I think the gun might scare them".

He take his large rifle off his shoulder and leans it against the tree. Your face still read of your displeasure.

"it might just be best if i go on with him".

He looks to you and then back to the school. He could still see you if he stayed underneath the shade of the tree.

'' I'll wait for you here then''. The gun is slung over his shoulder and he takes its place against the tree.

The boy watches Coriolanus over your shoulder as you walk with him.

You call out to the teacher frantically recounting her children.

"hey, I think you're missing one!". You place the small boy on the ground and wave goodbye to him as he runs over to his teacher, complaints of his sore knee spilling from his mouth.

Turning back to Coriolanus, your smile disappears and your pace that was slow with the child picked up to a near sprint.

He straightened up as you came near but you walked straight past him without looking.

"Do you want children?" He matches your pace

"No" you spat, "never".

Maybe if you met the right man, he wanted to say. A man who could protect them.

But he swallowed the words. This situation was new to him too. He didn't want to make promises he would later not plan to keep.

"You should reconsider" he says instead, "I think you would make a good mother".

You were naturally a very warm and loving person. While others walked around the crying boy you picked him up and nurtured him.

Coriolanus remembered a time in the war he had gone out alone in search of food. He found only hungry dogs, who chased him through the ruined city.

"Help!" he cried, looking back at the fast approaching beasts.

His foot catches a large pothole in the ground and he is thrown upon his face. Sure he was going to get eaten he calls out for Tigress but it is a large man that appears at name.

He bangs the lids of trash cans together and shouts angrily at the dogs, scaring them off.

A savior, he thought. But dropping the lids and turning to Coriolanus, the man didn't cradle the boy to his chest as you had but reached for his axe under his coat and swung it down.

He had managed to roll out of its path and get to his feet just in time.

The man was slower than the dogs, overcome with starvation. Coriolanus could disappear between the buildings. He remembered as he hid in rubble while waiting for the man to pass, how sacred he was.

It was one of the core memories that haunted him to this day.

oh how he wished that someone like you had found him instead, but he wasn't sure people could be like that anymore. He wasn't sure how through all the misery and pain you could remain so soft. He wanted to sink his teeth into your flesh and have a taste.

"What would be the point. Loving someone only to watch them get killed in the hunger games".

You feet come down hard, channeling the anger you couldn't express.

"The chances are small. There are over 300 families in district 12".

He just wanted to hear you say you would like children. The picture of you big and round while rocking a boy the same age as the lost child seemed to be getting hazer as you resisted.

"You should ask Milly May, or Harrison Flint if their chances seemed small".

This years tributes to the Hunger Games. They both died the first day. Milly May the first hour.

"Motherhood looks good on you. Natural" he tries again.

You stop in your tracks, turning to face him.

“I can’t give you what you want. No matter how much you try and sweet talk me or buy me. It won’t be given”.

It didn't matter, was the first thought that appeared in his head.

"I don't want anything from you. In fact, it's been me that's been giving. Food. Protection. All to have it spat back in my face".

Your eyes float down the hill. The beginning of Town was still a little while away.

"I understand, sir. Perhaps your efforts would be appreciated more else where".

It was a gentle let down but resulted in a harsh strike.

His hand came down upon your cheek, almost knocking you to the ground. You stumble off balance, looking up at him.

The anger on his face morphs into disappointment. Before he could reach out for you, you take off running down the hill.

You might be beaten for your rejection.

You feel his hand brush against your shoulder as he tries to grab you but you avoid it.

Pushing yourself down the hill as fast as you could go. But it wasn't fast enough.

He tackles you to the ground, crawling on top of you and securing both your wrists with one hand.

"I am sorry, I am sorry" he holds the side of the face he stuck, smoothing it over, "I shouldn't have done that".

You trash under him, screaming.

His soft hand retracts from your face to take off the rifle from his shoulder, he sets it down next to you.

His dog tags had made their way from under his shirt and now dangle over your face. You can see he had added your ring to the chain.

''Let me see" his hand returns to your jaw, forcing it to the ground on the other side so he could inspect your cheek, "only a little bruise".

He lets your head go back to its normal position, and you're left looking in his eyes.

"What I do, I do for you. Okay? not your friends, and not for anyone else. Do you understand?".

His hand reaches up going to your palm and enclosing your curled hand with his. He held himself up with his hold on your wrists, and with the other now pressed over yours, all his weight bore down on you.

The weight upon your hands hurt.

"Yes, Sir".

"If I find out you've been sharing again. I'll hang them for thievery".

You give two little nods.

"I understand, Sir. It won't happen again. Please, let me get up".

He hops off you. choosing to crouch at your feet as you sit up. He notices your shoe lace untied and begins to pull the laces tight and loop the knot back up.

You sit there stunned as he picks up his gun and rises. Offering you a hand you take it and he pulls you up.

The journey down the hill begins again. His hand reaches out to keep you in pace with him when he feels you propelling down.

You reach the bottom in a comfortable silence and stop at the foot of the hill.

"We can't be seen going back together. It will put a target on my back".

You were right. The district scum might harm you if they thought it would get back at Coriolanus.

He nods in understanding.

"You go ahead. I'll follow". He gestures forward.

You go quickly back to your stall. He tries to keep focus on you but your short stature gets momentarily lost in the crowd.

You reach your stall and go straight back behind it. Your friend is standing next to you talking in a worried hush tone when Coriolanus reaches the table.

You don't look at him as he takes one of the chocolate oat bars and continues walking back to the compound.

It tasted dry in his mouth, he didn't like that you were still baking for others, you were going to have to shut down your stall.

-----------

Coriolanus stood upon the platform at the hanging tree, having it checked for bombs twice.

The gate was swung open for the public, and every available peacekeeper was present and armed.

The convicted all formed a line. Being hung one by one for dramatic effect. The families of the dead being forced to stand at the front of the audience so they could grab their sons/brothers/ cousins shoes as Peacekeepers dropped him and restrung the rope.

Coriolanus forbid traditional burial for traitors of the country. Families would have to settle for burying the shoes of their deceased love one while their bodies are cremated and sent to Dr Gaul's office as decoration.

"Phineas Hightower. Sentenced to death for consorting with rebels and making plans of an attack. Disturbing the peace of the district".

Coriolanus read into a microphone that fed through the town.

A young man approaches. 30 at the most. He didn't look scared as the others did. No tears or pleas of innocence. Coriolanus almost respected him.

The man kicks off his shoes as he steps upon the box, and a loud cry of grief overtook the space. The mockingjays echoed it out.

