#LED visor | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

rafayelxsylusho · 3 months ago

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How do the LADS men react when they catch you reading smut. 🫣 Part 3

We still had some time to vote but I think my man is going to win this one.

Enjoy!

TW:Smut

Part 1 (Xavier)

Part 2 (Caleb)

Part 4 (Zayne)

Part 5 (Rafayel)

Vote for the next LI at the end of the story ❤️

As you settle into the plush comfort of Sylus' bed, your fingers dance across the screen of your phone, pulling up the controversial book that had been the talk of the office. The one your female coworkers had gushed over in hushed whispers, their cheeks flushed and eyes gleaming with a sparkle. You had to know what all the fuss was about.

As you delve deeper into the digital pages, your eyebrows arch higher with each passing paragraph. The book is even more explicit than you'd been led to believe, the author leaving very little to the imagination. You find yourself squirming slightly on the luxurious bed linens, a warmth taking over your cheeks that has nothing to do with the crackling fireplace nearby.

When you reach chapter ten, the scene unfolding before your eyes is downright scandalous. The protagonist and her lover are locked in the throes of ecstasy atop a roaring motorcycle. The vivid detail and raw, primal nature of their fucking is intense, the author paints a picture so vivid it's almost impossible not to feel the heat of the moment yourself.

As the scene unfolds in vivid detail on your phone screen, a familiar but not unwelcome heat begins to pool low in your belly. The author's graphic descriptions of the lovers' frenzied passion ignites something within you. Before long, you find yourself squirming on the bed, thighs clenching together as a tingling ache builds between them.

Your mind starts to wander, the fictional couple's encounter blurring with memories of your own encounters with Sylus. You picture his strong hands roaming over your curves, his kisses trailing down your neck and chest. In your mind, you replace the faceless man on the motorcycle with Sylus himself.

Unable to resist the urge any longer, your hand drifts down to the waistband of your pajamas, your breath hitches as your fingers brush against the slick folds of your pussy.

You know you shouldn't be doing this, but the ache between your legs demands satisfaction. Lost in the lusty fantasy you touch yourself, your own touch a poor imitation of the passionate lovemaking in the book.

Your moans fill the spacious bedroom and you drop your phone onto the plush bedsheets, the device still open to the obscene motorcycle scene that sparked your desire. Your fingers dance over your folds, stroking your sensitive clit with increasing urgency as you picture Sylus pinning you beneath him on his own roaring motorcycle.

Two fingers plunge deep inside your core, pumping furiously as you imagine Sylus pounding into you, his powerful hips driving forward with relentless, hungry need. The sound of your breathing mingles with the imagined roar of the motorcycle engine, spurring you on as you chase your rapidly building climax.

Your fingers pump faster, plunging deeper, as you picture Sylus reaching up to secure his sleek black helmet over his head. The dark visor doesn't completely obscure his eyes and you can feel the intensity of his gaze boring into you. He leans in close, his hot breath fogging up the inside of the helmet as he growls, "Hold on tight, kitten. I'm going to fuck you so hard, you'll forget your own name."

With a cry of ecstasy, you come undone, your walls clenching rhythmically around your plunging fingers as a wave of pleasure crashes over you. Your body writhes on the bed, the silken sheets tangled around you as you ride out the aftershocks of your climax.

Panting softly, you slowly come back to yourself, a satisfied grin playing about your lips. The ache between your thighs temporarily sated. The phone screen glows, the motorcycle scene frozen in time, a testament to the sinful fantasy that brought you to such a state.

You close your eyes, the events of the day, the provocative novel, and your fantasy of Sylus fade into the background as you surrender to the pull of exhaustion. Your breathing evens out, falling into a soft, steady rhythm as you curl up beneath the plush blankets of Sylus' bed, completely at peace.

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You stir from your sleep, the beep of the alarm clock piercing through the silence of the bedroom. As you blink you become acutely aware of a firm, warm body pressed against your back. A muscular arm is draped over your waist, holding you close to a broad, bare chest that rises and falls with each soft, steady breath. Glancing over your shoulder, you find yourself face to face with Sylus.

You remain still, not wanting to disturb his peaceful sleep, and take a moment to appreciate his devastating good looks. The grayish white hair, usually so perfectly styled, is now slightly disheveled. His brows, normally arched in a state of contemplation or challenge, are now smooth and undisturbed. Even in sleep, there's a raw, masculine beauty to Sylus that sets your heart racing.

As you study him, you can't help but remember the vivid, intimate fantasy that played out in your mind the night before. The way his strong hands gripped your hips as he took you hard and fast on his motorcycle. You feel a fresh wave of heat pool between your thighs at the recollection.

Suddenly, Sylus stirs, his hold on your waist tightening. His voice, low and gravelly from sleep, rumbles in your ear. "Morning, kitten," he murmurs, his lips brushing against your earlobe. "Sleep well?"

You press a quick, chaste kiss to Sylus' lips, feeling the ghost of your intense fantasy linger in the fleeting touch. A rosy blush stains your cheeks as you pull away.

"Mm, yes, I did," you reply softly, slipping out of his embrace and rising from the bed, the cool air of the bedroom kisses your skin. As you gather your belongings and begin to ready yourself for work, you can't help but sneak glances at Sylus as he stirs and stretches like a panther. The sheets pool around his waist, revealing his toned torso and the tantalizing V that disappears beneath the fabric. You swallow hard, your mouth suddenly dry, and quickly avert your gaze.

"Well, I should get going," you say, slipping into your shirt and buttoning it up with trembling fingers. "Can't be late for my shift today, I have an important meeting with Jenna"

You hesitate for a moment, feeling Sylus' intense gaze following your every move. You take a deep breath and turn to face him, your blush still evident on your cheeks. "I'll... I'll see you later, Sy" you say, your voice barely above a whisper.

You turn to leave and are almost out his bedroom door when you hear him call you.

"Miss hunter"

You freeze mid-step and slowly turn to face him, your eyes widening as you follow the direction of his pointed finger.

You hurry over to the bedside table, snatching up your phone and clutching it to your chest like a guilty secret.

As you turn to make your escape, Sylus' deep, smooth voice stops you in your tracks once more. "Pick you up after work," he states. It's phrased as a question, but the steel in his tone makes it clear that he expects an affirmative answer.

"I... yes, alright," you manage to stammer out. "After work." You can feel Sylus' gaze burning into your back as you hurry towards the bedroom door once again, your phone clutched tightly in your hand.

As you step out into the hallway, you can't shake the feeling that Sylus knows exactly what you got up to last night. The way he looked at you, the knowing glint in his eyes. You shake your head, trying to erase the unsettling thought, and fasten your steps towards the front door.

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You step out of the Hunters Association building, your heart already racing at the thought of seeing Sylus again. As you round the corner, your eyes fall upon the very object that had dominated your lustful fantasy the night before, Sylus' sleek, black motorcycle.

And there he stands, leaning casually against the seat with one muscular thigh crossed over the other. He looks every inch the dangerous, alluring man you know him to be. His leather jacket and pants hug his powerful frame.

As if sensing your presence, Sylus turns his head, piercing crimson eyes locking onto yours. A slow, sensual smile spreads across his face, and he straightens up, taking a step towards you. "Ready to go, kitten?"

You nod, your voice catching slightly in your throat as you reply, "Yes, I'm ready." You reach for your helmet, your fingers brushing against the smooth, glossy surface. However, before you can secure it on your head, Sylus' large, warm hands enclose your own, stilling your movements.

He steps closer, his chest nearly grazing your breasts as he leans in, his helmet tucked under one muscular arm. His eyes bore into yours, a glimmer of something dark and hungry flickering in their depths. "Before you do," he murmurs, his deep voice sending shivers down your spine, "would you like to use my visor to apply your lipstick, just like you did the other day?"

The memories of that day come rushing back, the way you had applied your lipstick using his visor as a mirror, your fingers trembling slightly as you did so. The way he had looked at you, his eyes burning into yours, filled with a hunger that made your knees weak.

The vivid fantasies that played out in your mind last night flash before your eyes, and you know you can't bring yourself to do it this time. Shaking your head, you take a step back, putting a little distance between your body and Sylus. "No, not this time," you murmur, your cheeks flushing hotly at the admission. You can't help but glance at the helmet tucked under his arm. "I'd rather not," you add, your voice barely above a whisper as you meet Sylus' intense gaze. The air between you feels charged, electric, as if Sylus can sense the forbidden thoughts swirling in your mind. You swallow hard, tearing your eyes away from him.

Releasing your hands, you reach up and quickly secure your helmet on your head, the plastic shell a barrier between you and Sylus' knowing eyes. The visor fogs up slightly as you take a shaky breath, trying to compose yourself. "We should get going.

Sylus smirks, the expression turning wicked as he watches you squirm under his gaze. He knows, there's no doubt about it. Somehow, some way, he discovered your open phone and read the steamy scene that had left you so hot and bothered. A thrill of excitement and nerves runs through you as Sylus settles his own helmet over his head, the sleek black visor hiding his expression but not the predatory gleam in his eyes. He knows, and now he's playing with you, toying with the knowledge of your secret desire.

A fresh wave of heat rushing to your cheeks as you watch Sylus swing his leg over the motorcycle seat. With a newfound determination, you hitch up your skirt slightly and swing your own leg over the bike, settling yourself behind Sylus.

A slow smile spreads across your face beneath your helmet as you wrap your arms around his waist, your hands splaying over the firm expanse of his abdomen. Two can play this game, you think to yourself, a sense of anticipation coiling in your belly. Sylus may have discovered your secret, but he doesn't know the full extent of the hunger that consumes you.

As the darkness grows and the city lights start to twinkle to life, a sudden boldness takes hold of you. Without warning, you slide your hands lower, your fingers teasing along the waistband of Sylus' leather pants. You feel the firm, muscular flesh beneath the leather, the heat of his skin seeping through the material. Your touch is light, almost feather like, but purposeful in its intent.

His body tenses beneath your wandering hands, and you feel the motorcycle wobble slightly as he tightens his grip on the handlebars. The knowledge that your touch affects him, that you can unsettle the usually unflappable man, sends a thrill of power rushing through you.

Spurred on by this sense of control, you allow your hands to dip lower, your fingers playing with the button of his pants. You trace the line of the zipper, feeling the hard bulge that begins to form beneath your touch. The knowledge that you can arouse him so easily, that your desire for him is reciprocated, makes your head spin with excitement.

Your breath grows shallow, fogging up the interior of your helmet as your hands continue their exploration. The motorcycle rumbles on beneath you, the vibrations adding to the building heat between your thighs. You're playing with fire, but you can't bring yourself to care. You want to burn, to consume Sylus with the same desperate hunger that had you coming undone in his bed.

"How much longer until we get home Sy?"

"Not much longer now, kitten. Just a few more miles to go." The motorcycle speeds up slightly, the wind whipping around you as you race through the darkening streets.

But you are not able to stop yourself and you reach down and slowly unzip his leather pants, the metal teeth parting ways to reveal the straining bulge beneath.

"Y/N" a note of warning laced into the command. But you ignore him, your fingers already delving inside to cup the hard, hot length of him through the fabric of his underwear.

The motorcycle surges forward with a roar, Sylus apparently as eager to get home as you are. The speedometer needle sweeps past the legal limit, the city lights become a stream of glowing lines.

As the motorcycle rolls to a stop at the red light, you waste no time in freeing Sylus from the confines of his underwear. Your fingers dip inside, wrapping around the hot, throbbing length of him, pulling him out into the cool night air. Sylus inhales sharply, his hips jerking slightly as your hand closes around his flesh.

Before the light can change, you're already working on him, your palm pressing his hard cock against the firm plane of his abdomen. Slowly, torturously, you run your thumb over the sensitive head, circling the tip in maddeningly gentle strokes. You keep your touch light, mindful of the delicate skin.

"Kitten" he grits out as the light turns green, and the motorcycle lurches forward again.

“Keep your eyes on the road Sylus, I don’t want us to crash.”

His grip tightens on the handlebars, knuckles turning white as he tries to focus on the road ahead. "Fuck, Y/N," he grits out through clenched teeth, the curse echoing in the confines of the helmet. "Keep this up and we'll end up in a ditch."

You can feel the bead of precum forming at the tip of his cock, the slick fluid allowing your fingers to glide more easily over the swollen head. You take full advantage, rolling and kneading the sensitive flesh between your fingertips until Sylus is gritting out a low groan.

You smear the precum over your fingers, using it as lubricant as you drag your hand slowly down the thick shaft. You can feel it throb against your palm, Sylus' body responding eagerly to your touch. The motorcycle swerves slightly as Sylus struggles to maintain control, his hips rocking involuntarily into your stroking hand.

As he brings the motorcycle to a halt, you glance around, realizing that you're not parked outside his home. Instead, he's stopped in a secluded, isolated spot on the outskirts of the city. A single lamp post flickers weakly, casting a circle of light that illuminates the deserted parking lot. Beyond that, the only light comes from the pale glow of the moon

You're about to ask Sylus where he's brought you when you feel his hand closing around your wrist. In the dim light, you can see the intense, almost feral look in his eyes as he turns to face you.

"Sylus, where are we?" you ask, a hint of confusion in your voice. The air feels charged with tension, the night pressing in around you, isolating you from the rest of the world.

Sylus doesn't answer right away. Instead, he leans in close and he murmurs, "Somewhere private, where I can finish what you started without any interruptions."

You know you've pushed Sylus to the brink, teased him until he's teetering on the edge of control. And now, in this secluded spot, he's going to make you pay for it.

Sylus pulls back slightly, his hands moving to the straps of your helmet. With deft fingers, he unbuckles it and lifts it off your head, tossing it carelessly to the ground.

"Get off the bike, Y/N," Sylus commands, his voice a low, husky rumble that makes your toes curl in your boots. "Now."

You find yourself moving on autopilot, Sylus watches intently as you swing your leg over the bike seat, the moonlight casting a silver glow across your skin. The moment your feet touch the ground, he's off the motorcycle too, moving with a predatory grace that makes your heart race. He takes a step towards you, then another, until he's standing before you, so close that you can feel the heat radiating off his body.

His hands come up to grip your waist, fingers digging into the soft flesh as he pulls you against him. You can feel every hard plane and angle of his body, the evidence of his desire, an unmistakable bulge pressing against your belly.

"Did you think teasing me like that would go unpunished? I'm going to make you pay for every inch of skin you touched, for every moan I had to swallow as I tried to keep this bike on the road."

"I won't be able to eat your sweet little cunt like I want to while you sit on my bike, kitten. Not with my helmet on." His hands tighten on your hips, fingers digging into your flesh as he grinds his erection against you. "But don't worry, I'll leave that pleasure for another day. Tonight, I need to be inside you, now."

With that promise, Sylus spins you around and bends you over the motorcycle seat, your breasts pressing against the leather. He kicks your legs apart, his hands sliding up the backs of your thighs to grip your hips. Then he hikes up your skirt, exposing you to the cool night air.

He hooks his fingers into the waistband of your underwear, the fabric stretching taut for a moment before giving way. He drags them down slowly, the cool air kissing your heated skin as he bares you completely.

"Lift your feet," Sylus orders, his voice leaving no room for disobedience. You comply, lifting one foot and then the other, allowing him to remove your underwear entirely. He balls up the delicate lace, tucking them into his back pocket as a trophy of sorts.

With your most intimate place now exposed, Sylus leans down, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise. You can feel the thick, hard length of him pressing insistently against your ass. Your body is on fire, every nerve ending screaming for his touch, for the feel of him inside you.

He slides his bare cock against your folds, the thick head catching on your clit with each pass. Sparks of pleasure shoot up your spine, your back arching as you press back against him instinctively. The wet sound of his shaft gliding through your arousal fills the air, a melody that makes your toes curl.

"Fuck, you're so wet, kitten," he growls, his voice rough with lust. "So ready for my cock."

You can feel it in the desperate, erratic way he grinds against you, in the harsh, ragged sound of his breathing. It's a battle of wills, a contest to see who will break first. And as Sylus' cock catches on your clit once more, sending a bolt of electric pleasure rocketing through you, you know it won't be long before one of you snaps. The tension is unbearable, the need for release a physical ache that demands satisfaction.