Peacekeepers were on the old women, presumably his mother, fast. Focus must be kept on the fate of the traitor, and not on the cries of mothers.

The old women reaches for her sons shoes but is shoved before she could reach them. She pleas with the officers taking her to the back, but they are like statues as they manhandle her away.

Coriolanus could now see tears spring in the eyes of the young man. A befitting end for a capital traitor.

He gives the order to continue the show. They ready the man for execution.

More commotion is heard as the crowd readjusts to let someone through. He looks to see you making your way through the crowd to the front.

Had you come to see him. Watch him as he took life. Does the power fill your belly with excitement to know that the same hands that caressed you now commanded death of another.

You wanted to make yourself known to him. To let him know he had a friend in the crowd. You had dressed pretty for him back in your clothes you wore for your vaccination. A nod to your secret bond.

You left the bandana off, letting your loose hair fall around your shoulders.

But no. You don't come to his side of the stage. You rush to the soon to be dead man.

You grab the shoes, just as the box is kicked. You squeeze your eyes shut and bring them to your chest.

Coriolanus steps back to the guards behind him.

He nods in your direction, "Take that girl to my study. Make sure she doesn't leave".

Coriolanus hears the body drop, and the Guard move to catch you.

You hadn't moved since the rope stretched. You stood there eyes closed and shoes to your chest until you felt hands upon you telling you to move.

You look back at Coriolanus on the stage to see him looking down at you.

The rage in your eyes matches his.

---------

Coriolanus makes a trip to the bathroom to wash his face and make himself more presentable. He takes off his official hat, and unbuttons the top of his jacket.

You had been waiting for him for nearly an hour and a half. Having to wait for the rest of the hangings to finish, the crowd to go home, the peacekeepers to sweep the area and the final report from all leaders to Coriolanus before he dismisses them for the night.

He untucks his chain from his neck and holds your ring in his hand.

You were still his girl. Just unshaped still.

Placing the hat under his arm he makes his way to you in his study. The Peacekeeper stood guard at the door.

"You can leave" he tells the man, before entering.

He sees you shoot up from the chair as he closes the door behind him.

You had been crying. He could see the tear lines still wet on your face.

"What were you doing at the hanging?". He storms over to you. He was giving you an opportunity to satisfy him.

I was there to see you but the women upset me. He wanted you to say.

"Leave me alone. i have to get these shoes home" You try and push past him but he shoves you down into the chair. Resting his weight upon the arms of it as he leaves over you.

"I've told you once, associating with rebels will get you hanged".

"his mother won't have a body to burry. She will have his shoes".

It was the first time you hadn't called him Sir in a conversation.

He wanted to slap you until you did.

But his hands were busy taking the shoes from you.

"Now she won't have shoes either. She can burry a memory".

You push the chair back to escape him. He could tell you wanted to hit him. Your fists balled and your stance was ready to swing.

"Come here" he demanded. It gnawed at him that you were upset with him. He was only doing his job.

"Give me the shoes" you demanded.

He drops the shoes to the ground.

"come and get them" he taunts.

You seem hesitant but you do, bending down at his feet to retrieve the shoes.

He grabs your jaw once your knee height and you struggle against him.

"Tell me I am taking good care of you" He pushes down as you try and get up. "Tell me how handsome I am".

You weren't truly mad at him, only overcome with emotion, he assured himself. But he too felt heavy after hanging days.

he had wanted to rest in your arms, similar to the boy with the scraped knee. But you offered him no comfort.

This time you do strike him across the face. He shoves you away and you scramble far, taking one shoe with you.

He begins to laugh, would every comfort be denied to him. No, not you.

"Don't you ever touch me again. You stay away from me from now on".

He was going to make you regret ever saying those words to him. You were going to give him every drop of kindness you held even if he had to wring it from your body. he deserved it after everything he had been through. You were his reward for it all, and by god he was going to have it.

But not now. Now he opened the door for your freedom, watching you run out.

He would make sure you came crawling back. Telling him you wanted his great care again. Telling him how handsome he was.

He would have you all. How much pain you wanted to go through first was entirely up to you.

#coriolanus snow #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #coriolanus x reader #dark!coriolanus snow #dead dove do not eat #tom blyth #president snow #hunger games #Commander snow

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kylestfs · 3 months ago

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Hi. Is parking with cars still relevant? I urgently need a car to get to the airport, and the taxi service is full... Can I take Mercedes-Benz S-class? I hope I make it to the medical conference, otherwise my supervisor will kill me..

Conference ? Job? No, the only job you’ll ever be doing is asking your dad for more money and trying to hit on girls at expensive yatch clubs. Maybe you’ll impress them driving a brand new $150,000 car as your first car that your father obviously bought, or those nice watches and shoes?I guess that’s what makes you such a cocky, straight arrogant young preppy boy, right ?

Statistics :

Identity :

Age : 18

Name : Sebastian

IQ : 80

Personality : Very annoying, just thinks money can make its way into everything - overall just dumb and not very connected with reality, thinks whoever isn’t rich doesn’t belong near him.

Sexuality : Straight, very straight.

Body :

Body type : Lean, sinewy body.

Overall attractiveness : 9.5/10.

Private’s size : 5 inches hard, but pretty thin which makes it look even smaller.

Rear end size : Perfectly round shaped rear, nice and full. Soft and smooth. Very nice to see bounce in pants and lovely to touch.

Overall B.O : 5/10 - Just smells mostly of cologne, but it’s very strong and sometimes annoying, with a slight sweaty funk underneath that mixes with the deodorant/cologne and becomes quite odorous.

Armpit scent : Pretty sweaty, and the smell is quite strong. Deodorants only mask the smell for about an hour before it starts making Itself known again.

Gassiness : 8/10, Those rich restaurants he goes to just make himself terribly gassy. The sounds are mostly hot, steamy puffs that smell of rotten eggs. He takes pride in them though and loves the smell, but that’s a little secret of his.

Foot smell : Quite smelly, smelling of rotten butter and cheese after a long day, and since he mostly wears expensive leather shoes the smell gets trapped in them and becomes very strong, almost repulsive.

Muscles : Lean/muscular body.

#male transformation #gay to straight #male tf #preppy tf #musk #smelly feet #rich tf #bottom to top #male muscle growth

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theballadofmars · 11 months ago

Text

RANKING TGCF CHARACTERS BY HOW LONG I THINK THEY WOULD SURVIVE IN FNAF:

12. QI RONG: dies in night 1 at 12:30 A.M because doesn't listen to Phone Guy's instructions and wanders around the pizzeria. Probably kicked an animatronic because he's bored.

11. LANG QIANQIU: tried to be calm and serene about the situation, but gets anxious and angry and goes fight the animatronics. Leaves the security office and Foxy inmediatly kills him.

10. BEEFLEAF: if they're together they die in night 1 because sqx gets braver at hx's side and is curious, goes to explore and brings hx along. Obviously, they get killed.

9. HE XUAN: they go to the kitchen for a midnight snack at 5:00 A.M and finds Chica there. She kills them.

8. FENG XIN: survives night 1 (he didn't listen to the instructions so is a miracle), but runs out of patience in night 2 and fights the animatronics when they try to enter the office instead of closing the door. He loses.

7. SHI QINGXUAN: if they are alone, they will just panic. They talk to the animatronics and scream. Survives two nights (yeyy!!!), but the third night they're so afraid that they close the door and run out of power.

6. QUAN YIZHEN: doesn't listen to Phone Guy's instructions, falls asleep and somehow survives night 1 and 2 like that. Third night is when he can't sleep because of the noise, fights the animatronics to shut them up and ends up getting killed by the Cupcake.

5. PEI MING: so, this may seem a weird placement, but pm is actually pretty competent in his job. Plus, he makes Chica uncomfortable so he only has to fight three animatronics. But by night 4 he becomes too confident in his surviving skills and forgets to check Foxy as much as he should and dies.

4. FENGQING: they would go together, because is fengqing and they're a dynamic duo. They yell all the time, but also work great together. They die at night 4 because they're in the middle of an argument, forget about the animatronics (it's not the first time this happens) and Golden Freddy kills them because he can't deal with them yelling / making out anymore.

3. MU QING: almost survives 5 nights, but after 4 days of this he gets a bit cocky and he's killed at 5.00 A.M by Golden Freddy.

2. XIE LIAN: ok, listen. Xl is about to die every night, but somehow survives at the last minute. The animatronics are pretty confused about this. He ends the week without problem, but when he goes for his paycheck he is bitten by one of the animatronics and spends the rest of his life paying the hospital debt and dealing with ptsd, which you could argue that is worse than death.

1. LING WEN: she's lw. Job with terrible hours, with lots of multitasking where they don't pay you enough to deal with this shit? That's her territory. Survives 5 nights + the extra night + custom night 20/20 mode.

HONORABLE MENTIONS for characters that didn't make it to the ranking because they're just like that:

-HUA CHENG: he's not trapped with the animatronics, the animatronics are trapped with him. This bitch would survive the first night and come back the next day with a bat made of steel and break every animatronic. Then burns the place down. If this is after xl gets bitten, the animatronics don't survive even a day.

-HUALIAN: they fuck in the security office. The animatronics are uncomfortable and don't approach them.

-SHI WUDU: works one night, then sues the company. He's now the owner of Fazbear Enterteiment. And maybe William's next victim.

-YUSHI HUAN & PEI SU: spent one night there, don't come back because it's not worth it.

-YIN YU: is Phone Guy. He dies at night 4 but special mention anyway because Phone Guy.

-JUN WU: would be the fucking killer. Gets springlocked and makes it everyone's problem.

RANKING SVSSS

RANKING MDZS

#tgcf #heaven's official blessing #hualian #fengqing #beefleaf #qi rong #ling wen #pei ming #shi wudu #lang qianqiu #jun wu #pei su #fnaf #yushi huan #quan yizhen #yin yu

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megamindsecretlair · 11 months ago

Text

Mr. Black, Part 1

Pairing: Tre x Assistant!Black!Fem!/ Plus Size reader

Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, You are in charge of your own reading experience. Intentional use of AAVE. PWP, cursing, PIV, fingering (fem receiving), dirty talk, praise kink, dumbass reader, degradation kink, power imbalance, Tre is a boss, all consensual.

Summary: Tre is sick and tired of the countless mistakes you make while performing your work duties. You were recently hired and just trying to do your best, but nothing is ever good enough for him.

Word Count: 4,099k

A/N: Listen, Idk what happened. He's barely in 2 mins of the film and it broke my brain. That outfit and that smile was too much for me to handle! Idk how many parts this will be. Please, please consider commenting and reblogging to help support writers! And please put ages in bios! Or get blockt!

Tagging the usual lovelies, please tell me if you want to be removed: @planetblaque @browngirldominion @notapradagurl7 @honeyoriginalz @blackerthings @sevikasblackgf @henneseyhoe @miyahmaraj

Shit! He was going to kill you. You whined as the numbers swam in your vision. You desperately looked between two invoices, wondering how you were going to solve this before he found out.

Your leg bounced as your nerves unraveled the longer you stared at the documents. Shit! You were done for. Your stupid little job was over before you had even gotten started. Your bottom lip quivered. There was no way you were going to recover from this.

Tre’s heavy footsteps pounded the carpet on approach and your heart dropped into your stomach. Shit!

You pushed the papers on your desk into one huge pile that you’ll painstakingly unravel in the safety of your home. You tapped a few keys on the computer, trying to look busy. He did not need to know that you had been staring at your egregious mistake for the past half hour.

“Do you have that report I told you to do?” Tre asked, once he reached his office.

“Yes, Sir,” you said. You gave him a dumb ass, goofy smile. You handed over the report in a yellow folder. He snatched it from you, not sparing you a glance, and stalked into the office. The door slam made you flinch.

You weren’t even sure why you stuck around this job. You were recently hired to help with the background work stuff while people all around you were getting fired. Tre had been leading that charge.

Ever since you got hired, you wondered if he hated you. He barely said anything to you except to insult your hard work. Look, the workforce was hard, okay? There’s a lot of shit that school or life doesn’t teach you. More often than not, you had to hide your scrolling on Youtube for any kind of help.

Even when he was in a good mood, flashing those pearly whites and that sinful smile, it immediately froze whenever you entered the room. Your good mood would evaporate and then you were falling all over yourself trying to correct whatever the issue was.

His coffee was too cold, too black, too sweet. His blinds were up too high and he had a nasty glare. This report was wrong, that report was wrong. No, this wasn’t the one he wanted. Yes, this was the one he wanted. Run out and get some lunch. Well, you took too long, I don’t want it anymore.

It was exhausting working for the man, but some part of you wanted a crumb of his praise. Just a crumb. You could survive off of it. You knew you sounded pathetic. Your friends and family were getting sick of you complaining about the man.