"Fuck, Sylus!" you cry out, unable to hold back any longer. As you feel the thick head of his cock pressing insistently at your entrance, you make your choice. Reaching back, you grab his hips and yank him forward, impaling yourself on his shaft with a desperate scream that echoes through the empty parking lot as Sylus' thick cock stretches your tight walls in one brutal, glorious thrust. The sudden intrusion is a shock of pain and pleasure, your body struggling to accommodate his girth.

"Oh god, you're so fucking big," you keen, your hips buck back against him, desperate for more, always craving that sweet spot where pleasure blurs with pain.

He doesn't give you time to adjust, pulling nearly all the way out before slamming back in, setting a brutal pace from the start. The motorcycle rocks beneath you with each powerful thrust, the metal creaking in protest at the force of Sylus' movements. You're pinned beneath him, helpless to do anything but take his punishing thrusts as he fucks into you.

You're teetering on the brink, your body coiled tight and ready to shatter. The pleasure is cresting, your walls fluttering and clenching around his cock as he drives into you with wild, desperate abandon. You're so close, your climax just within reach, when suddenly Sylus curses under his breath.

"Fuck!" he snarls, his voice rough and ragged. Before you can react, he's pulling out of you abruptly, the sudden emptiness a shock to your overstimulated body.

You cry out, your hands scrabbling for purchase on the motorcycle seat as you feel the cool night air hitting your swollen folds. "Fuck, Sylus!" you wail, your voice a mix of frustration and desperate need. "Don't stop now!"

He's panting harshly, his chest heaving as he fights for control.

"Dammit," he growls, "You feel too fucking good. I'm not going to last if you keep taking my cock like that"

You watch as Sylus sits back on the motorcycle seat, facing the back of his bike, his eyes shining with dark promise as he meets your pleading gaze. With a smirk, he pats his thighs invitingly.

"Climb up here, kitten," he commands "Fuck yourself on my cock until you scream. I want to watch you come apart on my dick.

He grips the base of his shaft, stroking it slowly as he waits for you to obey. The thick length is slick with your juices, the swollen head an angry red and leaking steadily. The sight makes your mouth water, your body screaming at you to take what you need.

You swing a leg over the motorcycle seat, straddling his hips, the thick ridge of his cock nestling against your dripping slit. With a shaky breath, you reach down and grasp his shaft, positioning him at your entrance. His hands find your hips, gripping them hard as he pulls you down. You sink onto his thick length with a low moan, your head falling back as he stretches you wide.

"Fuck, just like that," Sylus grunts, his fingers digging into your hips as he guides you into a steady rhythm.

You start to move, lifting yourself up until just the tip remains inside, before slamming back down. The helmet catches your gaze, the sleek black surface reflecting your flushed face and as you fuck yourself on his cock, you keep your eyes locked on the helmet, the fantasy you've imagined playing out before you.

As you feel your movements start to slow, your thighs trembling with exertion, Sylus takes control. He grips your wrists firmly, pushing your hands to the back of the motorcycle seat. "Hold on tight, sweetie," his voice a low, intense rumble. "Because I'm going to fuck you now."

Then, with a powerful thrust of his hips, he's slamming up into you, burying his cock deep inside you.

"Oh god!" you cry out, your fingers scrabbling for purchase on the leather seat. The helmet blurs before your vision as Sylus pounds into you, the force of his thrusts rocking the motorcycle beneath you. He sets a brutal pace, each powerful drive of his hips forcing the air from your lungs in a sharp gasp. The we sound of skin slapping against skin echoes through the night air, mingling with the creaking of the motorcycle and your wanton moans.

"Fuck," Sylus snarls, his breath coming in harsh pants fogging the inside of his helmet "You feel and look so fucking good. So perfect around my cock."

His hand tangles in your hair, gripping it tightly forcing you to maintain eye contact with him through the helmet as he fucks you.

Suddenly he changes the angle of his hips, tilting them up as he slams into you, the thick ridge of his pelvis grinds against your sensitive clit with each thrust. Sparks of electric pleasure shoot through you, making your back arch and your toes curl.

"Oh fuck, Sylus!" you scream, "Right there! Don't stop!"

Your nails dig into the leather seat, gripping it for dear life as Sylus pounds into your g-spot. The pleasure is overwhelming, your body shaking and trembling with the force of your impending climax.

As the pleasure crests to an unbearable peak, you force your eyes open. Through the visor of his helmet, you meet Sylus' gaze, and what you see steals your breath away.

His crimson eyes are locked onto yours, blazing with an intensity that makes your heart stutter. In that moment, you see a man utterly consumed by desire, a man who would move heaven and earth to claim you, to possess you completely. It's a look of pure worship. A believer seeing his god, his reason for living. Sylus is lost in you, lost in the feel of your tight heat gripping his shaft, lost in the way your body responds so perfectly to his touch.

Your body seizes, your back arching as your orgasm crashes over you.

"Sylus!" you scream, tears of pleasure streaming down your face as your climax tears through you. Your walls spasm and clench around him as you come harder than you ever have before.

His eyes widen as he feels your walls clamp down around him, "Fuuuuuck!" Sylus screams, his voice echoing through the night as he erupts within you. His hot, thick seed floods your insides, painting your walls with his essence as he grinds against your cervix. You feel each twitch and throb of his cock as he empties himself inside you, your body shaking with the force of your mutual climax.

You both collapse against each other, chests heaving as you struggle to catch your breath. Sylus' arms wrap around you, holding you close.

After a long moment, Sylus lifts his head, his crimson eyes finding yours through the visor once more. "Was that everything you imagined it would be, kitten?" Sylus asks, his voice a low, sensual purr. "Riding my cock on the back of my bike, fucking yourself stupid?" He reaches up, his finger tracing along your jawline before tilting your chin up "Because I can assure you that for me it was even better than I could have possibly imagined."

He chuckles, a deep, rumbling sound in his chest as he watches you laugh. He reaches up and unclasps his helmet, pulling it off to reveal his handsome face, flushed and gorgeous in the moonlight. Leaning in, you press a soft, quick kiss to his lips, savoring the taste of him.

"Let's go home Sy, I still have a few ideas"

Sylus grins as he pulls out of you and helps you off the bike, his hands lingering on your curves. "Next time you go to a bookstore make sure to pick out the nastiest, most depraved books you can find. Spare no expense, kitten. It's my treat."

His thumb brushes over your lower lip, his eyes glinting with mischief and dark promise. "I want to know all about the filthiest things you imagine us doing together, before acting them out in ways that will make those authors blush."

He leans in closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispers, "And maybe, if you're a good girl, I'll even let you read them to me while I worship your body, Would you like that, baby?"

He pulls back slightly to gauge your reaction, one eyebrow cocked expectantly as he waits for your laughter to fill the crisp night air once more. The way his eyes shine makes it clear that he's already imagining all the deliciously depraved things he wants to do to you, inspired by the pages of those naughty books.

#love and deepspace #lads #lnds #lads smut #lads x reader #lnds x reader #lads x you #lnds x you #love and deepspace reader #l&ds sylus #sylus smut #sylus x reader #lnds sylus #love and deepspace sylus #lads sylus #sylus #lads men

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lnfours · 3 months ago

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love looks pretty on you | ln4

summary: my pretty baby or 5 silent moments of love between the two of you.

warnings: i fear this is LONG. a shit ton of fluff, reader and lando needing some reassurance here and there, fem!reader, reader is a friend of max fewtrell’s who lando’s always had an eye on, language, pregnancy, and some suggestive content.

radio check: this idea is inspired by the talented @norrissm’s post called ‘behind the visor’ because i couldn’t get the thought of writing about little moments like these out of my brain. please make sure to go read ‘behind the visor’ if you haven’t already! sasha is so talented and all her works are so beautiful.

masterlist | listen

— one.

he was shaky, hands sweaty and he had a nervous pit in his stomach. he was almost 100% sure hadn’t felt nerves like this before. not even when he was behind the wheel of his race car, waiting for the lights to go out.

he had finally managed to work up the courage to ask you on a date after months and months of yearning. he had asked max about you a million times. if you were seeing anyone, if you were interested in him, the whole nine yards. and max, being the best friend and wingman that he is, managed to get you to come with him to singapore.

you had always thought lando was cute, and you’d be lying if you said you never thought about what could happen between you two. back then, you used to think he was max’s annoying, rich and prissy friend when you were younger. but the closer you got to him, the more you saw what max saw.

the guy who’d give you the shirt off his back and would always show up for his friends. the sweet, charismatic guy who would always stop for a fan even when he was having the worst day imaginable.

he made it easy to fall for him.

you pulled him into a hug after the race, not caring that he was sweaty, and smelled like a mix of fuel and rubber. the papaya orange of his race car glowing in the lights of singapore. a race he led every lap of ahead of verstappen. you couldn’t be prouder of the man in front of you.

“stupid question,” he started.

please, let this be it.

“do you wanna get dinner sometime?”

you immediately nodded, the moment you had been waiting what felt like a lifetime for finally unfolding in front of your eyes. of course, you were eager to say yes.

“sure,” you smiled, doing your best to play it cool, “i’d love to.”

he smiled, the boyish grin that made your knees go weak and your heart beat a little faster. he was sure that right there in that moment, there was nothing you could do that wouldn’t make him fall in love with you.

your eyes sparkled as you looked up at him, the prettiest color he’d ever seen.

his new favorite color.

the two of you had made plans to go out once you were home in london and he was back in woking at the mtc. and now, that day had finally come.

in preparation for his big day, he had gone through all the steps to make sure this date was perfect. he pulled all the stops, managed to squeeze in a reservation at the fancy italian restaurant in the city, and he even asked max what your favorite flowers were so he could pick them up on the way to your house.

he tried his best to shake off his nerves as he raised his fist to knock on your front door. he heard rustling behind the wood before the it opened and there you stood. your hair styled just the way you liked it, sporting a gorgeous dress you had bought just for this special occasion, and a pretty shade of lipstick he just wanted to kiss right off of you.

you were the definition of show stopping.

“hey,” you smiled, grabbing your purse from the back of the sofa in arms length.

“hey,” he smiled, trying his best not to fumble as he handed you the flowers. you accepted them with the prettiest smile he’s ever seen, one almost as bright as the sun.

soon you were climbing into the extravagant mclaren, heading towards the restaurant. you watched the city you loved pass you by, and he watched as you looked out the window. you never looked prettier than you did right now. beautiful, but unaware.

he pulled up and let the valet take his keys. he offered you his arm as you walked into the dimly lit room, him saying a soft ‘be right back’ as he walked up the front desk.

he talked to the host, to which the host looked down at his book in front of him. you watched as the older man shook his head, lando immediately beginning to panic.

you laughed softly when he retuned to you with a sheepish grin, a hand scratching at the back of his neck, “so, apparently they ran out of room for this time. the girl on the phone wasn’t paying attention and overbooked. they offered a table but i didn’t want to take anyone’s reservation-“

you smiled, shaking your head as your heart tightened in your chest at his thoughtfulness towards complete strangers, “‘s okay,”

“did you wanna come back later? or we could go somewhere else! i know this good sushi place a few blocks away-“

“you don’t eat sushi.” you laughed.

“yeah, but if you want it, i can suffer,” he shrugged and you couldn’t help the grin on your face. you shook your head, grabbing his hand and leading him out of the restaurant.

“i saw a burger place down at this corner,” you said, making the left out of the doors and heading towards the spot you saw on the drive here.

he furrowed his eyebrows at you, “burgers?”

you nodded, heels clicking against the concrete of the sidewalk, “yeah, is that okay with you?”

he looked over at you, nodding softly, “yeah, whatever you want.”

you led the way, and on the short walk there lando thought to himself. thought about how you didn’t really care that you couldn’t get into the fanciest italian place in the city. couldn’t have cared less, actually.

His mind shifted from ‘oh no, this date is going to be one of the worst ones ever’ to ‘actually, this might be one of the best ones’.

you ordered your food and found one of the tables, lando insisting on pulling the chair out for you. you laughed and thanked him, sitting across from him as he took his suit jacket off and hung it on the back of the chair.

“‘m sorry,”

he wasn’t sure what he was apologizing for. but he felt the need to.

“don’t be,” you shook your head, “this is still pretty great.”

“you sure?” he asked. his eyes full of worry and genuine concern. he felt like he had let you down. felt like he couldn’t uphold his promise to the perfect date.

“as much as fancy dinners are fun and all, i don’t mind a little burger joint once in a while either.”

he smiled. it was gonna be okay.

the older gentleman behind the counter called your number, lando getting up and grabbing the tray of food as the two of you talked. the food was incredible and the conversation the two of you had was even better.

when he stood to throw away your trash, you walked towards the counter to the elderly man. lando watched from the corner of his eye as you sparked up a conversation.

“the food was wonderful,” you smiled, “are you guys new?”

the older man shook his head, “been here a long time, about 20 years or so. people stopped coming in once that new fancy-schmancy restaurant down the street opened. you two are the only customers i’ve had all week.”

your heart hurt for the man, clear that he had poured all he owned into his business. you looked over to lando who joined the two of you now.

“well, i’m sure we’ll be back,” you smiled, “right, lan?”

“definitely,” lando nodded, “thanks for saving our date.”

the older man laughed, “you kids are welcome any time. thanks for giving me a chance.”

you said your goodbyes after learning the man’s name was frank. you opened the door, ready to walk out when you saw lando leave the man a tip. by the look on the older man’s face, you knew it was a decent amount. you smiled, your heart clenching in your chest as lando insisted that he kept it.

“no, i insist! you saved the date i landed with the girl of my dreams.”

you were sure now that he was the only man you’d ever be in love with.

“ready?”

his voice cut you off from your thoughts, nodding as you took his arm. waving goodbye to frank again as you walked down the sidewalk and back to the car.

— two.

winter break was finally in full swing. and this year, he had insisted on taking you on a vacation, a little get away since he had missed your two year anniversary due to the new race calendar.

so you did just that as soon as winter break started. a two week vacation in the maldives where it was just you, him, the sun and the sea.

you had spent the day in the bed, the both of you wrapped under the cool sheets. he had splurged and booked one of the fancy bungalows on the water, the beautiful clear blue water and the gorgeous scenery adding to the beauty of the whole trip.

after dinner, you were quick to grab one of your bikinis from the attached deck. he smiled as you walked back inside, the tiny two piece in your hands.

“sunset swim?”

you nodded, stepping inside the bathroom to change and to quickly pull your hair up. he changed as you did also, the two of you jumping off the wooden deck and into the water. your eyes traveled over to where he was pushing the wet curls from his forehead.

the water droplets clung to his sun kissed chest, the redness already slowly starting to fade and you knew it’d turn into a tan by the morning. he looked so pretty in this moment, the sunset behind him looking like a painting.

you swam towards him, letting him pull you closer by your hips. you wrapped your legs around his torso, his hands falling to the backs of your thighs.

“hey, pretty girl,”

you smiled back, the same gorgeous smile you’ve always had that he swore he’d never get sick of, “hey, handsome,”

he leaned down, dipping his head to kiss your lips. you hummed contently into the kiss, smiling against his lips. he pulled away after a few seconds, enjoying the feeling of your fingers playing with the curls at the nape of his neck.

“are you having a good time?”

his voice was laced with a hint of wonder, wonder if he had done a good job at making up for the fact that he was in vegas during your anniversary. he hated the fact that he had missed such an important milestone, but you had understood. you understood that his job would pull him place to place for weeks on end.

he had struck the lottery with you, the most understanding and comforting person. he knew you didn’t hold a grudge with him. and in reality, a date at frank’s would’ve made up for the missed time, but he really wanted to do something special.

you nodded, “having a great time, baby. thank you. for everything.”

“don’t have to thank me,” he said, “it was the least i could do.”

you chuckled, “i fear you’ve set my standards so unbelievably high.”

he laughed with you, “you’re saying i’ve ruined you?”

you hummed back, laughing when his head dipped to your neck, his lips brushing against your skin as he spoke, “in more ways than one i hope.”

you laughed, your head falling back slightly. he smiled at the sight in front of him, how pretty your laugh was as it fell from your lips. how pretty you looked in the watercolored sunset, and how your eyes had that little sparkle. the same one they had that night you hugged him after the singapore race. the night he had finally grown the courage to ask you out.

he was so hopelessly in love with you. you had ruined him the same way he ruined you. but that was okay with him. he was certain that there was no one else in the world his soul would mesh with like yours.

“let’s get married.”

his blurted words caught the both of you off guard. you looked at him, wide eyed but a smile softly forming on your lips as you let out a chuckle, “what?”

“what?”

“lan, what did you say?”

he gulped now, scared that if he repeated it he’d be shot down. he knew you were the one he was going to marry, he’s known that forever. but, what if you weren’t on the same page yet. what if you weren’t ready for the marriage, the house, the dog, the kids.

dear god… please don’t let it be true.

“let’s get married,” he said again, this time a slight shake to his voice, “i mean, if that’s what you want- if you… if you want to.”

your face lit up in a smile as you cupped his face, “of course i want to. don’t question it for even a second.”

he smiled now, “you’re sure?”

you nodded, “you’re the only one i want. the one i wanna spend the rest of my life with, go grey with. the one i want to wake up next to and go to bed at the end of the night with. you’re it for me. you always have been,”

he smiled, pulling you closer if it was even possible, “so yeah. let’s get married.”

he kissed you sweetly, you flush against his chest. you kissed him back with just as much love and passion and longing, a sense of forever hanging in the air around you.

“c’mon,” he mumbled softly against your lips, “let’s go find your perfect ring.”

you followed him as he climbed out of the water, grabbing a towel from the lounge chairs. you climbed out with him, the two of you sitting out in the setting sun as you scrolled through his phone designing the perfect ring.

once you had settled on what you wanted, you smiled up at him as he made note to head to the jewelers in monaco as soon as he got back.

the two of you were about to head inside when you felt arms wrap around your body. you squealed and giggled when he threw you over his shoulder, taking you inside the bungalow with a playful slap on your butt before placing you on the bed, laughing when he climbed up your body, leaving a trail of kisses along your stomach and chest until he reached your lips once again.

and your bikini top might’ve found its way to the hardwood floor shortly after.

— three.

the cameras cut back to you as you watched the screens in front of you. you had been able to make it to the dutch grand prix, excitement in the air in the mclaren garage as it finally came down to the last five laps. lando held the lead from his pole position, right ahead of the other papaya car that belonged to oscar. the two mclarens leading the pack with verstappen in third.

you and lily were holding hands, the camera man zooming into the sparkling diamond on that finger. the one that everyone had seen all over their timelines, the one that cause so many articles to be written about how much it could be worth. it was the talk of the paddock.

‘little lando norris’ was engaged!

you had even seen charles and max talking earlier, charles defeatedly handing max a twenty dollar bill. you laughed at the idea that your friends had placed a bet on your fiancé. a little harsh, but fitting, and most of all, funny as fuck.

the end of the race came closer and closer until both mclarens crossed the line, checkered flag waving as it showed on screen as a mclaren one-two. you and lily cheered happily, you pulling her into a hug. you both joined in the sea of papaya as they raced to the parc fermé.

the mechanics and engineers made sure to let you and lily come to the front of the crowd. the two of you still holding hands as you cheered for the men in papaya. you dropped her hand as oscar came over to her, pulling her into a hug across the metal barricade. you smiled at the young couple before you saw a certain someone enter your peripheral.

lando made his way to you, opening his arms as you reached across the barrier to hug him. you smiled, taking in the familiar smell of fuel and rubber.

“i’m so proud of you,” the happy tears glossing over your eyes filled his chest with a certain sense of pride. one that he would always crave, “you were amazing.”

“and you’re my trophy,” he smiled, leaning down and pressing a kiss to your lips, “my favorite one.”

“don’t lie, you love that miami one.”

“none of them could ever compare to you, love.”

you smiled, acknowledging the fact that he had to be whisked away. you were quick to give oscar a hug, lily doing the same for lando as you watched both men dressed in papaya walk off, lando patting his younger teammate on the back.

you all stayed, waiting for them to take their spots on the podium. you smiled when he took the top step, the british national anthem playing loud and proud. you could see that he was searching for you in the large crowd, and when he found you he smiled to himself before putting his hand to his heart and pointing at you. a silent way of saying ‘i love you’.

you mouthed the words back to him, unsure if he could see you say them. but you know that he knows you did.

it was a couple hours later when he returned to his drivers room. you had positioned yourself on the sofa comfortably, scrolling through your phone and liking all the things the fans had to say about your engagement, the ring and most of all the race.

“ready, fiancée?”

you nodded, taking his extended hand. the two of you walking through the mclaren hospitality as you all bid a ‘good night’ to one another.

your phone buzzed with an incoming call. the call you had been anxious about reciving.

you looked over at lando, softly dropping his hand which made him look over to you curiously, “everything okay?”

you nodded, “i gotta take this call. i’ll be right back.”

he nodded, letting you walk away. luckily, a couple of the drivers seemed to be heading in your direction, giving someone for lando to talk to while you took the call.

“hello?” you raised the phone to your ear.

“hi! is this y/n?”

“it is,”

“great! it’s doctor jenkins, how’re you, honey?”

“i’m good, how’re you?”

“good!” you could hear her smile on the other end of the phone, “i just wanted to give you a call because we got your test results back. is this information you’re okay with me giving to you over the phone?”

“yeah,” you said, “totally okay.”

“perfect,” she smiled, “in that case, i just wanted to say that you are clear from the stomach bug and any other gastrointestinal issues. however, your hcg levels came back extremely high, which means-“

“i’m pregnant?”

your heart dropped, your eyes fixing to lando who was laughing with lewis, charles, yuki and oscar. you immediately felt the bile burn its way up your throat. you swallowed it down, remembering that you had the doctor on the phone.

“exactly,” she said happily, “you’re about four weeks now. congratulations!”

“i- i don’t know what to say.” you stood, shocked that your entire world just changed with one simple phone call.

“i understand, and i know this is all new and quite scary, but just know you have an amazing support system- not just with me and my office, but with your fiancé and your friends as well.”

you smiled at the older woman’s sweet words, “thank you, doctor jenkins.”

“no need to thank me,” she said, “while i have you, i just wanted to set up your first appointment for when you get back, just a little check on the baby and make sure they’re healthy and well.”

you agreed on a day and time after you get back to london from the netherlands. you hung up the phone, the worry and shock still running through your system but a hint of slight relief from the woman’s sweet words.

you walked back over to lando, who looked at you with slight concern. you said hello to your friends, thanking them all for their congratulations before you looked to lando. the others engaging in their own conversations.

“you okay?” he asked lowly.

“can we go back to the hotel? i’m not feeling good,”

he nodded, “of course,” he took your hand in his as he turned to his fellow drivers, “we’re gonna head back. see you guys next week!”

“see you, mate!”

“night!”

you walked with lando in a comfortable silence back to the car. the two of you climbing into the back before the driver made his way to your hotel.

you made it to your shared room, anxiety still radiating off you and he could feel it.

he kicked his shoes off as he joined you on the edge of the bed, “hey, you okay, baby?”

you chewed on your bottom lip, tears burning in your eyes as you shook your head, “uhm, i don’t know,”

he frowned, “hey, hey,” he gently brought a hand up to wipe away your tears, “what’s the matter? what’s got you so upset?”

“lan, that call,” you said, “it was from my doctor.”

the instant worry that flashed through his eyes was unnoticed, and you couldn’t help the tears from streaming down your face.

“is everything okay?”

“yeah,” you nodded, “i mean- maybe? i think so? i don’t know,”

“what’d she say, baby?” he asked, his voice gentle. you appreciated how gentle he was with you. always.

“i don’t have the stomach bug,” you said, “im.. i’m pregnant, lan.”

his eyes went wide, his heart dropping for a millisecond, “you’re pregnant?”

you nodded, biting down on your lip to try to hold back your tears. however, the disgust and repulsiveness and disappointment you were expecting never came. instead, you watched as his face broke out into a smile.

“i’m gonna be a dad?”

you nodded, “and i’m gonna be a mom.”

“baby, this is great!” he smiled, now happy tears starting to form in his eyes as he wiped yours away, “we get to be parents! and baby, we’re gonna be the coolest fucking parents ever.”

his excitement reeled you back in, “you’re not.. upset? not even a little?”

“why would i be upset?” he asked, “i mean, was this planned? not really, but we weren’t necessarily not planning for this either. but it’s okay, our little best friend is in there!”

your heart was so full it felt like it could burst. you loved him with every fiber in your being. til the ends of the earth. everything was gonna be okay.

you smiled, “we’re having a baby,”

he nodded, kissing the top of your head as he pulled you closer into his chest as he repeated it back to you, “we’re having a baby.”

you sat like that for a while, letting him press kisses to your hair and your temples, every doubt in your mind slowly fading away. all because of him.

— four.

the machines beeping slowly faded into the background as the two of you looked down at your beautiful baby girl. the pink blanket wrapped around her small frame, her finger holding onto lando’s. it was a sight that would make any heartless man cry.

you smiled, leaning your head on his shoulder as you sat together on the hospital bed, your voice low, “we made the cutest little girl.”

“she’s got your eyes,” he mumbled softly, admiring the beauty of his daughter. all of each of your best traits compiled into one tiny little human. a human that was already loved by so many and who had so many people excited to meet her.

two of those many people knocking on the door gently. you and lando smiled, you laughing at the ridiculously large teddy bear that was almost as tall as the man carrying it.

“he saw it in the gift shop window and insisted,” p laughed, “he said he would be ‘the worst uncle ever’ if he didn’t get it, even though i said she’d never know.”

you and lando laughed as max put the giant bear next to all the other gifts. the little girl was only 5 hours old and has already met all her grandparents and aunties and uncles. everyone had either shown up with balloons, flowers or a little baby outfit. oscar had shown up with a custom made mclaren shirt, one that of course had the australian and the british flag on it.

but max was taking the cake with the giant teddy bear.

“she would hate me, i know it,” max said, smiling softly at his friend who was holding the little girl so delicately, “would you look at that. already a daddy’s girl.”

“i fear she was like that since she was in the womb,” you said, “she’d kick me every time she heard him talk.”

“she was just excited to hear her papa,” lando joked and you all laughed softly as you looked over to the couple in front of you, “you guys wanna hold her?”

pietra nodded excitedly, taking the sleeping baby from lando’s arms gently before sitting in the reclining chair next to the bed. max stood next to her, half sitting on the arm rest as he smiled down at the little girl.

“what name did you come up with?” max asked, raising his head to look at the two of you.

you told them her name and the two of them smiled, “very fitting.”

“isn’t it?!” you smiled, “lando didn’t like it at first.”

“shocker,” max joked and lando raised his hands in mock surrender.

“i like it now,” he said, “that’s all that matters.”

“she’s perfect,” pietra said, “oh my goodness, look! she’s got a lando mole!”

“i know!” you cooed, “that was the first thing i said!”

lando and max shook their heads and laughed at their partners. you laid your head on his shoulder again, the two of you smiling as you watched max look at her with love in his eyes. he was ready to do anything for this baby girl like his life depended on it.

“wanna hold her, max?”

max was hesitant, but agreed when p urged him. he sat in the chair and let her put the baby girl into his arms. just as he got situated, she woke up from her nap. happy gurgles and a giggle escaping from her lips when she opened her eyes and saw max.

“oh my goodness, look at you,” he smiled, “hello little one! i’m your uncle max.”

you smiled as she made happy baby noises, ineligible but still cute. and most importantly, happy.

“so, we were thinking and we wanted to ask you, with your guys’ approval of course,” lando started, “we want you guys to be her godparents.”

the two of them looked at you with slightly wide eyes, “you’re serious?”

you both nodded, “we don’t see why not.”

“immediately yes, of course!” p smiled, leaning over to hug the both of you. you laughed, hugging her back as max looked to his best friend with happy tears in his eyes.

“thank you, buddy.”

lando nodded, smiling as he wiped his own tears from his eyes, “you guys mean the world to us, so. it’s the least we can do, really.”

“yknow, the name maxine has a really nice ring to it,” max joked and all of you laughed.

“i don’t think so, bud.”

“worth a shot.”

you smiled up at lando who turned his neck to smile back at you. you giggled softly when he placed a soft kiss to the tip of your nose, leaning down and pressing a soft kiss to your lips.

you both laid there in complete contentment as you watched your best friends giggle and play with the little girl in max’s arms. almost all the people you loved in the same room, your whole heart together.

you were sure that this is what life was all about. moments like these.

— five.

“guys! everyone’s gonna be here soon!” you yelled up the stairs, mainly talking to your now husband, but instead, your freshly turned three year old daughter popped up at the top of the stairs.

“momma! come look!”

you giggled softly, making your way up the stairs and following your daughter into her bedroom.

“what’re you guys up to?”

“look!” she beamed, bringing you a piece of paper, “we drew daddy’s race car!”

you smiled down at you husband who smiled back at you, “don’t forget, we drew uncle oscar’s too, baby.”

the little girl bounced up and down, “look, mommy! uncle oscar!”

you laughed, crouching down next to lando who had found himself in one of the tiny chairs. you looked at the pictures they drew, “are you gonna give it to uncle oscar and aunt lily when they get here?”

“yeah!” she smiled, “but i want daddy to keep his.”

“i’m gonna hang it on the highest spot on the fridge,” lando smiled, “so everyone can see just how talented my little girl is.”

you smiled at the two as he picked her up, standing up with her on his hip. you were impressed he managed to get out of the tiny wooden chair with no help.

you stood with them, smiling as you tried to fix your daughters unruly curls, “we gotta get you changed, little miss. everyone’s gonna be here soon.”

“everyone for my birthday party?”

you nodded, “yep! everyone’s coming to celebrate the birthday girl!”

she laughed and smiled as lando tickled her sides playfully. you laughed with them, your whole heart in one tiny little room.

the doorbell rang and you smiled, calling back to the two as you moved to get the door, “hurry up! everyone’s coming!”

you laughed when you heard her and lando talking about princess dresses and tutus, jogging down the stairs to open the door. you smiled when you were met with cisca and adam, bringing them into a hug before they came inside.

“hi honey!” cisca smiled.

“hi guys!” you smiled, “how’re you? how was the drive?”

“good!” adam said, “drive wasn’t too bad.”

“not at all!” cisca smiled, “i just can’t believe she’s three already.”

you nodded, “me either.”

and speaking of the devil, she came barreling down the stairs. bright pink princess dress on topped with the matching tiara to sit on top of her messy brown curls. ones that resembled lando’s.

“grandma! grandpa!”

“hey, little one!”

“there’s the birthday girl!”

you spent a few minutes catching up with his parents before others started to show up. and before you knew it, you had a full house of people who came up to celebrate your daughters birthday. a house full of love.

you smiled as she played with the other kids invited, lando’s arm wrapping around you. you smiled, leaning into his side as you watched your daughter laugh and smile.

“i know we’ve talked about it a bit before, but would you want another?” he asked, looking over at you. you met his eyes, smiling softly before nodding.

“yeah, i do,” you smiled, looking back into the yard, “i feel like she would like a sibling, too.”

he nodded, pressing a kiss to the top of your head, “me too.”

“there you two are!” you heard max before the sound of the back door closing caught your attention, max and p waking towards you two with smiles, “we’ve been looking for you.”

“what’s up?” you asked.

p handed you an envelope with a smile, her diamond ring sparkling brightly in the sunshine, “we’ve been wanting to tell you in person, and maybe your daughters birthday isn’t the best time to tell you, but, we wanted to tell you before everyone else.”

you both looked at them confused before lando opened the envelope, the sonogram picture making both of your eyes go wide. they smiled as you squealed happily, pulling p into a hug.

“you’re kidding!? this is great!!” you smiled, lando pulling his best friend into a hug as well. the four of you laughing and smiling.

“congrats, mate!” lando smiled.

“yknow what this means, right?” you asked and p nodded happily.

“baby clothes shopping!”

“oh my god,” max groaned playfully, looking to his friend as the two girls talked about baby clothes, “does it end?”

lando smiled, shaking his head as he watched you laugh and smile with p, “no, but that’s the best part.”

it was true. the best parts of his life always contained you. the other half of his beating heart.

you smiled at lando as p showed you all the different ideas she had for the nursery already. he smiled back, love written all over his face.

he solidified it by mouthing those 3 words, ‘i love you’.

‘i love you, too’.

2K notes · View notes

thecoochiefairy · 4 months ago

Text

scorpio. onyankopon.