Your best friend sort of got it. You snuck a picture of Tre one day and showed her. She nearly fell off of your couch when she saw him.

“This? This is your boss?”

Yes, he is seriously your boss. And he was a fucking asshole. Who else would feel absolutely nothing about firing people a few days before Christmas? Christmas! It was your favorite holiday and just thinking about all the tiny traditions made you so giddy, your heart flipped.

Person after person, box after box, floated by your desk looking absolutely miserable. You watched their tortured faces and your heart hurt thinking that all their years of service fit into one tiny box. The tinsel and ornaments decorating the office seemed like cruel mocking reminders that there would be no Christmas cheer for them.

“Get in here, now!” You jerked out of your seat. Fuck, fuck, fuck. The intercom flashed red and then turned off. You hated that damn box. Whatever happened to sending a chat? Way less intrusive and easier on your nerves.

You stood up with your heart racing. The pulse in your neck thumped so painfully, you placed your hand there to try and steady it. Realistically, you didn’t have to tell him about the mistake right now. You just needed a chance to find out what you did wrong.

You smoothed your checkered skirt suit, wiping your sweaty palms on the thick material. El Segundo didn’t get that cold, but the mornings were brutal.

You bit your lip as you approached his office door. You opened it. Tre stood over his desk, one hand on his hip and a paper in his hand. It had to be the report he asked for. You assumed that since it was so late in the evening, that he’d read it first thing in the morning. You had hoped to leave here with a little hope. Not defeated like the past few nights, still not living up to his impossible standards.

All things considered, he was damn delicious. His favorite aesthetic was black. Black shirts, jackets, pants, shoes. The only hint of color on him were his gold chains and glasses. His thick beard complimented his facial structure beautifully. It was an odd mix being both attracted to and afraid of your boss.

“Close the door,” he said.

You followed his command. Shit. You were really in it. Was it your report he was reading? Or did he magically glean that you royally fucked up a fifteen million dollar contract?

Your stomach roiled. You were going to be fucking sick.

You approached the front of his desk like a deer in headlights. There was no room for you to maneuver. It was you, the headlights, and inevitable death. Shit, would you go to jail over something like this?

You twisted your fingers as you stood there and waited for him to acknowledge you. He gave a long sigh and then put the paper down.

“Come here,” he said. His tone was so disrespectful and biting. It was insulting coming from such a pretty man with a soft, ungodly voice.

You rounded his giant desk and stood beside him. He was so huge. Thick muscles bunching the confines of his black suit jacket. You gulped and glanced down. He was looking at your report.

“What does this say?” He asked and pointed to a sentence.

“Due to the natre, er, nature, of the findngs.” Shit. This thing had so many damn typos in it. You typed the damn thing up, distracted, watching all of the people you never got to know walk out of here. Their faces haunted you day in and day out. You shouldn’t care, but well, here you were.

If he had done this at any other time, maybe it wouldn’t have affected you so much. If he fired people around, say…St. Patrick’s Day, then at least people would have an excuse to hide their inevitable drinking.

You looked into Tre’s eyes, an apology ready on your lips, but he was fuming. He was usually so calm and collected, firing people with an ice cold exterior. To see so much passion in him now…you were in deep shit. Without a paddle.

He reached across his desk and plucked out a red pen. “I want you to sit here and highlight all of the mistakes you made. And you better find them all,” he said.

Your shaking hand reached out for the pen. He held it away. “All of them.”

He held out the pen once more and you took it. Tre sat down in his chair and motioned for you to proceed. You spied the chair on the other side of the desk, but you didn’t get the sense that you were allowed to get comfortable while you did this.

You licked your dry lips and leaned over slightly. Page by page, you hunted your mistakes with the red pen. You circled all of the typos you made. Good god, there were so many of them.

Tre sat like a silent specter. His disapproving eyes burned your back as you searched the document. At the end, you were appalled that you let so many slip through. The fuck was wrong with you?

“Count them,” he said.

Shit, shit. You couldn’t handle this fucking stress. “I am so sorry–”

“Count. Them.” You glanced at him. Besides the fire in his eyes, he seemed calm and a little disinterested. Like he was already bored of this shit and wanted you to hurry up.

You took a deep breath. He was only a man. You needed this stupid fucking job, but you will not be treated like this for much longer. Fuck his praise. And fuck him. No man, no job was worth this bullshit. You were going to find a nice quiet job somewhere.

You counted the circles. Like bubbles of misery. “Twenty-four,” you said. At least your voice was strong, giving no hint to your frazzled nerves. Though, the more you thought about it, the less nervous you felt. You were so going to type up your two weeks notice tonight. Fuck this cheerless company.

“Do you have any clue what it’s like trying to do my job but all I can focus on is your shitty ass mistakes? A toddler can type better than you,” he said.

You gasped. Such a fucking asshole. “Everyone makes mistakes,” you pointed out. For fuck’s sake, you weren’t decoding international secrets. The occasional, okay this instance many, typos should not warrant a trip to the principal’s office.

“I spend more time correcting your mistakes than trying to turn this company around. The least you can do is be a competent assistant. Your job is to assist,” he said.

“All you can see is my mistakes instead of all the other shit that I do!” You fired back. Shit. His eyes narrowed and you swallowed, but you weren’t going to hold back. Whether you quit or got fired, you were saying goodbye to him so what the hell did anything matter?

“I bend over backwards to do everything for you! Do you know how many times I’ve had to fix my nails as I run around here doing everything that pops into that meaty ass head of yours? Fix your computer, get you coffee, charge your fucking phone. I was hired to do assistant work, not become your personal maid. The least you can do is treat me with some fucking respect!”

A weight lifted from your chest. You took deep, heaving breaths and felt lighter than you ever had. Even before taking this soul sucking job.

“Bend over,” he said quietly.

“What?” You asked.

Tre stood to his full height. Not quite reaching six feet, but close enough. He unbuttoned his suit jacket and then slipped it off, revealing a black, long sleeved shirt. He rolled up the cuffs.

“I’m spank that tight ass you keep taunting me with for every mistake you have on that report,” he said.

Whoa, what? “Did you not hear what I said?” You asked. You watched as inches of his forearm were revealed. Shit, this shouldn’t be so hot. But it was. Your mouth ran dry for entirely different reasons.

“Every word. Bend. Over. It’s a simple instruction to follow,” he said. The sleeves were at his elbow now.

You barely thought about it. You bent over the desk, breasts pressing into the coolness of his desk. You felt him slide behind you. His thick hands rubbed over the fabric of your dress. He squeezed the fleshiness of your ass and you softly huffed.

“Count out every mistake,” he said.

Smack! Red hot fire bloomed on your right ass cheek. “What the fuck,” you gasped.

“Count it, or we start over,” he said.

“One,” you immediately said. Was this really happening?

Smack! Shit, it really was. “Two,” you gasped again, trying to fight off a moan. Your pussy ached with each subsequent hit. And he was not going easy on you. Each smack was severe, making you reach up on tiptoes to escape it.

He wouldn’t let you. His hand found your ass in any way you had it displayed for him. No two smacks were similar. Some were harder than others. He never hit the same spot twice. Your ass was a mosaic of pain. Heat bloomed in tiny flickers. There was no way you were going to sit down after this.

“Fifteen,” you ground out. Your ass sought his hands, relished each smack he delivered. Your mind turned blissfully fuzzy. Nerves melting away until it was a tiny puddle at your feet. Fuck. You were so turned on and your panties were ruined. Soaked.

Your clit throbbed in time with the flickering heat on your ass. And he continued to smack it. Your ass jiggled after each one. Your feet scrambled for purchase.

“Twenty-two,” you cried out. Tears gathered in your eyes.

The final two smacks to your ass were the worst ones. He had been hiding that strength this entire time. He smacked you like he was truly punishing you for all of the mistakes on the report. You shuddered to think what he would do when he found out about the contract.

He had maintained a professional demeanor throughout it all. He hadn’t spoken, except with soft grunts as the force of his smacks met your ass. He rubbed your booty and you moaned from the white hot pain. How the hell were you going to get home after this?

Tre lowered the zipper on the back of your dress and you whimpered. What more could he fucking do right now?

The answer to that was swift as he pushed the edge of your skirt up and over your wide hips. He groaned with a soft, “fuck”, as he revealed your racy black panties. The lace was sheer with tiny flower designs woven into it.

“I knew hiring you was a fucking mistake. Can’t even focus on shit around here,” he said. Though it seemed like he was talking to himself.

“I thought you hated me,” you whispered. You wiped the wayward tears from your face.

“You and these fucking outfits,” he answered back. He rolled your panties off of your damp pussy. He bent with it, so his breath trailed the back of your thighs and legs. He kissed his way back up. Plump lips placed soft kisses to your thighs and ass. Pain bloomed from his recent spanking and you moaned and moved away. He straightened and pulled your hips back.

He smacked your bare ass this time. The wet sound was loud and lewd. You prayed that everyone was gone for the day. There was no way that these flimsy ass walls had good sound proofing.

“Fuuuuuck,” you moaned out.

“That’s for being such a fuckin’ tease,” he said. His hands left you, going to his own fly as you heard the zipper and the frantic huffs as he hurried to free himself.

“I wasn’t–”

“You know you were. Bending over every chance you got. Smiling every time I fuckin’ saw you. Wearing these outfits you know are not professional,” he said.

He settled back behind you, groaning as you assumed he pumped himself. Fuck, you wanted to see. You looked back at him. Oh, that was a mistake. His head was thrown back, his arms moving jerkily as he pumped his thick length with his hand.

Your pussy clenched as you watched him. You bit your lip at the sheer ecstasy on his face. You didn’t want to speak and interrupt him. While it was true that you dressed up a little more than your coworkers, these outfits were appropriate. You didn’t show unnecessary cleavage and your skirts were decent lengths.

Okay, maybe they went a little too high. But you spent most of your time behind a desk, who was really going to notice? It was better than the bland ass, off the rack looks these other girls wore. It was like they all shopped at the same, ugly ass store. Why should you be bland like them?

You were fucking gorgeous. And wearing pretty outfits made you feel beautiful and comfortable. You loved your heels. Why should you keep all that shit in the closet to make basic bitches feel nice? Fuck ‘em.

Tre rubbed the tip of his dick through your wet folds. You nearly buckled. Your knees collapsed and Tre roughly grabbed your hip to make you stand upright.

You rested your cheek against the cold desk. The coolness helped cool off some of the heat burning through you. You moaned as his tip brushed against your clit. “Please,” you whispered.

“Please what?” He asked.

“Please, fuck me. I need it,” you moaned. God, it had been too fucking long since you got fucked. Not had sex. Got fucked. You had decent situationships in the past. Sure, you had fun. But to get fucked, you needed a certain type of man.

He grunted as he shoved inside, stretching you completely. You cried out as he pulled back and shoved back in, getting his dick wetter from your juices alone. “Sweet fuck,” he moaned.

“So fuckin’ wet for me.” He worked himself inside you, pushing into the warm, wet core of you. You were a vice grip on his dick. Welcoming him deeper and more easily with every glide. His fingers dug into your hips.

“From now on, I’m checking over all of your work. If I catch more typos, that’s your ass,” he said.

How the hell could he expect you to listen when he was buried so deep inside of you, you were pretty sure with one more shove that he would hit your G-spot? You pathetically whimpered as his movements grew slippier. He slid in and out with more ease than before.

His thrusts turned sharper. Each one shoved you against the desk. The hard plane of the desk shoved into your stomach. The pain was barely a thought.

“Oh yes, yes,” you moaned.

“Takin’ this dick well,” he moaned. His thrusts increased. Barely giving you time to breathe in between each one. They were powerful and unrelenting. The desk rattled. His thighs pushed into yours, trapping you against the desk as he pounded into you. His hands around your hips were bruising. He had you slightly lifted, so your feet slightly dangled off of the ground. He supported you easily.

The minimal praise from him made your heart soar and your pussy flutter. “Oh, you like that shit, don’t you?”

“Uh-huh,” you moaned.

“Tell me you like it then,” he said.

“I like it,” you said.

“Like you mean it,” he said and gave another savage thrust that made you see stars.

The desk made an intrusive knocking sound in time with his thrusting. That’s how hard he was fucking you.

“Oh shit, I’m cumming,” you moaned. Your belly flipped as your orgasm built and built.

“Let it go, then,” he said.

You cried and whimpered as you came.

“Mhm, let it go. Let it go. Mhm, feeling all of that,” he cooed while you came, stars going off like bombs in your weak vision. Your head swam. Your vision winked in and out. You were bliss personified, cumming with a type of euphoria you didn’t know existed.

You squeezed his dick as you came. “Get that shit nice and creamy,” he said.