𑄽𑄺 warnings 𑄽𑄺 7.5K word count. blackfem!reader, onyankopon, football player!onyankopon, sweet!onyakopon, dominant!onyankapon, arrogant!onyankopon, unprotected sex, creampie, vaginal penetration, lil bit of sweet talkin’, creaming, praising, butt stuff, LOTS of dirty talk, kinda aggressive dirty talk, oral [f] [m], nasty sex chile, just a fine ass black man, minors aren’t welcome!

𝓐ᥫ᭡

𝒄𝙤𝒐𝙘𝒉𝙞𝒆𝙛𝒂𝙞𝒓𝙮 𝙩𝒉𝙤𝒖𝙜𝒉𝙩𝒔 .ᐟ from baby phat, to juno, to now—love this lil’ couple, real bad. but besides that, just wanted to do a lil something before my bday, march 8th. happy birthday to all my pisces babies. this one’s for you. also, imagine there goes my baby by usher on a loop. teehee.

𝓐ᥫ᭡ ; valentine’s day.

visual. visual. visual.

YOU WEREN’T GONNA CRY IN PUBLIC. A weak smile presented through your cupid’s bow lips, passing back a soft greeting of ‘Happy Valentine’s Day,’ as you exited the building, representations of love everywhere you went. You refused to show your vulnerable side somewhere no one cared to listen—your job.

To be honest, you should’ve gone home early. Your Mach and Mach satin bow heels echoed along the coffee shop as you waited for your strawberry refresher, a mixture of coconut milk making the drink your favorite color of pink. You started off having a good day—until it wasn’t.

Pulling into the garage of your high rise apartment, you pressed the button attached to your sun visor to activate the gate closing, parking your husband’s blacked out G Wagon in his reserved spot. The minute you shut off the ignition, you press your forehead against the wheel, letting out a deep sigh.

You didn’t want to sell yourself short—but being pregnant might’ve been easier than going back to work. While Onyankopon was enjoying the luxury of off-season, you took your opportunity to put the bug in his ear of working again. Even if he wanted another baby.

You had a masters degree in Marketing you desperately wanted to put to use, so when you finally got that interview, your pretty smile and charisma returned you with a position in management—but that unfortunately came with a price.

Business calls, meetings, lunches, sales pitches, meetings, sales pitches, business calls again. You were becoming piled with the same rotation of bullshit, and although you loved your job, you felt exhausted.

Through all of that, you still had a husband and now eleventh month old baby to go home to. Onyankopon supported your desires of going back to work, but with your schedule compiling more of work and less of your family, he was beginning to have something in common with his baby boy, Salem—he missed you. And today of all days, you were coming home later than you were supposed to.

It seemed as if your feet ached the closer you became to removing your heels, swiftly unlocking the front door of your apartment— to your surprise, bouquets of roses are the first thing you see. Signature red to rosy pink, a selection of your favorite flowers sit along the marble island of your kitchen.

Onyankopon always had it set to one of your playlists, R&B strumming through the inputted speakers along the ceiling. The room had a shadow of mulberry, LED lights vibrating the instrumentals of each song playing, accompanied by the living room's lamp.

There was your husband—legs spread along the sofa as he leaned his large upper body on the arm rest, pressing a pouch into your baby’s mouth to feed him. You’d just redone his cornrows, his lineup equally sharp as he cut his hair and goatee on a daily basis. He couldn’t stand looking scruffy, even if you liked the look at times. Tattoos cover his arms, camouflaging his throat, stick and pokes littering upon his face. The black top he wears hugs his muscular build, grey sweatpants showing the print between his legs, unable to conceal his gifted genetics.

Your face softens at the roses, turning your attention back towards your husband and baby on the sofa. It makes your heart melt.

Your voice is gentle as you question, “You’ got those for me?”

“You thought you wasn’t finna’ get nothin’?”

He glances up to your form through hooded lids. His voice was thick with his New Orleans accent, the timbre always making your heart swoon, just like when you met him in college.

“I was hopin’ you’d be home before them’ shits wilted.”

You pull your curls behind your ear, your face flushed at the sweet gesture. But your body also feels heavy, and you’re unsure if you should even acknowledge that.

You sigh, “I wasn’t able to get you anything in time—I told you I didn’t want a gift. And I wasn’t gone that long, Onyankopon.”

“Stop allat’,” he smacks his lips, “You was gon’ work through the entire day, have yo’ nigga by himself on Valentine’s Day.”

“Boy, hush. Love on yo’ baby for Valentines,” you remind, leaning down as you begin slipping your heels off your pained feet, “Is he starting to like the carrot pouches?”

“He ain’t takin’ to it like he should,” he says, making eye contact with you, “C’mon.”

“C’mon, what?”

“Tell me about work. I can see it all in yo’ face.”

Work.

That was the last thing you wanted to think about. You pad your feet over to the kitchen island, tossing your purse onto the marble as you reply, “Let me tell you. Remember how I was supposed to create this mock sales pitch and make my own bottle of wine?”

“Yeah. You was actin’ like you woulda’ had to sell that shit to the President.”

You roll your eyes as you come closer to him, “Anyways, I literally worked my ass off—made an entire script, PowerPoint, even had someone in my team create a label for my bottle! You know what them’ niggas said?”

Him being messy, he plays around as he responds, “What they’ said, girl?”

“That my idea was generic—that it seemed rushed, facile, and derivative. My three hour presentation seemed plagiarized?” You frown, “Do I look like the type of bitch to be looking over at somebody else’s work?”

“Mama, you know how these corporate niggas be. They want you to come up with their billion dollar ideas in exchange for a penny.”

He presses Salem’s pacifier into his mouth, closing the top on the baby’s food as he continues, “That’ job is bullshit anyways.”

You frown a bit, “It’s not bullshit to me, Ony. I’m really trying to show them I belong there. It’s not easy being the only black woman in management.”

“I’m hearin’ you,” he responds, “I just think yo’ time is more important than tryna’ spend it impressing a bunch of white folks.”

Back to the point of not crying in public—now, you weren’t in public. You could appreciate your husband trying to give sound advice, but it wasn’t what you wanted to hear. One thing since your pregnancy—it gave you the ability to cry at the drop of a hat.

Your sight becomes blurry as your face warms. You press your palms to your eyes, sniffling to stop the tears that roll from your vision.

“I feel so stupid.”

His brows furrow at your reaction, his large palm stretching from the plush sofa, gently pulling your wrist in his hold to climb along his lap.

“Don’t say that. Why you cryin’?”

“I worked so h—hard,” you cry, “And they didn’t even like it. I did all that for nothing…”

“Baby, that don’t’ mean you’ stupid, aight?”

He wraps his free arm around your form, other still holding Salem even closer.

“It ain’t for nothin’. You still got that degree. Ion’ know how many times I said you can do this shit on your own.”

You’re becoming more upset by the second as you rub your eyes that drop tears, nose and cheeks swelling as you softly weep, “What if I c—can’t do it by myself, Ony…”

“And who’ you think I am? You think imma’ just let you fail? Nah, baby. Come on…”

He rubs soothing circles on your side, pressing a hard kiss against your temple while holding you tight against his sturdy frame. The baby in his arms cooed as he could sense the change of atmosphere—even he started crying.

“Ah shit,” Onyankopon mutters, holding both of you to his chest, “Baby—You can do anything you set yo’ mind to. You could send a nigga to the moon if you wanted.”

That makes you softly giggle, feeling his thumb swipe the tears against your reddened face. Your eyes flicker over to Salem who creates a deep pout within his full cheeks, tiny cries ejecting as he was seemingly empathetic of his mother’s emotions.

You reach over Onyankopon’s lap, pulling his chubby frame into your arms as you coo, “Don’t cry, baby. Mommy’s just a lil’ dramatic.”

“You and Say-Say got the same theatrics, I swear.”

“Very funny—I’m so dramatic, but don’t you want a lil’ girl? What would you do with two of me?” You scrunch your nose,“And that’s why I’m not getting pregnant again.”

His hand moves to the underside of your chin, forcing your gaze back towards his face as he gives you a smirk, “You know you gon’ be pregnant again, quit bullshittin’. I be giving you that Daddy di—“

“Onyankopon,” you warn, “Language in front of Salem. Besides that, thank you for my flowers,” you lean forward, pressing kisses to his jaw, “They’re so pretty. You like my lil’ work outfit?”

You always dressed to match the theme of the holiday. The off shoulder black long sleeve you wear tucks into a matching pinstripe miniskirt, sheer tights with pink bows to match the heels you previously wore. Your dark curls always sprawled around your face, Vera Wang thinly squared frames tipping at your freckles nose, complimenting your slender eyes.

You can’t help but giggle as he grunts, dipping his finger under your skirt, tugging at the pink panties he knows you wear.

“You know pink’ my favorite color too.”

The way you relax under his hold reminds you of another factor with it being the middle of the month—you were ovulating, and every little touch, the flick of his eyes, the attraction in his smile. It makes your legs throb.

But yet, you pull yourself back as you sigh, “I gotta work on my new sales pitch.”

“You been workin’ on that bullshit all week,” he says against your neck, the hot breath against your sensitive skin making your thighs clench, “Why you denyin’ a nigga?”

You press your fingers to his mouth, “I’m not tryin’ to, Ony. They want me to present again tomorrow. Just give me some time, and then you’ll have all my attention, okay?” You promise, “Have a lil more daddy time with your son.”

“I’m tryna’ have some daddy time with you, girl,” he gruffs, “Fuck that job. I’ll drop some bands on that ass right now, give you yo’ fuckin’ salary in one’s.”

You stand from the sofa, dipping your lower body in his face, giving him a silhouette of your frame. Your curls hang to the side as you swirl your hips, “Like that, huh?” lifting up the material of your skirt, bouncing your ass playfully.

“That’s what I’m talkin’ about,” he groans, giving a harsh smack at your ass, “Look at that ass bounce, baby. I swear, you be playin’.”

You giggle as you pull your skirt back down, “I will be in our office, Onyankopon. Try giving Salem a spinach and apple pouch, and bathe him in the rice milk soap before you put him to bed—his skin has been irritated with that other body wash.”

“You’ a demon,” he groans, letting his eyes linger on your body, “Aight, Aight. Heard’ you.”

The next couple of hours are somewhat peaceful. But another con about going back to work—Salem nor Onyankopon were used to you being gone as often, so the minute you were home, they wanted to be in your skin. It wasn’t a bad thing. It just made things a bit more difficult when you wanted your alone time—like now.

You used a bit of your baby’s body wash as you showered, loving gentle scented products, dabbing a bit of your vanilla body oil along your caramel skin when you stepped out. Your cotton white slip dress hugged your child bearing hips, dark curls damp as they reached your lower back. The moment you were doing your face care routine, you heard Salem wailing, and you had no choice but to go calm him down yourself. You also spent time with your two Dobermans, Zulu and Roux, bending down with a giggle as you fed the both of them.

Onyankopon’s eyes were on you. You were used to him staring, but maybe you didn’t catch the way he looked at you today. Valentine’s Day wasn’t relatively important for either of you, as Onyankopon treated every day full of love—showering you in gifts, loving you physically, mentally, emotionally—but tonight was different. Maybe he was starting to feel like everyone else but him was getting attention from his wife.

You’re now in your home's office, wine in one hand as you’re comfortably seated on the cream colored sofa, small desk in front of you as you type away on your pink Macbook. An unknown amount of time passes by, before a knock sounds at the door.

When it opens, a shirtless Onyankopon enters. It’s as if his tattoos create another top for him, arms swelling in muscles, abs sculpted to perfection. His durag covers his head, black silk allowing his silver nose ring and earrings to glow under the office lights. A weak smile comes to your face as you see him holding two plates, using his knee to shut the door as he comes in.

“Hi,” you softly smile, “You okay?”

He was so wrapped around your finger. His dark brown eyes drank in the sight of your body, the dress tight along your curves, your dark hair making your honey freckles appear lighter, glasses perched atop of your nose.

The dimple in his right cheek peeks through his grin, “Lawd, can’t a nigga come check up on his ol’ lady without a reason?”

He gives a gentle kiss on your cheek, leaning in close, “How long ‘you been cooped up in here, baby? And when you’ last ate?”

“Ate during my break,” you quietly reply, “I’m not too hungry, love. I swear. I’m almost done with this power point.”

Your eyes lock to what smells like Cajun pasta, the shrimp and sausages wafting in your nose. You were actually starving.

“Nah, don’t even do allat.’ I know how you get when you be workin’,” he smacks his lips, “You need to eat.”

You sigh, glancing at the clock as you see it’s nearing midnight. You had to be back up at seven, and you had only done one part of this presentation.

You glance back to your husband, forcing a small smile as you repeat, “I’m good, baby. How are you?” You question, placing your hand around his arm, pulling him to sit next to you, “Salem give you a hard time going to sleep?”

“Yeah, but he’ good now.”

He sits next to you, setting your plate down as he glances back to your work. A frown plays on his face as he feels the tension within your body, noticing the exhaustion in your eyes. It was clear you were pushing yourself, and it bothered the hell out of Onyankopon.

You notice the scowl on his face, still typing as you sigh, “You came in here to berate me?”

“I came in here to check up on yo’ hard-headed ass,” he gruffs, leaning against the back of the couch.

His gaze softens as it traces your features, the determination in your eyes as you try to finish your presentation, “But I’m tired of you runnin’ yo’self into the ground. You’ been in here for hours. Can’t it wait til’ the morning?“

“I have to be back up by seven, and my presentation is at eight. I just—“ you take a deep breath, having the urge to cry again, “I just wanna get this finished before I knock out.”

Onyankopon gives a long sigh, hand wrapping around your waist as he pulls you against his bare chest, “Damn, aight. My fault, Mama.”

He pressed a kiss at your forehead, resting his chin against your curls. His large body was warm, the heat of his skin seeping through the thin cotton of your dress.

“I got you sum’.”

His voice catches your attention, leaning yourself up a bit as you say, “Me? Ugh—Ony, no more gifts, baby,” you lightly pout, “You’re the best present I could ask for today.”

“Stop allat’,” he teases, pressing a kiss against your pouting lips, “It ain’t nothin’ crazy.”

He leans behind the couch, pulling a dark brown bottle in between his fingers, “It’s some warming oil. You always be’ saying how yo’ feet hurt, I thought a lil’ massage would help that tension. C’mon.”

He stands from the sofa, reaching his hand out for you to take.

You raise an eyebrow, “Where we’ going? Baby, you know I gotta finish this.”

“You ain’t about to finish shit til’ you get yo’ ass up and let me do this for you. “

When he used that voice, you knew there was no argument. You pull off your glasses as you stand from the sofa, taking his hand and allowing him to guide you towards your shared bedroom. When the door opens, you’re presented with a massage table. The mattress atop of the mahogany wood holding it up looks soft, a fluffy neck pillow perched at the top. The room smells of mint and lemon, lights dim as your playlist returns to your ears.

Dammit. Your freckles shine as those tears you’d been holding back revive themselves, leaning your face into your fingers as you sniffle, “You didn’t have to do this for me. I’ve been such a bad wife…”

Despite being a little frustrated, he never felt that way. You were pushing yourself too hard, again, always trying to please everyone at your job. He just wanted to distract you.

“You ain’t no bad wife,” His thick hands swipe away your tears, the pads of his thumbs tracing the shape of your freckles, “You’re doin’ what you love. Nothin’ wrong with that. Stop allat’ cryin’, and come get comfortable on this table.”

He was right—you were stressing yourself more than you needed to. You nod your head, wiping your eyes as his taller frame cradles over your smaller one, pulling at the straps of your slip.

Your voice is soft as you say, “I love you, Ony,” lifting your feet to get out of the dress, turning your head back to meet his lips that dip down to find yours.

“I love you more.”

You lay along your stomach against the table, pressing your cheek to the soft pillow beneath your skin. Your body practically anticipates his touch.

He grabs the body oil he’s been keeping warm in the pot next to him, letting it drip along the balls of your feet. The minute his thumbs dug into your soles, your fingers scratch at the material of the table, holding back the groan you wanted to release. His grip is steady, knowing just how hard to apply pressure. The heel of his palm slowly massages the flesh along the back of your calves, working up higher.

You expected this to feel good, but it was too good. Your lower body begins to feel loose in tension as his palms knead into the back of your thighs, almost causing your legs to go lax. It’s when his palms lightly graze the inner flesh of your thighs, that your body tenses just a bit. A different rush of pleasure comes from that action, that it has you subtly adjust your lower half.