He continued to pound into you, fucking any last remnants of your orgasm out of you. He was so hard and thick, sliding in and out and wrenching every little sound he could out of you.

Wet smacking and the rattle of his thrusts filled the room with a harmony you wanted on repeat forever. You were creamy for him. Needy for him. Needy for the way that he could fuck you stupid and you thanked him for it.

You managed to look back at him. Again, his head was thrown back. The wide expanse of his neck pulsed with a thick vein you wanted to lick. Sweat dripped down into his shirt. His sleeves were still rolled up. He was power and strength. Thick in every sense of the word.

Broad shoulders, soft beard, and those glasses. Good god, you loved those glasses on him. That wide smile of his. His rich, midnight skin. You could spend hours licking every inch of him and it wouldn’t nearly be enough.

He was lost in you, lost with his dick pumping into you. Watching how you were making him feel, another orgasm built. It climbed its way to the surface, whisking you away to the stars again. Shooting through the universe with nothing to hold you down. Nothing to keep you anchored. You just floated like stardust around the cosmos.

“Oh fuck, please,” you moaned. You didn’t know what the fuck you were saying. You were mumbling and moaning, unaware of anything but his hands on your hips. His dick inside you. His balls slapping your clit. Your hand moved behind you seeking his body. His thrusts were too much.

You pushed against him. You didn’t want him to stop. Just for him to ease a bit. Your swollen clit was sensitive as hell. You weren’t sure if you had another orgasm in you. It was too soon and his punishing pace was going to literally fuck you stupid in a minute.

“Move that fuckin’ hand before I do,” he spat.

“But…Sir…” He was fucking the air out of you. You couldn’t breathe. “Fuck, please.”

True to his word, he grabbed the hand that you were trying to push him away with. Your left hand was twisted behind your back as he leaned forward, deepening his strokes.

It turned harsher, fucking you into the desk. He’d fuck you through it if he could. His moans turned desperate.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” he moaned. “Take this nut.”

He groaned as he unleashed his climax inside of you. He filled you with his cum. His dick twitched and pulsed against your spongy walls as his cum was fucked into you. Still he moved, still he pounded into you like he was trying to prove something.

His hips faltered as he sputtered the last of his cum. He buried himself to the hilt and a shiver ran through him. Your frantic breathing matched his as he slowly pulled out of you.

Fuck! You were fucking sore! A hundred baths wouldn’t soothe this shit. A moment later, his cum slipped out of you and you moaned. Well shit. No condom. Luckily, you were on the pill but still. You shouldn’t be so fucking horny that you didn’t talk about these things.

However, after getting fucked the way you just did, you’d happily accept his cum. Many times over.

His cum leaked out of you, sliding down your pussy and legs. He groaned, leaned down, and spread your ass cheeks just to watch.

“Such a pretty fuckin’ pussy,” he said. He pushed two fingers inside and you whimpered. He grunted one last time and removed his fingers.

He grabbed a few tissues off of his desk and started to clean you up. You hissed when he hit a sensitive spot. He kissed your ass and legs as he cleaned up. “So fuckin’ pretty. So fuckin’ beautiful,” he soothed as he cleaned.

You were a shaking mess. Your legs could not support you. He chuckled as he finished. He pulled his pants up first. You heard the slide of his belt buckle. Then, he pulled your panties up to cover your ass. Next, he lowered your skirt and fixed the zipper.

You were too weak to move from your spot. Too weak to stand up and say or do anything. You laid there in amazement. He helped you up and then steadied you while he lowered you into his chair. His chair.

He got to work, righting various knick knacks on his desk. He moved a tiny Christmas snow globe on his desk that you had brought him on the first day. He had raised his eyebrow at you, told you that you couldn’t bribe your way to a good start, and disappeared into his office. You thought he had thrown it away. You were too nervous to notice anything when you came into his office. Just his disapproving eyes and smug smirk.

He moved the report back into the yellow envelope and closed it. He turned around and rested his ass against the desk. He tapped the file with his long fingers. “Be sure to correct this. We’ll go over it first thing in the morning.”

You glanced at him. “Yes, Sir,” you said with a hoarse voice. Fuck, your throat hurt. Everything hurt. He smirked as if he were reading your thoughts.

Yeah, a merry Christmas to you too, mu’fucker.

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alexsoenomel · 1 year ago

Text

Agent's Sin (Dean Winchester x Reader smut)

Summary: A handsome FBI agent walks into a bar where you work.

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Warnings: reader had a shitty childhood and trauma (no details), alcohol consumption, age gap (Reader is 23 and Dean is 41), cheesy flirting and sexy times

Word count: 3.2k

Note: I had a block but not anymore? This happened. Hope you enjoy, I sure did writing it.

Like/ reblog or both if you like it :)

A Sleazy bar wasn’t your first choice but you had to start somewhere. You were a broke college student with no savings, far away from home and you had to feed yourself. Dealing with drunks was easy, considering your dad was one until he had his last bottle of vodka that killed him one Friday night. The pent-up rage you buried deep inside your soul would resurface every now and then whenever someone decided to be a mean drunk like your late father. You would never get violent, you could never hit a man, but cursing and telling them to leave before you would call Karl to throw some punches – you could and you did that. He was a gentle 6′ 8″ giant; security guard; nicest guy to be around, but a damn beast whenever someone decided to get too touchy with you or just straight up be a dick.

Every day was the same: you would wake up, go to classes and after classes straight to work. You had the same three meals every day, slept for six hours max and didn’t have any time for yourself. The money was okay; tips coming left and right considering the amount of creepy, old men visiting the joint and getting drunk after clocking out. They would tell you how beautiful you were, and you would just give them a fake smile and pour them another one. Your smile wasn’t a million-dollar smile in Hollywood, but it certainly brought in some extra cash. It was exhausting to act like you were flattered by the comments, but considering the state of your bank account, you had no other choice.

Wednesday was coming to an end and you were ready to clock out when a tall, very good-looking man walked in and sat right in front of you at the counter. He was gorgeous; hedgehog-like hair, freckles scattered all over his face like stars in the sky and hypnotizing green eyes. You swallowed thickly as soon as you saw him eyeing you with a smirk on his face. You told Karl to leave early that day. Poor dude almost got stabbed after trying to defend a woman from a very drunk individual who didn’t understand the meaning of the word no.

Men made you nervous, you didn’t trust them, but something was telling you that this one was harmless.

“What can I get you?” You asked. You were a little annoyed since it was almost closing time but chose to stay silent. The bar was empty anyways, hopefully he would have his drink and leave after a few minutes.