His gaze is low, eyes peering down at the curves of your body. He can feel the way you tensed against his touch, your thighs subtly brushing together—it coaxed him further, returning his hands to your calves, starting the process over.

Your curls hang over the table as you hide your face within your left shoulder, eyes peering behind to watch him. When his palms slide above your thighs, gripping the flesh in his hold, your body shudders, a flushed giggle spilling from your lips, the spice of the oil wafting in your nose.

You fully giggle as you feel him lean down to catch the skin of your ass in his mouth, grunting as he messily kisses the flesh, “All this shit mine,” swatting the skin with his fingers.

You breathily muse, “You’re supposed to be massaging, Ony.”

He chuckles against you, tongue flicking out in return, “I am massagin’. Just addin’ a lil extra.”

A sharp inhale drags from your lips as he runs his tongue against your spine, turning your head opposite of him as you relax against the pillow, arching your body up to meet his mouth.

He slowly works on your upper back, fingers tracing along your shoulder blades, hands sliding down your bare arms. There wasn’t an inch of your body that wasn’t being tended to, his lips pressing against your neck.

“Turn over for me, Mama. I ain’t done wit’ you yet.”

You turn yourself onto your back, hair sprawling around your face as you breathily exhale, watching him tower over you from this angle.

“There you go,” he drawls, his hand rubbing along the side of your cheek. His thumb brushes against your bottom lip, his eyes never leaving your face.

It was now a different sensation, having his touch along the fronts of your legs instead of your backside. Onyankopon was slow, taking his time, his hand slipping along the inner part of your thighs as his other palm worked along the outside.

The music seems to pool into your ears, and your entire body becomes warm without the oils assistance. The closer he comes, you raise your fingers as you slide them across his lower stomach, feeling the hard muscles of his abdomen with a slow flutter of your lashes.

His abs flex against your touch, the muscles rolling as your fingers traced the shape. Bible scriptures, your baby’s name, meaningful symbols inked along his skin like pen to paper.

“You tryna’ start sum’? C’mon now, I’m tryna be good, Mama.”

“So handsome, baby,” you lightly drag your teeth into the plush of your lips, “Sorry.”

He grabs your bottom lip, pulling it free from your mouth, “You ain’t slick,” He grunts, “But you’ cute for tryin’.”

It had to have been the wine you drank—your lower half throbbed at him daubing oil along your thighs. Your hips nearly grind at the touch of his hand, spreading your legs a bit wider.

You can’t stop yourself—the last swipe of his fingers draws into the bare dip of your pelvic. You whimper, your hand along his abdomen tugging down to his sweatpants, rubbing against the fabric of his bulge. He could hear the way your thighs squeezed together.

Onyankopon leaned forward, catching your plump lips with his own. It was quick and rough, even a little needy.

His hands then caressed you from your jaw, back to your shoulders, all the way down to your hips. Your body swayed with each touch.

“Ony…” you call softly, “I want you, baby…go slow…”

“I ain’t no gentle nigga, Mama. You know that,” his head sinks into the crook of your neck, tongue lightly brushing your collarbone, “But I’m not gon’ rush this, shit is too muhfuckin’ good.”

He takes your lips, your head knocking back as his mouth clouds all of your senses, making your head spin with every kiss he gives. Oil still splays along his fingers as he draws them down your body.

When his mouth pulls from yours, he’s mushing his lips along your nipples, sucking the brown buds into his mouth, the feeling making your head fall farther back onto the table, gasping lightly in response.

His mouth trails from one of your nipples to the next, teasing in between gentle suctions. Once he left, they’d already pucker back to their perk shape—a mixture of saliva and oil along the brown of your skin. The warmth of the lubricant rushes against your chest as he pours more, squeezing the flesh within his palms, knocking your breasts together with a grunt.

“Pretty ass fuckin’ titties.”

He’s back to kissing you. Your bottom lip became trapped between his teeth, tongue soothing the flesh with a sensual swipe against the softened texture. Your body was moving with his at one point, slowing when you felt his palm swaying up and down against your stomach, each time reaching lower.

The further he got, the more your body began to tense. It’s up until he slides his palm all the way down, the tip of his fingers brushing the inside of your thigh, swiping over your clit. His mouth catches yours as you whimper again,

instantly catching his wrist in your hold.

Even with you holding him back, Onyankopon keeps up the slight, gentle stroke, dragging his middle finger down and back against the bud. The faint pressure makes your hips twitch. His lips just barely touch yours.

“I got you, Mama. Lemme’ play wit’ it.”

It makes you clutch onto him tighter, a breathy whine releasing as he slowly begins to rub at your clit again.

Onyankopon parted your mouth back open to invade you with his lips, capturing and soothing all of your little noises, his touch—it drowned around you.

You shudder out another breath as you slowly nod your head, spreading your legs a little more. You look down as you watch him pull back, dropping saliva from his mouth, letting it slide in between your folds, coating the oil slick between his fingers. It makes you shiver.

Onyankopon lowered his brows as he used two of his fingers, sliding back up your folds, keeping them there. God, he knew he was getting to you. His fingers rubbing in a motion along your clit makes you pant against his mouth, the gush of your pussy beginning to register to your ears, your face now entirely hot.

Your thighs tremble as you have the urge to close them, keeping your fingers tight along his wrist. But as he continues, your hand weakens to hold him, too distracted by the wave of pleasure rushing against your lower body.

The pleasure goes from being good, too good, to all too much, Onyankopon’s fingers sinking into you, your mouth parting as you whimper deeply, watching the way they disappear beneath his palm. You hide your face within his chest as you whine, legs vibrating as if you’d been tased.

“Why this shit so fuckin’ wet?”

You pull him back into a kiss, crying against his lips as he fucks you with his fingers. His eyes bore into yours as he grunts, “You gon’ let go of my hand?”

You finally release his hand, spreading your legs even more as you allow his fingers to go deeper, nearly pulling your mouth away from his as you tremble, “Want your mouth, Ony…”

“That’s what you want, huh?”

“Mhm.”

“My mouth?”

“Ony,” you pout.

You could admit—you hated when you got like this. When he made you so horny that you begged for his touch, his mouth, anything he could give you. That’s when you turned your body along the massage table, leaning against the soft flesh of your stomach, imbedding your nails into the back of your thighs as you spread your opening to him.

Bubblegum pink complimented your brown flesh as you whimpered, “Come eat me, baby.”

His pupils darkened as you begged him. Your body jolts as you feel a harsh spank, your jaw dragging along the material of the table as you could feel his mouth hovering along your pussy, yet he wouldn’t make contact.

“You gon’ feed me?”

Your hips dip lower, desperately trying to find his mouth as you pout, “Promise. Lemme’ feed you, Ony.”

His nose brushes against your clit. The sensation causes you to lightly buck your hips, a deep chuckle rumbling against your thigh in return.

That’s when his mouth finally buries between your legs—Onyankopon’s tongue languidly swipes the entirety of your pussy in a slow drag, trailing upwards against your clit, making you shakily gasp in response. He laps against your pussy, almost as if he was licking a piece of candy instead of his wife, the warmth of his mouth surrounding your lower lips.

His tongue is thick, hot, and wide as he embeds himself between your folds, sucking and slurping, the wet sounds echoing in the room around you. He groaned against your pussy, tongue swirling around your opening as he teasingly thrusted inside, earning a soft whine from you.

“Ain’t finna’ give you my mouth forreal,” he murmurs between your pussy, “You need this dick, huh?”

He sucked at your clit, his tongue lashing and circling the swollen bundle of nerves. He enjoyed you, his jaw nearly pressed against your pelvis as he feasted.

Your mouth parts lightly as you reach from behind, sliding your palm against the material of his durag. His mouth was always so wet, so loud against your pussy that he grunts, “Always got me makin’ a fuckin’ mess on this bitch. You hear me, huh? Need you droppin’ on this dick like you know it belong to you. You listenin’?”

His words create more waves of pleasure, clenching your walls in need of something to fill you. You need him.

You grind against his mouth, riding the air for that sensation—you turn your head back to him, “Put it in, Ony,” you’re so horny, you beg as he shakes his head in your pussy, legs trembling so violently that your toes curl.

Turning back to see him pulling his dick from beneath his sweatpants made you want to put your mouth on the weight of his tip, but not nearly as bad as you wanted him inside of you. It was a dark pink, hefty as it slapped at the swollen lips of your walls, nearly bouncing off as he rubbed the shaft along your core.

Your folds begin to spread open, sucking in the girth that stretches you the minute he begins sinking you down on it. Your eyes flutter chaotically, rolling entirely back as that uncomfortable pinch returns, being overpowered by a wave of pleasure—you feel full, so full that you whine, “Mmmph,” dropping your hips down, your ass clapping along his abdomen echoing against the room.

Your eyes flicker to him from behind, curls falling around your face as you softly cry, “Dick so big, baby...”

“This yo’ big ass dick,” he promises, the wet noise of his tip entering your core, slowly dragging his length against your walls as you drop down— the feeling was unmatched.

His palm finds a grip on your shoulder, your body so sensitive to the touch that you’re aroused to any movement. You don’t know what comes over you, but you’re dragging yourself slowly off his dick, up until the tip kisses your entrance, rolling your hips back down, your pussy squelching as air pushes from your walls at that. Your lips part as you moan at your pussy being filled again.

He grunts, a slow burn making its way through your thighs as you reach back to take a firm hold of his sweats, dragging them down further to expose his balls. You sank down against his lap again, moaning at the pinch of your walls being stretched. You began to find a pace, a soft echo of skin clapping together as the head of his dick hits against your cervix, pressing and prodding at it, you whimpered, “Missed you so much, baby.”

The table creaks, the noise of your slapping thighs becoming louder as you bounce on his lap. His dick shifts in and out of you, Onyankopon’s grasp sliding down to your hip as he glares, “Shit, Mama…hollon.”

His dick throbbed within your walls, stretching you open as you took him inch by inch. You’re still dropping, coming down as you keep your eyes on him, “Feels like forever since you’ve been in me, baby,” you’re whining, “Fuckin’ love you. I’m sorry.”

“Oh shit,” he cusses under his breath, “Why you fuckin’ me like this?”

He spreads your cheeks, the weight of his thumb finding your hole. Your brain fogs as you register his voice, vibrations rumbling in your head. It made you gasp and shudder.

Onyankopon’s breath hitched, head knocking back as he looked down, seeing his length become more coated with your cream each time he pulled out.

“Nasty ass lil’ bitch—this pussy mine, huh?”

You could barely respond, barely think for yourself as he held you against him. The only word you managed to pant out was, “…Yours, Ony. Spank me,” you’re whimpering, “Spank me, baby.”

Onyankopon’s hand found the curve of your ass again, slapping it, the skin rippling against his touch. His grip was firm, slapping the same spot repeatedly, making you moan. His fingers find the wetness that trickled from your core, coating the fluid against your hole, pressing his thumb further into it.

He could smell that Italian bergamot in your hair, he could taste the sweet tang on his tongue from eating you before. He needed more. He needed to take more. He groans, picking up his pace as he slams his hips into yours, his dick buried to the hilt, the wet slap of his thighs against yours drowning out your cries.

"Look at that," he said, voice husky and rough, "Look at how fuckin’ good this shit looks. You mine, you ain't never fuckin' leaving me, who else gon’ fuck you like this?”

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, mouth parting as it nearly drooled, “I love you so much,” you shudder, “Oh my god,” placing your hand behind your back, wanting him to hold your arm in place.

Onyankopon’s fingers lace around your arm, slinging it around your back as he held it in place, slamming his hips against yours faster, fucking you harder. His dick throbbed within your walls, deliciously splitting you in half.

Nose buried into the crook of your neck, he caught himself inhaling the aroma of the products you used to wash yourself, always reminded that you were the mother of his child. He groaned against your ear, the wet heat of his breath giving you chills.

His fingers found the skin of your cheek, yanking your head to the side, taking your lips into a hard kiss. He sucked your lips into his mouth as he grunted, “You gon’ cum on it?”

It’s in that exact moment that your eyes flutter shut, trembling out a gasp against his mouth— Onyankopon feels as you coat his pubic hairs, clear fluid rushing out your folds like a violent chill. You lean along his shoulder as you murmur, “I’m cumming,” legs vibrating as he slows his strokes, letting you feel all inches of him.

Through your rapture, it’s as if your system is liquored with caffeine—you pull him onto the table, straddling his lap as you slide your tongue along his jaw, dragging it up his lips to pull him into a kiss. Your giggles are sultry, wanting more, needing more of him.

Onyankopon was a little caught off guard. Nonetheless he lowly chuckled, returning the kiss, sucking at your bottom lip. His hands explored your body, roaming across your back, down to your hips, squeezing at the curve of your ass.

"That wine getting to yo’ ass—You ain't tired?" He murmured, voice low and deep, "You want more?"

You nod your head, running your mouth down his abdomen as you kiss the curve of his muscles, “Just need you to lay there, Daddy.”

You’re going lower, up until your lips wrap along his balls, sucking them into your mouth indulgently.

Onyankopon eyes lowered ,"You ain't got enough stamina for all that," rubbing his fingers against your scalp, "And you know I love that shit,” he then groaned, watching you suck on his balls, tongue wrapping around them, massaging within your mouth. He felt his dick jump again, throbbing against his leg.

The sight of your husband made you even hornier. From his nose ring shining under the lights, to his tattoed face sultrily glaring at you. You’re already sliding his tip on your tongue, wrapping your fingers at the base as you pull your mouth back, feline eyes locked in his as you drop spit along his length. You then wrap your lips along his dick as you suck him into your mouth, moaning as your eyes roll back.

You were so pretty to him—from your freckled cheeks glimmering like pure honey, to the dark curls framing your round face and slender eyes. His dick was a challenge to take in fully, though you’d try anyways. Onyankopon’s tip throbbed against your tongue, his eyes fluttering shut for a mere second as you sucked him in. He felt his tip meet the back of your throat, grunting in response, fingers delicately scratching at your scalp, pushing your head down as he growled, "God damn baby, God damn.”

The growl that rumbled in his throat was loud, enough to send shivers down your spine, eyes dilated as he stared down at you. His fingers pushed against your scalp, encouraging you to continue.

You’re a sight to watch. You’re whimpering each time his tip hits the back of your throat, slapping his dick against your tongue. You moan each time it connects with your mouth.

The way you moaned. How it sounded, how it looked on you. He hummed back, throbbing between your lips, "Pretty ass, keep suckin’ that shit like that."

Seeing his pleasure sent you a new wave of euphoria. You’re sucking harder, faster, nearly whining at the pleasure that radiates through your own body.

Another wave of lust rushes over you. Onyankopon watched as you slid him out of your mouth, the slow trail of saliva was nearly too sexy, your fingers wrapping around his dick again, stroking him off.

“You want my pussy, baby?”

His brows furrowed, a low, raspy groan followed by a chuckle, "You know want that shit. So fuckin’ bad,” He murmured, the head of his dick flaring at the word, "Come drop it on me.”

You climb forward, placing your feet along the soft material of the table. The curve of your silhouette is all Onyankopon can watch, tracing your frame with his eyes as you pull his tip between your folds, the gummy flesh engulfing him as you sink down. You breathily gasp as you lift yourself halfway up, back arching as you grind your hips back down.

His head kneeled back, the feeling of you nearly too much to handle. His tip kissing at your cervix made him bare his teeth, feeling the tightening of muscles, "Ride this muhfuckin' shit," he breathed, the sound rumbling in his chest.

“Just need you to relax, baby,” you softly repeat, slowly grinding yourself up, sinking yourself back down. You drag your teeth along your reddened lips, knocking your eyes down as you moan, “You’re such a good husband, Ony…”

You’re rotating your hips, wining yourself against him, curls swaying around your face and shoulders. The way his eyes lowered is different from most times—he always had a dominance to him, but as his abdomen tightened, he was losing that restraint.

"You fine as fuck— Naaaah," he murmured, a longing in his voice as his hips stuttered, “Fuck, you can’t be doing allat’.”

A soft whine rolls off your tongue as you lock your palm against his thigh, using the leverage to drop yourself down onto him, the arousal splattering between your hot skin. You take his hand as you suck his fingers into your mouth, swirling your hips as you lowly giggle, “Lemme’ make you feel good,” your amusement thrumming into a whimper.

The hand that rested on your hip gripped tighter. His fingers pressed harder against your flesh, now rested on your collarbone, "Don't tease a nigga," eyes narrowed, lips slightly parted. You pull up your hips, slamming them back down, Onyankopon’s face twisting as he grunted, “Ooh, shit.”

The weight of his words made your thighs quiver, legs trembling as you kept the rhythm, sliding yourself down his lap as he ground himself up into you. You’re bouncing your hips against his lap, his tip jutting between the folds of your pussy each time you come up, teasing your clit that has Onyankopon growling.

“So pretty, Daddy,” you compliment, “Cum in me, I want another baby.”

His head tilted back, eyes rolling as you said that. A soft moan escapes him, hips twitching, "You talkin’ crazy," he muttered, a nervous chuckle in his voice, "C—Chillout’.”

“Salem needs a sibling.”

You lean yourself down, face inches apart as you bounce your ass on top of him, whining within his ear. It’s when he shoves his fingers into your hair to place your face within his neck, that you hear a whimper pass his lips. It makes you smile, like a seductive demon, turning your cheek to him as you whisper, “Sound so pretty, Daddy.”

“S—shit, Mama.”

Onyankopon’s moaning, your lips pressing against his jugular was almost suffocating. His mouth parted, breathlessly, his toes curling and his balls twitching, and that familiar rush came over him.

“Cum in me,” you whimper above his parted lips, his eyes rolled back as grind your hips down, “Fill me up, baby.”

The heat between your bodies grew, Onyankopon’s eyes rolling back in ecstasy as he moaned even louder, fingers scratching into the soft flesh of your thighs, hips, lower back, anywhere he could find. The rush of his release was too much, the slow build-up nearly unbearable as a warmth fills your walls.

Yet, he doesn’t stop there. His fingers were hooked into your waist, pulling you up, forcing you to come down on his dick as he grunts, “Told you to stop teasin’ a nigga," plop, plop, plop, the wet squelch of your walls was his favorite sound as he fucked into you—aside from your sobs, your eyes well with tears as you hold onto him, feeling a violent course of pleasure running through your body as you tremble, “I love you.”

“Stop cryin’,” he grunts against your lips, “You ain’t gotta cry to let me know you love me, I know. I love yo’ ass too, so cum all on this dick.”

His name left your lips, a loud, desperate squeal, and he loved hearing it. His mouth captured yours in a deep kiss, his tongue delving into the warmth of your mouth as another orgasm hits you, swallowing your moans, burying himself as deep into you as he could, as he was able.

The only thing heard at this point is the continuous song on a loop. You’re breathless above him, lazily trailing your mouth against his lips. The feeling is ticklish—so much that you give him a small giggle, cheeks warm at your own actions.

“…Ony?”

“Yeah?”

He chuckles between his breaths, feeling your body grow lax against his. He could see the exhaustion within your eyes, the way they grew a little hazy.

“You ‘bout to knock out.”

“Mm—Mm,” you shake your head, “I’m hungry.”

“You hungry?” he raises an eyebrow, “Yeah— the way you was ridin’ my shit, you should be.”

“Onyankopon.”

He laughs again, “Why you callin’ me? Can’t even get mad at that. You was’ on my shit like it was a muhfuckin’ saddle.”

“Oh god,” you place your hands over his face, “I was gonna get serious, and you’ playing. Can you stop?”

“Aight, I’m sorry. What you’ need, Mama?”

You sigh, pressing your lips together as you look at him. You then say, “Thank you…for all this. Going back to work after Salem has been really scary for me. I know I can do whatever I set my mind to, but…I miss being at home. I miss you, I miss Salem. I want another baby, Ony. Forreal this time.”

His brow quirks an inch, surprise flashing in his eyes.

“You serious, right now? You not playin’ with me?”

You can’t help the smile that grows along your face, “I mean it.”

He cups your face, drawing you in for a deep kiss, “I’d love nothin’ more than another baby with you. Can’t wait to see you waddling yo’ ass around the house again.”

You roll your eyes, returning the kiss with a couple of quick pecks. You then say, “I um…also might’ve lied to you about something earlier.”

“About what?”

“…I might’ve bought you a Valentine's gift when I said that I didn’t,” you admit, lashes fluttering against your cheeks.

He grins, “Oh… oh, you actin’ bad. Real bad.”

“Oh? Then you must not wanna hear about this Cartier watch—“ you shrug, patting his face as you get off of the table, humming as you begin making your way towards the bathroom.

His mouth falls open.

“Hollon’—you serious right now?! Forreal?!”

“I think I hear Salem crying,” you tilt your head, “Don’t you?”

“You think you finna’ leave after buying me a gift like that? Girl, I’m finna put two more babies in you!”

“Get back—you too freaked out!”

You take off into the bathroom, a full laugh choking from your lips as you feel arms tug around your hips, trapping you within his hold. And when the door slams, you giggle as he shows his infinite affection to you—as he always did.

#onyankopon fluff #onyakapon #onyankopon x black y/n #onyankopon x black reader smut #onyankopon x you #onyankopon x reader #aot onyankopon #ony smut #onyankapon #ony x black reader #aot x black reader #aot smut #aot fanfiction #aot

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hellfire--cult · 1 month ago

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🩷 Steve x Reader - Fluff, friends to lovers, modern!au

wc: 1.5k

So what if you used a TikTok trend so you could have an excuse to kiss your best friend (aka, the guy you have liked for years now) for the first time ever? Would he reciprocate?

a/n: It came to me in a vision of melatonin and yearning, and steve edits, this is not proofread, i wrote from my heart and my want to kiss this man stupid

⚡

Deep breath in, and out.

You could do this. You planned it out. It’s the perfect scenario for you to make a move and then play it off as a joke if it didn’t turn out as you expected and wanted. It would suck if it didn’t turn out the way you wanted, but that’s a heartbreak you could learn to live with later. You will never know what could truly happen if you don’t take this chance.

Your best friend had gone to the toilet, and you were staring at the big screen at the very far back of the drive-in cinema. It was a usual setup for the two of you. You had the bags of fast food at your feet, ready to be eaten, as the movie played in the background. This time, it was different. You were planning on doing something that would change your life forever, and it could make you lose your best friend or change the friendship into something more. Something you wanted.

You took his phone out of the phone stand that he stuck on the dashboard for GPS purposes, and you put up yours. You searched for your camera and selected the video setting. This was a crazy idea, and maybe immature, but you had a safety cushion if worse were to happen. You fixed your hair and you grabbed your purse, taking out your lip oil to put some on your lips. Your heart was in your throat as you looked at yourself in the small mirror that was on the passenger’s seat. A mirror, he put little battery-powered led lights on, just for you.

You were sweating, or at least that’s what it felt like. It was cold yet suffocating at the same time and you weren’t sure how to handle the situation. Were you being stupid? Were you hopeful for nothing? You didn’t know. You didn’t, and that’s why you had to take this chance. You didn’t, and that was also destroying you because, sure you could lose your best friend, but maybe you could also miss the chance of something great just because you didn’t take the leap.

You put the lip oil back in your purse, putting up the visor and turning off the lights from inside the car. You turned around in time to see him coming back from the bathroom, running a hand through his hair. This was it. You quickly pressed record on your phone, and the door opened as you took a deep breath in for courage.

“There was an old dude definitely looking at my penis.” Steve said as he closed the door, groaning as he got comfortable in his seat. You giggled despite your nerves, scratching the back of your neck.

“There are three possibilities. He wanted to have it like yours, he wanted to have it in him or…” You dragged out, to which he looked at you with a frown.

“Or?”

“Maybe he was short-sighted.” His eyes widened, jaw dropping in disbelief as he stared at you.

“Are you implying I have a small dick?”

“I never said that.” He was about to say something, but his eyes caught your phone on the stand, and that it was recording. He tilted his head to the side, leaning forward a bit towards it with a squint.

“Why are you recording?” He asked, and you could feel your body shutting off. It felt as if every limb froze in place and that if you moved, you would detonate an atomic bomb or something. You weren’t responding, and Steve was fixing his hair on the camera, like he always did.

Three years. Three years of being best friends with Steve Harrington. Meeting through your coworker Eddie, who presented Steve to you as a potential bachelor, as he put it. But Steve never showed signs of anything more than friendship. You weren’t sure if you gave any indication you wanted more than that, either, but you couldn’t be sure. There were many times when you got flustered and stuttered when Steve complimented you or said something nice.

But now, the time to execute your plan had finally arrived and you were shitting your pants. Maybe it wasn’t a good idea. Maybe you shouldn’t even try. Maybe you should back away. But then he looked at you with a smile that just melted your insides, his freckles moving when his cheeks went up.

And you leaned in.

Or, well, clashed in. You went in quickly, your hands grabbing his face to keep him steady as you moved forward. Your lips harshly found his, yet it felt so good. They were soft, tasted like mint thanks to those Tic Tacs he always had on himself. You felt your ears ringing, loudly, almost like a fork scratching on a pan.

You weren’t sure how much time had passed since you leaned in, but you had to pull away and see the damage you had caused. He didn’t move. He didn’t kiss back. You didn’t know if he was shocked or if he figured it was a challenge people were doing on TikTok.

‘Kissing your best friend for the first time challenge.’

You slowly pulled away, retreating your hands and painfully opening your eyes again, already with a wince on your face. He was wide-eyed, his lips puckered up because of the sudden kiss, his hands up in the air, not really aiming anywhere. You felt your heart already plummeting to the ground as he didn’t make any moves, as he didn’t say anything. You had to pretend everything was okay. You had to. You couldn’t afford to lose Steve.

“So–” Your words were cut off when two strong hands cradled your face, pulling you into a deep kiss, a desperate kiss, a rough kiss filled with tension. His lips moved against yours, angrily, and you held onto his wrists, your faces over the middle of the console. Your entire body heated up as the gears in your head turned and turned, but his lips were making it impossible to focus. Lips you have been waiting to taste for so long.

You melted more and more into the kiss, because he was kissing you the way no one else ever did. No one kissed you this way and made you feel like a goddess. Like you were one of the most exquisite things they’ve ever tried in their life. You were ruined after this one. Completely.

He pulled away slowly, the smacking of lips echoing in the car, his lips still brushing against yours as he breathed heavily. Maybe it was your imagination, but you felt him trembling against you.

“Please tell me this is not some stupid trend or challenge.” Your eyes found his, and he looked desperate and hopeful. Those eyes that were extremely expressive and would not let him hide his feelings at all. How did you not notice before? He looked at you like this in the past. He looked at you with these eyes that just said, ‘God, I want you.’

“That was going to be my excuse if it didn’t work–”

“Oh, thank fuck!” And he kissed you again, and this time, you didn’t fight the smile. His right hand went to the back of your neck, while the left one had its fingertips running through your scalp. Your hands were gripping the front of his shirt desperately, pulling him in for more and more. Soon, his tongue met yours, and it was everything you’ve ever dreamed of. Everything you fantasized about.

The temperature in the car became heavy, the windows started to become foggy and you felt suffocated but in need of more. You wanted more. He wasn’t far behind, and you noticed by how his left hand moved to grip your waist tightly, trying to move you closer but the console was not letting you. He pulled away, his breath sharp on your lips.

“I’ve been waiting for this day for so long. Move to the back, please, please, please–” You bit your lip to hold back a moan at his begging with those puppy dog eyes of his. You nodded and pecked his lips, the butterflies making a turmoil inside your stomach as you moved to climb to the back. You sat down on the backseat, and Steve was literally shoving himself to the back before you stopped him.

“Wait! I’m still recording!” You pointed at the phone, and Steve turned and did an ‘oh’ sound before grabbing it. He pointed the front camera his way, and he was flushed, red on the face, eyes glistening with happiness and lust.

“Hi, I’m Steve Harrington. It is 10:42 PM on May 12th of 2025, and today is one of the best days of my life because I finally kissed the girl I had a crush on for years. Bye.”

The video cuts off with you going into a fit of laughter. When you posted the video to TikTok, it went viral. The song Electric Love playing, the kiss happens when the drop starts, and then Steve’s commentary later on. Eddie, of course, commented.

‘Cute, but I vomited.’

🩷

a/n: this tiktok trend repopped in my tiktok and i just, ths is very steve coded

i wanna kiss steve so bad

#it came to me in a vision #late at night #steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington fanfic #stranger things #steve harrington one shot #steve harrington stranger things

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zoe-oneesama · 5 months ago

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PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE I URGE YOU TO TALK ABOUT THE SEASON 6 CHARACTER DESIGNS. Mostly cus i wanna hear the salt, but also because as someone who's designed many outfits for these characters over the course of multiple years, you more than anyone have your place to talk

Honestly the episode was just *okay*, so the designs are really the only place I'm particularly heated (I mean I still have my complaints on the episode, but nothing as anger inducing as Season 5):

So I'll start with the heroes:

I'm not mad about cutting off Bunnix because nothing's different.

Viperion - I like what they did with the mask and the deeper color contrast is delicious, but the suit feels like such a downgrade from the old design.

Carapace - I guess this is the Season of the Mask Facial Hair? Viperion is encroaching on this, but Carapace's little chin bit looks like a Soul Patch. Otherwise, it's a good design and I like the additions!

Vesperia - At least it looks like they fixed the weird root issue she had with her bangs from the old model. From what I can see here, I don't dislike this, like, full inversion making the top yellow and the pants black. Dunno what the ring around her thumb is though, and why does she hold her weapon like that??

Rena Rouge - it feels like they made changes to her because they thought they had to? I'm not mad at the differences, just...they sure are there. My only complaint about her is that they colored her tail as if she has two tails but she only has one? Like...just give her two coattails.

At least they ditched the corset U_U

Rooster Bold - The pose makes it hard to see, but he looks pretty cool to me! LOVE the new mask and his bitchy heels. Didn't like the mohawk then, still don't like it now.

Ryuko - this^ picture doesn't show her off, so here's her from the episode:

The suit is still nothing amazing, but I like the scale texture and shoulders, I LOVE the bigger horns, and her hair is fire~!

Miss Hound - yikes on this picture, thank god she cameo'd in the episode:

She's cute! ...Honestly anything was an upgrade, she was just wearing a recolored version of her outfit in Season 4-5, so the fact this is it's own thing is instantly better.

King Monkey - yikes the lighting on this is scary. Anyway, I can't really glean anything from this and the only thing that stands out is the horns on the circlet. I'll pend judgement for now.

Pegasus - Similarly to KM, there's not much I can note here? He's got longer hair so that's...something, but I like that now the visor is a full visor and not a floating pair of glasses. And we'll have to see it in an episode because here I like the contrast between the browns, but the old suit also had that contrast in promo material and then lost it in the episode.

Caprikid - Loooove the fur on the pants for some reason, and I die for the boots little hooves~ Bold choice to go bigger on the horns when there was some controversy about them, but hey. At least they fixed the problem with his white mask.

Minotaurox - aww what a cute widdle hammer. It really looks stunted, a lot of the weapons here look skinnier and weaker actually. I don't think I like the yellow on the horns, but I like that we can actually SEE the details on his suit now. And I like the hoodie/hair.

Argos - yep. That's Argos.

Purple Tigress - Okay, she looks dope AF! No notes, she looks awesome.

Pigella - And on the other hand...yikes. There so much going on here, and in fairness I can't fully understand what I'm looking at. This is not what I meant when I kept adding pig ears to my Pigella design!

Polymouse - Okay, no lie, I DID like her in this still image, but uhhh she's in the episode and um...

Girl no. What's with these LED strips?! WHY is your HAIR going THROUGH you hoodie?! And I know in comparison to the other characters she's still "plus sized" but this still feels...bad.

I won't talk about Ladybug and Chat Noir, they're good. Not exciting not bad just good.

Sooooo the humans.... Mostly I'm bothered by how some are so drastically changed and some are just...not. At all.

Alya - her new Mom lewk. Idk, I just feel like they could've gone harder. She looks fine, I actually like her hair when I watch the animation in motion, it's just...she looks 25 now.

Alix - uh, yep that's Alix. Wait, did her pony tail switch sides...?

Zoe - She's found her 2000s emo girl aesthetic and is clinging to those crusty shoes. I don't like it, her dumb tshirt was really my biggest problem with her old design so of course that's the part hey keep. She just looks...disjointed. I'll hold on judgment of her hair for now.

Kagami - love the hair, hate the crop jacket. It makes her skirt look reeeeeally short.