“Whiskey. Any kind. Neat,” he said, before he bit his lower lip, his gaze fixed on you.

His voice was deep and raspy, covering your body in goosebumps almost immediately, before your brain told you to snap out of it and pour him the damn drink.

“Coming right up!” You smiled forcefully.

You poured him the best whiskey you had – Rittenhouse Rye Whiskey. You weren’t much of a drinker, but you knew that its distinct and spicy flavor was top notch. You had gotten drunk a couple of times on the job. Dealing with sleazy bastards would sometimes get too much for your brain, so alcohol was the antidote. The handsome stranger immediately took a sip and sighed in satisfaction.

“Rittenhouse?”

“Yeah,” you answered him.

“Good choice.”

“My favorite,” you lied with a soft smile. It wasn’t your favorite. You hated hard liquor. You would only drink it when you wanted to get drunk – no joys in that whatsoever.

Watching him take another sip you noticed a couple of things: he was much older than you; he looked tired and had a small cut on his lower lip. His red flannel was perfectly wrapped around his frame while the rolled-up sleeves made it hard to look away. Correction, your fascination with vascular arms made it hard to look away.

He wasn’t subtle either. His eyes scanned your face; he was searching for something. Feeling like the whole world was watching, you decided to turn around and focus on getting the rest of freshly washed shot glasses polished and ready for tomorrow’s shift. Your cheeks were burning as your hands became slippery; your body felt foreign. You felt your fingers go numb as the shot glass you took slipped and hit the floor shattering everywhere.

“Ugh, crap!” You mumbled.

“Rough day at work?” You heard him say.

“You have no idea,” You turned around to face him. His eyes were dark, illuminating in dimmed lights, still watching you.

You ignored his gaze and went in the back to get a broom and clean the mess you made. When you came back you noticed his glass was empty.

“Another round?”

He nodded and raised his glass for you to pour another one.

“Make it double.”

You registered his demand, but stayed silent. You had a feeling he wasn’t leaving anytime soon. The familiar riff of Don’t Fear the Reaper by Blue Öyster Cult started playing when the whiskey bottle touched his glass. Your head followed the rhythm, moving left and right as you started to hum the lyrics.

“You look too young to know the lyrics of this song,” he said, taking a sip of his drink.

“And how old do you think I am?”

“You’re old enough to serve alcohol, so 21?”

“Nice guess, but no. I’m 23.”

The handsome stranger didn’t expect you to be almost 20 years younger than him. His brows shot up in surprise before he said: “Awesome!”

“There’s nothing awesome about being a broke college student dealing with creepy drunks every night, old man!” You said, not really knowing where the old man comment came from. You desperately wanted to spark-up the conversation with the man in front of you, but you were never the one to break the ice and actually talk to strangers. So far this was great.

“You think I’m old?” He asked with a soft smile on his face. He didn’t seem bothered by your comment.

“You are definitely older than me so yeah, kinda.”

“How old?”

“In your early 40s.”

The lines around his eyes coming through whenever he would smile and freckles covering his face were a dead giveaway. He probably once was a beautiful young boy – you thought. Once that innocence was taken away, he grew up, but his beauty stayed intact. He was now a beautiful and tormented man.

“41,” he said.

You then exchanged your names. His name was Dean. He was just passing by after finishing a job in Lincoln.

“What kind of job?” You asked.

His hand went to the right pocket on his flannel and he showed you his credentials. FBI it said.

“Special agent has a nice ring to it,” you commented and decided, since you were closing soon, to lock the front door. “I promise you I’m going to let you go, I just don’t want any new customers.”

“When do you close?”

You took your phone from the back pocket of your jeans before answering: “In about 10 minutes.”

“Have a drink with me then! I promise I won’t tell your boss,” He winked.

You were taken aback by his invitation that sounded more like a demand. You could feel the tension in the air rising; something about Dean was luring you in even though deep down you knew it was wrong. You had been dating your boyfriend, Dan, for sometime now, but it didn’t seem right. You got along just fine, but something was missing. He was sweet, too sweet sometimes, and yet you didn’t have a sweet tooth. You met through a mutual friend and after a few months of boring dates and sex you were over it. Eventually you told him you needed a break from it all, lying through your teeth, saying you wanted some time alone to focus on upcoming exams. You didn’t have the heart to break his. He was sad but decided to respect your decision.

That was two weeks ago. He would text you every day and you would simply ignore it.

A sigh left your lips before you went behind the counter and decided to pour yourself a glass of whiskey.

I’m going to regret this.

“Cheers!” Dean said, lifting his glass.

“Cheers, agent!”

Click!

The hard liquor was burning your throat and you pretended to like it and not show how much it actually hurt. Right now you wanted to get drunk as fast as possible; you wanted to feel comfortable around him even though he was a complete stranger.

“You’re going to get me fired, Dean!” You said and chugged the rest of the whiskey from your glass.

“Woah, you really had a rough day, huh?”

You wasted no time and poured yourself another. Your throat was on fire, but your brain was slowly becoming numb. It was working.

“More like rough life! Cheers!” You lifted your glass and took a sip.

The more you drank, the more details you noticed about Dean. His eyes crinkling, his long thick fingers gently holding the glass, his pink lips pressed against the glass… There was a need waking up inside of you with each sip you took. The liquor was dissolving away your sense of restraint and any sanity you had left; all you wanted to do was to crash your drunken lips on his.

“How rough?” Dean asked you.

“Abusive alcoholic father and a deadbeat mother rough,” you said, now feeling tipsy wanting to sit. You moved an empty wooden crate that was on your left and turned it upside down so you could use it to climb the counter and sit next to Dean. He was fallowing your every move, admiring your legs.

“So, daddy and mommy issues? That is rough!”

You shared a look. Up close, he was even more beautiful. You could see every line on his face, around his eyes, lips, and cheek. Every line had a story and perfectly melted into his skin. You quickly looked away, refusing to show him you were completely under his spell.

“Do you work in the Behavior analysis unit? Can you tell I'm chronically searching for approval and acceptance from people but at the same time not giving a shit and trusting no one?”

You weren’t familiar with the branches of the FBI; you just watched too many Criminal Minds episodes.

Dean chuckled. “Not really.”

His hand suddenly went to your thigh as your legs were dangling from the counter. Your heartbeat was in your throat, but at the same time you felt a sense of calm. You knew it was wrong; he was twice your age; FBI agent and yet this was the most excited you had ever been. Your soon to be ex didn't even cross your mind. Something about this man was pulling you in and not letting go.