Sabrina - AH! NO! BAD! WRONG! Hate the hair, hate the pants, I don't even think I like her new glasses. This is a chop, a CHOP!

Juleka - I don't...hate the hair. I just weep for what we lost. I DO hate her new boring-er blouse which is just a weak imitation of her old top. Her hair is so wild so why did her clothes get more boring?

Rose - Season 6 Rose can't hurt you, Season 6 Rose can't hurt you, Season 6 Rose can't hurt you-!!

Mylene - I like her new outfit, it feels like the natural next step for her! I can't get a good look at her new hair though, so I'll reserve judgement.

Nino - Damn, finally a full glow up. Nino looks good! This is probably how I would have designed him the first time around, so, yay!

Felix - you fucking loser, you didn't change here either?! Are SentiBoys just stunted?!

Kim - His big change is...getting sleeves. And his roots are more visible? I guess??

Max - Why this nerd got a smolder all of a sudden? I think he'd look good if they just finally ditched the suspenders, or had them hanging down and not in use.

Nathaniel - Have...have I drawn him in this? I feel like there's a Scarlet Lady version of this. I guess that tells you I like it, right?

Ivan - Hell yeeeeees! GLOW UP! He's like "oh, I gotta wear this nose ring all the time? Better make it ALL WORK TOGETHER!!" I didn't know he had it in him, good job!

Luka - uhhh, is he wearing a different jacket, or is that his old jacket in the new animation style? At least he stopped advertising his own father on his chest. His shirt being tucked in...it disturbs me...

Marc - ...I can't tell if he even got a hair cut because it might just be the new style.

So yeah, I have quibbles but they're overall okay.

If you really want nightmare fuel, you see the kwamis.

#sorry for the jumpscare at the end #after I saw the kwamis the humans were all forgivable because wtf?!#season 6 spoilers #ml spoilers #ask zoe

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multific · 4 months ago

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The Masked Devotion

Din Djarin x Reader

Summary: Din Djarin protects you with unwavering loyalty. But behind his beskar mask lies a heart longing for more.

The sands of Nevarro stretched endlessly, golden and harsh under the sun’s dying light.

You followed Din Djarin’s figure as he moved steadily ahead, his beskar armour gleaming.

He walked with purpose, his shoulders squared, his hand never far from his blaster. Even in silence, his presence was steady, a constant reminder that you were safe as long as he was near.

The ancient ruins appeared before you, black stone structures weathered by time.

They were massive, cold, and silent, untouched for centuries. You hesitated, feeling a chill despite the desert heat. “Are you sure this is the place?”

He glanced over his shoulder, his helmet reflecting the crimson sky. “This is where the bounty led us. Stay close.”

His voice was steady, and unyielding, and it grounded you.

You trusted him.

You followed him inside, shadows swallowing you both as you ventured deeper into the ruins.

It got cold, and the air was stale, heavy with dust and silence.

The darkness grew as you moved further in, and you stumbled over uneven stone. Din’s hand shot out, catching your arm before you could fall. His grip was firm, his touch careful, and he held you a moment longer than necessary.

“You alright?” he asked, his voice softened by concern.

You nodded, but your heart raced, his touch lingering on your skin. “I’m fine… just a little dark in here.”

His helmet tilted, the visor locking on you. “Stay close,” he repeated, his tone gentler. He didn’t let go of your arm as he guided you forward, his gloved hand warm and steady.

You walked beside him, acutely aware of his presence. You had been travelling together for weeks now, your lives intertwined by circumstance.

Yet, every time he looked at you felt a warmth spread through your chest. Even if you couldn't see his eyes, only his helmet.

“Din,” you said softly, your voice echoing off the stone walls. “Why do you protect me?”

He stopped walking, his hand falling.

Silence filled the space between you, heavy and uncertain. He looked at you, his helmet concealing whatever thoughts lay behind his eyes. “You know why.”

You did know, but you wanted to hear him say it.

You wanted him to break through that wall he kept around himself, to let you in. “I want to hear you say it.”

He turned away, his shoulders tense. “It’s my job. I made a promise to keep you safe.”

You stepped closer, refusing to let him retreat. “Is that all it is? Just a job?”

His shoulders sank, and for a moment, he looked so human, so vulnerable, despite the armour. “No,” he admitted, his voice firm. “It hasn’t been just a job for a long time.”

Your heart skipped a beat, your breath catching in your throat. “Then why won’t you let me in? Why do you keep pushing me away?”

He turned back to you, his hands clenched at his sides. “Because this is all I can give you. A man in a mask. A protector. I can’t be… more than that.”

His words were pained, weighed down by self-doubt. You reached out, placing your hand on his chest, feeling the cold beskar beneath your palm. “You’re more than just a mask, Din. You’re more than just armour.”

He trembled under your touch, his chest rising and falling as he took a shaky breath. “I can’t take it off,” he said, his voice strained. “Not even for you.”

You smiled, leaning in until your forehead rested against his chest plate. “I don’t need to see your face to know you. I already know who you are.”

He stilled, his body still, his hands hovering as if unsure whether to pull you closer or push you away.

He needed to make a decision.

Push you away, and lose you, or pull you close and keep you forever.

But deep down, he already made his decision long before this moment.

Slowly, his arms wrapped around you, hesitant but strong. He held you there, his helmet pressing lightly against your hair. “You don’t know what you’re doing to me,” he whispered, his voice raw.

Your heart swelled, and you held him tighter. “Then show me. Let me stay.”

He exhaled shakily, his hold on you tightening. “I don’t know how to let anyone stay.”

You pulled back just enough to look up at him, your eyes meeting the dark visor. “Then I’ll teach you.”

For a moment, he just stood there, silent and still.

Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, he rested his forehead against yours, the cold metal pressing gently to your skin. It was the closest he could come to a kiss, a promise made without words.

He stayed like that, breathing with you, holding you as if you were the only light left in his world of shadows. “Alright,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “Stay with me, please.”

You closed your eyes, a tear slipping free as you leaned into him, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath the armour. “I’m not going anywhere.”

The ruins around you were ancient and cold, but in his arms, you found warmth.

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

Wattpad

/DO NOT TRANSLATE, STEAL OR REPOST ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/

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nanamis-princess · 1 year ago

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✯¸.•´*¨`*•✿ ✿•*`¨*`•.¸✯

Your their passenger princess

Synopsis: just head canons about being their passenger princess:)

Genre: fluff

T/w: mentions of shoko smoking, bad driving lol, possibly oc geto? And misspellings

Nanami, gojo, geto, shoko, megumi, yuji & nobara (separately) X reader

Nanami

-he always has his free hand on your thigh or holding your hand. His thumb brushes over your thigh/thumb gently but if it annoys you he stops.

-steals glances at you while at red lights, giving you a soft smile as the light turns green

-he cant help but laugh if you guys miss an exit because you thought it was a bit further down.

-he doesn’t mind listening to what you pick, he’s kinda the type to listen to a podcast while driving tho. Or an audiobook.

-when you type in the location in his maps you see his favorite places saved. Your favorite stores & restaurants are saved, along with his favorite bakery ofc.

-he’s a very safe driver but you can’t tell me his not putting across you if the car has to come to a abrupt stop.

-he has beach scented air fresheners in his car.

-has a photo of you at the beach holding up a seashell, clipped to a photo of Haibara in his visor.

-keeps mints/ gum in his car at all times along with a lint roller (he’s a cat dad)

Gojo

-his free hand is always on your thigh

-asks you to feed him while he’s driving, he accidentally bit your finger before and offered to kiss it to make it feel better.

-he’s a safe driver for the most part but he has his moments. He’s like a 100% positive there was never a stop sign there.

-he misses his exits a lot. Like a lot, a lot.

-his car smells like his cologne.

-has an extra pair of his iconic glasses on his visor along with a photo of you and Megumi sitting at his favorite ice cream spot.

-likes driving to beautiful nature areas with you after making a snack run.

-needs music on at all times, he requests song but then just ends up making a bunch of playlist for you guys. But don’t worry you are still his DJ.

-always has a hoodie or jacket in his backseat that you probably end up stealing.

Geto

-always holds your hand while driving, he also brings your hand up to his lips and places a soft kiss.

-his car smells like black cherry and his windows are tinted.

-a decent driver but does speed, not always while your in the car tho. Unless you like that kinda thing;)

-has a necklace of yours around his rear view mirror that you gave him

-loves doing those cute fast food date ideas where you pick the appetizer, he picks the main meal and you pick the dessert.

-likes to make out with you at red lights until it turns green and gets honked at.

-while he lets you pick the music you find a playlist with your name as the title its songs that remind him of you. He has another one of music you’ve played before.

-has a case of water on the floor in the backseat along with a blanket.

Yuji

-he most likely keeps his hands on the wheel or tweaking with something as he drives but likes holding your hand while driving. Sometimes puts his hand on your thigh.

-always has your favorite candy or gum in his glove compartment.

-requests like two different songs at once but tells you which order to play them in. “They just pair together well” he laughs as you type all that in.

-like Gojo always has a hoodie in his backseat along with a pair of sneakers and a water bottle he forgets about.

-also has random papers in the backseat that he keeps forgetting to look at

-he’s also a decent driver, but when your in the car he’s more aware. Not that he’s less likely to be careful but the last thing he wants his to hurt you or someone else.

-has a group photo of you, him, Nobara and Megumi in his visor.

-his car keys have a matching keychain that he shares with you.

Megumi

-it’s a small gesture but he loves holding your hand while he’s driving. Gives it a gentle little squeeze from time to time along with a kiss on the back of your hand.

-has LED lights at the bottom of the car that he keeps red for most of the time but lets you change the color.

-before dating you he didn’t really use air fresheners but he found one that reminded him of your perfume/cologne.

-gives you full control of the music

-relies on your directions more than the map because up he always misses the exit.

-there is a little dog hair in his backseat that he tries his best to get out lol, he didn’t keep a hoodie or blanket back there until he started dating you.

-has a car charm with your first initial around his rear view mirror.

-doesn’t mind if you eat from his food as he drives, he will give you his last fry, or chicken nuggets.

Nobara

-holds your hand while driving but doesn’t mind if you put your hand on her thigh.

-loves driving around listening to music with you if you don’t have a set destination. If you have a set destination (and she hasn’t been there before) she needs the music on low to focus.

-you guys have a playlist you add songs together

-has one of those mini trash cans that’s hooked to the backseat

-also has leather seat covers that matches her steering wheel

-going shopping with you and then getting a sweet treat after is her favorite thing to do on her day off, she’ll spoil you and herself until her backseat is full of shopping bags.

-she’s a good driver, no accidents and no tickets. But that curb is her enemy.

-her glove compartment has an extra hairbrush and lip gloss. She keeps things you use on the go too.

-keeps two hoodies in her backseat if you both get cold

Shoko

-she prefers having her hand on your thigh when she drives if she isn’t smoking

- likes to tease you by rubbing her hand up your thigh and gives it a little squeeze. She chuckles with a small smile at the effect that it has on you.

-has hair ties around her shifter and in the middle compartment she keeps a pack of cigarettes

-her car smells like caramel with a hint of nicotine

-she also wont smoke in the car if it bothers you or as a matter of fact around you in general

-she’s a very good driver but has parking tickets

-got you a head rest pillow in your favorite color to put on your seat

-also keeps a blanket that’s your favorite color in her backseat along with a bag hook if hanging on the pack of your seat A/N: hello cuties:3 it’s been a minute. This took me two weeks to write lolll, I’m in a bit of a rut & lacking motivation. More stuff is on the way tho 💕🌸

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pedgito · 7 months ago

Text

𝐁𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑 | Joel Miller x reader x Tommy Miller

summary | a moment of desperation and a kind gesture leads you down an inescapable path alongside two brothers and a town with a nasty secret

author's note | so. its been three months and a much needed break from this place, but i started this back in august with a fully fleshed out idea and then my motivation fell flat. i had a good chunk of this done and i love it too much to not post, even if just for myself. this will be two parts, this one and one coming in the near future. its so self-indulgent and not everyone's cup of tea. but an extra special thank you to the special and lovely people i talked about this with and that took a look at for me, i love you endlessly.

content warning | 18+ smut, dubious consent (relating to cannibalism), cannibalism, gore, mentions of violence, blood, demeaning language, joel is a hardass, high tension and angst, joel has weird kink relating to...you guessed it, this story is heavily joel leaning but tommy is a decent part of it, smut (oral), night swims, food/feeding tw, joel is a bit of creep here. please heed the warnings and pass if it's not your thing.

word count —14k

Long, desolate roads led you here. No telling how long you had until you would find the city skyline again, car running on fumes for the last ten miles, the sign at the end of the road pulling your attention up, eyes peering through the windshield as your car veered to the right and to a full stop.

Miller’s Farm, next right

Helped wanted, no experience needed

Hourly pay and lodging included

You had fifty bucks left in cash and half of that would go toward gas if you could find a gas station, your arms crossed over the steering wheel and blocked the blow to your forehead as you rested it against your forearms in frustration.The car’s AC was shotty at best, requiring you to hit it every half hour to keep it alive and even then it was a weak sputtering and a barely there chill that did nothing to quell the layer of sweat on your skin.

It takes several long, frustrating minutes before you decide that you don’t have any other option.

You were stranded, this was it.

Maybe hospitality extended this far out into the country, that even this far from the city there were still a few good, decent people around. With a deep, heavy sigh you exit the car and shove your key into the door, locking it and pocketing the keys into the pack slung over your shoulder.

It’s been weeks on the road, leaving pieces and pieces of you behind as you traveled. The lesser the weight, the lesser the burden. Were you running? You weren’t sure. But, staying in one place for too long made you antsy. Town to town, taking odd jobs where they were offered, living off the kindness of others in hopes of making it somewhere seaside.

Start a new life, forget about your past.

Austin wasn’t supposed to be your final stop, or even a detour, but the steps you took down the side of the road and toward the farm in the distance would be another place of temporary sanctuary. Hopefully.

Eventually the asphalt turns to dirt, kicking up gravel under your feet as you walk and covering your skin in a thin layer of fresh grime and sweat under the high noon sun. The barn, once a far-off dot, was now large and vibrant, that distinct red popping out amongst the rest of the dilapidated property, void of most color outside of dull brown. There was a house to the left, cluttered with a melody of things. Tools, furniture, plants, and things you couldn’t even recognize.

You squint, hand over your brow like a makeshift visor as you look around and hope to see someone, anyone—this couldn’t be the wrong place?

A truck under the hastily built carport and a trailer attached to the hitch—someone was home. You look around carefully, peering over your shoulder and finding nothing. There was no wind, no noise, and your breath caught in your throat.

Maybe this was the time to turn back and attempt your chances elsewhere.

The front door opening with a creak has your head whipping back over your shoulder to set sights on the person in front of you—a man, tanned skin and tall. He was stocky but lean, black hair tucked behind his ears and trimmed just above his shoulders. He looked clean, which was more than you could say for yourself. All clean-cut man, jeans and a casual shirt, boots tucked under his jeans as his hand curled around the front door of the house and half of his figure leaned out.

“Can I help you, darlin’?” The twang flows out of his mouth naturally, taking a few steps out of the house before he’s closing the door behind him and following the small path of the front yard masked with clutter until he’s near you, a few feet away. “You lost?”

“I—I saw the sign?” You implore, jutting your thumb over your shoulder in the direction of the road, “My car ran out of gas, I’m out of money and it’s hot. I was just hoping for some work to help get me back on my feet and out of your hair as quickly as possible.”

The man nods, readying to open his mouth before you continue.

“I don’t mind the work, I’m not picky. I don’t have a resume or anything, but I promise—”

“Woah, slow down,” You can hear the amusement, a smirk pulling at his face and you chew at your bottom lip nervously, fingers twisting around the straps of your backpack, “We’re not lookin’ for some hoity toity types with degrees—you comfortable gettin’ dirty?”

You glance down at your clothes, a few days without a shower and driving down sideroads with your windows down has made you look worse for wear, “Absolutely. I just need the money and a bed, couch even—you won’t even know I’m here if that’s an issue for you. I can keep busy.”

You glazed over the we in his response, looking around curiously again.

He extends his hand unexpectedly, “I’m Tommy,” He introduces and you take his hand softly, feeling him squeeze firmly at your grip and the smirk in his face soften into a smile, “listen—we don’t do the whole hirin’ process. I gotta run it by my brother Joel and there’s a few cautionary steps we gotta take due to the work, but we can give it a test run? See how you feel?”