You finally got the courage you needed to look at him and not look away. He seemed sober, more sober than you at least…

“Your hand is on my thigh, agent,” you finally said, forcing the last drop of confidence out of yourself. Your walls were crumbling and your desires were resurfacing.

“Tell me to fuck off then,” he suddenly stood up, equalizing the height difference. His other hand went to your other thigh as he gently pulled your legs apart, standing between them. His face was inches away from you, even if you wanted to, you couldn’t look away.

“You make it hard to, though,” your skin was on fire, burning for the man you met almost two hours ago. You only knew his first name, his occupation and that he had an awesome taste in music. He was a stranger and yet felt so familiar.

Your words weren’t necessary anymore. You knew what you needed and realized he, too, craved the same thing. The life he was living was exhausting and full of lies; he wanted to forget about his fake badge and lies that he told over the years. He cupped your face with his hands and gently pressed his lips on yours. It was a soft kiss at first, which quickly deepened and grew with lust and want. You wrapped your hands around his neck pulling him closer as your legs were wrapped around his torso. You wanted him impossibly close. Light groans and moans filled the bar as you didn’t break away until breathing became a necessity. Panting and red around your mouth from his stubble, you rested your forehead against his.

“I’d invite you to my place, but I don’t think my roommate would appreciate me coming home with an FBI agent.”

His eyebrows went up before he asked: “Right here?”

“If you knew how much puke I had to clean just this week…”

Dean’s nose wrinkled slightly. He chugged the rest of his whiskey, feeling a pleasant burn in his throat.

“My car! Now!” He demanded, taking your hand as you jumped off the counter.

You unlocked the door and saw the only car that was parked, right in front of the bar – black, shiny and beautiful Chevy Impala. You hadn’t seen cars like this for a long time.

You opened the back door and went in. Immediately, you were hit with the smell of leather. Dean followed you and shut the door behind him.

“Nice ride, agent!” You commented and decided to get up and straddle him. He wasn’t protesting, letting you settle on his lap.

“Thank you!” He sounded almost proud.

You kissed him, feeling the exhale through his nose on your face before he opened his mouth giving you permission to deepen the kiss. The taste of whiskey was still in his mouth and in a strange way you felt like you were getting drunk and losing control with each and every kiss. Dean’s hand went into your hair, pulling it lightly and making knots you’d have to take care of tomorrow. You kissed for a while, your hands roaming, desperately searching for naked skin to touch and explore. Naturally, as you started to grow impatient, your hips started to move, grinding against him. You could feel him getting hard underneath you; he was bigger than you expected. When you couldn't breathe, your lips moved lower, kissing his neck and your fingers started to unbutton his shirt.

"Too bad you're not wearing a suit," you told him, between kisses. "I bet you look hot as fuck while chasing the bad guys."

Dean chuckled at your comment, not wanting to admit he was flattered. He undid the bottoms of your jeans and his two fingers slid inside feeling your already wet cunt dripping with pleasure. His two fingers slid inside with ease. Your lips parted as you moaned his name. "I bet you look hot as fuck moaning my name, sweetheart."

This man was different. His scent, a light mix between pine trees, whiskey and leather; eyes so green you would think they were little gemstones staring at your soul in the dark; his age…It was a fatal mix, worth potentially getting fired or hurt for.

After taking your sweet time to unbutton his shirt, you could touch his bare skin. His fingers were still there, between your legs, slowly pumping in and out, but you wanted more.

"Fuck me!" You whimpered. "Please!"

"Needy!" He said, placing kisses above your jaw.

"Desperate," you corrected him.

It has been too long since you last had good sex. Too fucking long. You forgot what it was like to orgasm without your favorite toy. Your soon to be ex did absolutely nothing for your body and soul. No matter how hard you tried, how much you talked – he just wasn't working for you.

Dean liked the words coming from your mouth, so he decided to stop playing games. He pulled his hand out of your pants and licked his fingers clean.

"Almost as sweet as you," he exclaimed.

You felt your cheeks burn. He took off your shirt and soon after, your bra. Your chest was completely bare but you weren't worried about someone seeing you. It was dark outside and the only light that you had were from the street lights surrounding you. He placed gentle kisses on both of your breasts before he told you to lay down. You said nothing and did what he told you. He took off his shirt before pulling your pants down, taking them off without you lifting your hips.

"Damn baby, you're gorgeous," he said in awe.

He was the one to talk; his upper body was carved by the highest of the Gods and his angelic, yet rough facial features made it hard to not stare. The universe created Leonardo da Vinci's Vitruvian man a couple of centuries later and sent it straight to you. The man undoubtedly had perfect face and body proportions.

"You're making me blush, agent."

He took off his jeans, struggling to find room before kissing you again. It was getting cold in the car since it was late October but his body was now pressed against yours, keeping you warm and safe. Your hand went to feel his fully hard cock before letting him put it in you.

"Please!" You begged again, feeling the desperation in your voice, but not being embarrassed about it.

"Okay, okay!" He whispered, finally ready to give you what you want.

He moved your panties to the side, being too eager to take them off, and let his cock free as he lowered his boxers. Without warning he entered you, stretching your walls and making you gasp in a weird mix of pleasure and pain. He was big, so getting used to his size was going to take a couple of seconds. Your fingers dug into his shoulder blades as he started to move slowly.

"Am I hurting you?" He asked worriedly.

You whispered a no and kissed him as he started to move again. Soon enough, pleasure took over completely and you couldn't leave the sound of his name out of your mouth. His kisses became messy, slowly losing control over his body and movements as his pace became frantic. His right hand wrapped around your neck putting just enough pressure for you to completely fall apart.

The air in the car was hot and stuffy, and steam started to form on the windows. The sound of your wet cunt taking him over and over again mixed with Dean's moans and grunts; you knew you were going to cum.

"I- I" you tried to speak but nothing could come out.

Dean's eyes locked with yours in a moment, both completely consumed with each other…

"Come on baby!" He told you, his voice raspy and sexy. You couldn't get enough of it.

Soon enough you came all over his cock, biting his shoulder, trying to muffle the scream of pleasure. He hissed but didn't say anything as he came soon after. You felt his hot seed filling you up completely as you thanked the universe you were on birth control.

You were both panting, sweaty and speechless. Dean rested his forehead on yours, trying to calm down.

"So…can I get your number?" He asked.

"Only if you wear a suit the next time we see each other."

"Roger that!" He smiled.

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