You felt inclined to ask what the work was, but you decided not to be picky.

And like a dinner bell had been rung, the other man appears out of the barn.

Joel, a stark difference to his brother in stature and cleanliness but the resemblance was uncanny in the way they carried themselves. A similar stride that felt intimidating, broad shoulders stretched out over taught muscle and a matching resting scowl on his face.

Something told you his expression was more permanent, though. His brow pulls together, eyes squinting as he looks you over. He was wiping at his dirtied hands with a rag, a sheen of maroon drying to brown that you could only assume was blood.

It was a farm. Animals. That meant slaughter.

The thought of it didn’t make you vomit initially, so you considered that a good thing.

It takes one look and he’s giving a disparaging shake of his head, turning his head toward his brother to offer his opinion, “Ain’t worth the trouble.”

You instantly grimace, offering a less than subtle look of distaste at that man.

Stubbornness is what he notices immediately, but then your eyes are flicking back toward his brother who looks more confused now than when you had first approached the farm.

“You said you were outta gas, right? Just needin’ some extra money?” He confirms and you answer with a simple nod of your head. He looks over at Joel, arms crossing over his chest, “Said she doesn’t mind gettin’ dirty—willing to help out wherever. I’m sure we can find her some work, right?”

Joel looks you over slowly, a predatory gaze that makes you feel infinitely smaller. He was staring through you, seeing the deepest and darkest parts of your soul. His eyes were darker, nearly black and ringed with deep set under eyes from an obvious lack of sleep—whereas Tommy, he was chipper and well-rested, eyes a warm amber and much more inviting.

“You slaughter cattle before?” Joel asks, “Cleaned up shit? Worked on a farm? Anything like that?”

You shake your head but quickly respond before he has a chance to speak, “I don’t care what the work is—I’ll do it. If I need to be taught, I’m willing to learn. I’m a quick learner too.”

Devotion is what he senses at a slower rate, the slow blink of your eyes as they flick between the two brothers—he could give Tommy an ultimatum and turn you away, but something in his gut twists.

She’s useful, she’s good. Good supply if it came down to that. Given you passed the tests.

But, there was something lingering in your gaze, yet to be discovered. Joel was curious.

“Send her to the doc, give her the guest room,” Joel tells Tommy after a moment of thought, sounding slightly irritated but it forces out the breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, “You’ll start work when we know you’re cleared.”

You nod dutifully and Tommy returns a relaxed smile, “It’s a liability thing,” He promises, “and it’s heavy work, better to know if your body can handle it alright before we put you through the ringer.”

“Whatever I need to do,” You return the grin, tracking Joel’s departing figure as he re-entered the barn and disappears, “is he always that angry?”

“Usually,” Tommy replies, rusting around in his back pocket for a set of keys, “I’ll give you a ride to the clinic and we can tow your car here tonight—to keep away anyone tryin’ to scalp it for parts. Sounds good?”

“Sounds perfect,” You agree, wiping at the sweat on your brow with the back of your hand, “but—do you think I could take a quick shower first? It’s just walking in the heat and it’s been a few days...”

“Oh, yeah. Yeah,” Tommy stumbles over his words, but nods for you to follow him inside.

With trepidation, you take your first steps and follow.

And what you’re expecting is not what is revealed to you. It made sense that the disorganization would spill into the house, but it was nearly spotless. Pristine countertops and polished wooden furniture, a wall of file cabinets and a tucked away nook with a computer set up. It was like entering another dimension, your eyes tracking along the full expanse of the house before they land on Tommy, who’s looking on with that same amusement as earlier.

“It’s a lot of work but I try to keep it clean here,” Tommy admits, “The outside is…all Joel, mostly.”

You shake your head with indifference, holding your hands up in defense.

You weren’t judging, it wasn’t your place.

“The shower is down that hall,” Tommy points toward the central hall, rooms lining each side, “first door on the right—did you—do you have clothes?”

“Only one clean pair left,” You confess, “but I’ll make do.”

“We’ve got clothes, if you need them. Don’t be afraid to ask.”

There’s a responsiveness to Tommy that intrigues you—approachable, kind, a hard disjunction from his counterpart that was like a breath of fresh air. You don’t allow yourself to linger either, making your way to the bathroom with quick footsteps and remaining blind to the rest of the house, hearing a sharp scuffle of a chair that you can only assume is Tommy as he sits and waits.

It was the easiest predicament you've dealt with in the last few months. But you weren’t, not even for a moment, going to question it.

It’s a small building near the edge of the town, only a half hour drive from the farm and sat in some silence, you find out a slow trickling of information that Tommy shares, his elbow propped against the open window and the other gripping tight around the steering wheel, his hair a wind-blown mess.

“It’s been in our family for years,” he tells you, traveling down the quiet road and the low hum of the radio mingling with his voice, “s’why it's a mess—can’t be bothered to part with some of that junk.”

“I’m not judging.”

Tommy offers a look of skepticism, laced with a smile.

“It is a lot of stuff,” you grin in response, a subtle quirk at the corner of your mouth.

“Joel is a little sentimental,” Tommy adds, “he’s always been like that—harder for him to let shit go.”

You respond with a gentle nod as Tommy pulls into the parking lot of the clinic, exiting the truck with a swiftness before he’s at the passenger side and opening your own door, “Oh—that is really not necessary—”

“My momma would be rollin’ in her grave otherwise,” Tommy gripes playfully as his fingers curl around the open door, “so, just let me, alright?”

You don’t argue, chivalry be damned.

There isn’t much to be confused about as you step inside the clinic with Tommy in tow. He takes a seat near the door and the doctor, an old man with a limp and someone who refers to Tommy as son—he earns a casual nod in return and then you’re led beyond the door to the hall of other rooms.

It was a very typical line of questions, a general physical, and a blood draw that he promised would be pushed through quickly for the benefit of allowing you to work as soon as possible.

You try desperately to ignore the particular aura about the old man, thin-wired glasses perched on his sharp nose, age spots littering his face and bald head—but the most glaring is the missing pinky fingers on both hands. It was so clean cut and well-healed that you assume it could be something he was born with, but the moment he spots you noticing, he seems to switch gears.

“You’re all good here,” he tells you, “If anything comes up I’ll give the Miller’s a call—you’re lodging there, right?”

Your left eyebrow raises slightly, nodding hesitantly in response.

“Gotten a few like you before,” he comments oddly, “I’m not passing any judgment, it’s just a question.”

“Yeah—yeah I am. Staying there.”

Increasingly creeped out as the seconds pass you breathe a sigh of relief as he allows you to leave, meeting Tommy at the front door with a less than comfortable expression. His eyes press a silent question but you shrug it off, hearing him bid a polite goodbye over your shoulder as you walk toward the truck.

Eventually, settled into the truck as Tommy turned over the ignition, he responds with comfort, “He ain’t the most approachable guy,” he admits, “but he’s been helpin’ us for years.”

That was one way of putting it.

“Hopefully I pass with flying colors then.”

Tommy shrugs, backing out of the parking lot with his arm thrown over the passenger seat, feeling the slight touch of his fingertips against the back of your neck through the headrest, “We can figure somethin’ out anyways, seeing as you’re more than eager,” Tommy grins, teeth peeking through, “I like that.

–

Tommy gives you a proper tour when you arrive back, nothing extensive but he does walk you around the property. He shows you the animal pens; pigs, goats, a few cows wandering around the pasture. And the barn, but he doesn’t enter. You note the lock hanging from the doors, clunky and rusted but securing the doors closed.

The inside of the house is less of a mystery, following Tommy as he lead you into the kitchen and showed off the expensive counter space and deep set sink—if they didn’t put a lot of effort into cooking then you didn’t understand the reasoning for the size, but as the thought floods your mind, Tommy plucks it out and answers it.

“Joel is a better cook than me,” he admits, “another bonus, home-cooked meals, a lot of our meats are ethically-sourced—” The look you shoot his way is quizzical.

“Grass-fed and they’re free to roam and forage for the most part, we’re not stuffin’ them full of grain feed to fatten ‘em up. We try to keep things humane. Joel deals with most of the dirty work and I stick to numbers and talkin’,” he explains, “he ain't’ much for socializing.”

Joel enters at the mention of himself, grunting as he steps beyond the threshold. His coveralls hung around his waist, tied at the hips and the dirty undershirt stretched tight over his broad chest. He peeled off his boots at the door and Tommy leaned against the counter lazily, one foot crossed over the other as he folded his arms and looked over at you, eyes slowly dragging to his brother.

“She cleared?” He asks briskly, ��Or we sendin’ her on her merry way?”

“Joel,” Tommy chastises and Joel smirks, taking a quick glance over at you, “doc said he’d call in the morning and let us know, we can spare a meal and a bed for a night.”

Almost as if you two weren’t even there, he strips off his dirtied shirt and works at the tie around his hips with the hand free of the balled up cloth, “Hope you like mess, girl.”

“I’m not picky,” You shrug, resting your hands loosely against your hips as he walks toward the same hallway you had traveled down earlier, “A little mud and grime won’t kill me.”

Joel chuckles softly at that, fully disparaging, “Blood make you squeamish?”

You shake your head, noting the caked bits of dried blood tucked in the crook of his arms and the creases of his neck, a faint pink tint from his chin down, “As long as it isn’t mine.”

Tommy seems to tense at your wording, his arms flexing tight as he eyed his brother under a downturned gaze, staying quiet under the domineering energy his brother exuded.

“She might just survive ‘round here,” he directs at his brother, a smarmy remark although more boastful than he had been since the first time he spoke, but the distaste for you still lingered, oozed right out of the disingenuous smirk crossing his face.

He ain’t much for socializing.

It would only take a few weeks, you think. A few weeks and a couple cash payments and you could move onto the next place on your never-ending roadmap. You feel yourself breathing out a sigh of relief as Joel disappears, not realizing how long you had been holding it in.

“S’much as I’d like to have nice home-cooked meal, I think it’d be better if I grab some dinner from the dinner down the road,” Tommy offers, keys clutched in his grip as he rocks on his heels, “I’m gonna pick up your car on the way back, like I promised.”

And then he smiles, again. But, there’s a moment when it finally reaches his eyes and you can’t help but return the gesture, “I…think I’ll hide out in the guest room until you come back,” you admit, pointing toward the hallway, “no offense to your brother, but—”

“Don’t take it personally,” Tommy assures, “don’t let ‘em intimidate you, either.”

Fight fire with fire.

It wasn’t your forte, but you were hellbent on survival and you would adapt if you had to.

You’ve spent the last half hour sorting through a puzzle on your haphazardly made bed, chin tucked into your palm, eyes tracking over the pieces until you could find a suitable match and slotting it into place before repeating the process. The deft shift and click of a door being shut pulls your attention upright, assuming it was Tommy, you clamber out of bed.

What you aren’t expecting is the solid chest that slams into your side, senses overwhelmed with the strong smell of aftershave and clean body wash—it wasn’t a particular scent, just…clean.

You look over, find Joel with a perturbed look on his face, a dinner plate hovering above your head and his expression turning more and more grim as time passes. “Sorry,” you mumble, “thought you were Tommy.”

“I look like Tommy to you?”

You tilt your head, expression pinching together in annoyance.

Intimidation, just like Tommy had mentioned.

“Yeah,” you respond coarsely, “but at least he’s not acting like someone shit in his food—do you treat everyone like this who comes through here? Is that why you can’t keep people around here?”

His arms drop then, strutting past you with heavy footsteps as he makes his way to the sink, dropping the dirty dishes and pressing his hands into the edge of the center island that sat opposite the line of cabinets and countertops.

“You runnin’?” Joel asks curiously, ignoring your initial question. “Cops gonna come lookin’ for you?”

You balk, offended by his asinine line of questioning.

“That’s none of your business,” you respond to the first question before spitting out a venomous, “No—what? Scared of a couple cops? Are you hiding something, Joel?”

That seems to strike a nerve decently enough that he rises, creeping around the edge of the island until he’s striding toward you, a hair's breadth away as you swallow hard.

You couldn’t help it—he was large, intense, intimidating without trying. He didn’t have to speak, the image of him did the work itself. Even as he looked more approachable, clean clothes and a freshly shaven face down to a thin layer of stubble, almost normal in appearance. But, there’s rage behind his eyes. It simmers slowly, a creeping boil that would come back to bite you if you allowed it.

“No,” he responds truthfully—at least, it seemed that way. His voice never wavered or faltered, he was strong and believable with his words, “but two things you ‘oughta know—one, don’t go snooping around where your nose doesn’t belong. Two, keep to yourself in this town.”

“And if I don’t?”

“You don’t wanna find out,” he responds without hesitation, both of you snapping out of the intensity of the conversation as the front door slides open, a very focused Tommy stepping through the door with hands full of styrofoam containers full of greasy burgers and fries.

“Nice,” Tommy notes humorously, “you two didn’t kill each other.”

Yet.

“Got us burgers for dinner,” he explains, holding up the bags, “that alright?”

Joel clears his throat, hand wiping over his tired expression, “Already ate,” he responds short, clipped. Tommy doesn’t question it, but his eyes immediately catch on you, wondering what he had interrupted as he sees your body relax when Joel steps away. But, he shakes it off, offering a lazy grumble of a noise in response to his brother as he drops the food on the nearby dining table.

The dichotomy in the pairing is strange and you can’t comprehend how they’ve managed to co-exist as roommates, let alone siblings. But, they were also strangers. You had nothing but assumptions racking your brain, so you pushed it away.

Eat, sleep, and face the next day with a different attitude. A fresh start.

–

The morning was met with a rustling of two other occupants as they moved about beyond the barrier of your room, voices muffled but constant as they carried on amidst your dreary haze, rubbing at your eyes tiredly. It had been weeks since you’ve slept in a decent bed, not the backseat of your car or a mattress that felt like sleeping on a wall of bricks. You didn’t have a reason to complain and given the circumstances—a roof over your head, a space to yourself.

You’d be stupid to argue otherwise.

There’s a quick whistle behind the closed door to your room, followed by a gentle knock.

“Come in,” you say groggily, muffling out the end with a yawn as you stretch your tight limbs and watch as Tommy peaks his head through the open door, already showered and primed up for the day, his gaze lingers on you for a while and watches quietly. It should make you feel uncomfortable, but it does quite the opposite as you offer a shy smile, “—is this the part where you tell me I have to leave?

Your hands slap the comforter as he widens the door, letting it thud silently against the wall as he leans against the doorframe, hip cocked into his right hand.

“No, you’re all clear,” he tells you, nodding over his shoulder, “we’ve got a few things for you to do this morning but I wanted to keep it light and let you get adjusted.”

You nod lazily and push yourself out of bed, rubbing at the goosebump chill that spreads over your arms as you feel the kick of cooled air spread through the room, “Enjoy it,” Tommy remarks, “ain’t gonna feel that good outside.”

Tommy departs with his trademark grin, albeit more subdued by his tired eyes as he knocks his fist against the doorframe. But, as you’re heading for the bathroom across the hall, Joel finds you again.

He’s dressed for what you can only assume is a long day of work, thick pants paired with an even thicker shirt, skin covered from his neck to his feet and far too stuffy for the sticky humidity outside—his job couldn’t be easy and you weren’t faulting him for it, but the scowl on his face is getting under your skin and allowing its claws to find purchase within it.

He takes a sharp bite out of an apple you don’t realize he’s holding until it is pressed against his lips, teeth digging into the skin, juices squirting out with the force of it.

“There’s a full dresser of clothes for you in the corner,” He haphazardly points to the mahogany dresser tucked away in the corner, “different sizes and shit, you’ll have to find something. Since you don’t have nothin’.”

You eye him skeptical but don’t argue, walking toward the dresser and pulling at the top drawer. It was a mix of new socks and underwear, all pressed and fresh in their packages. The next drawer, a mixture of different shirts varying in shades, sizes, designs. Your head turns on a swivel, watching as Joel takes another bite out of the apple, speaking around the food in his mouth.

“People come and go,” he explains vaguely, “always leavin’ stuff behind, so—”

Again, he waves vaguely in your direction.

“Got it,” you answer curtly, turning your attention away from him.

You shake away the looming cloud of discomfort that Joel leaves in his departure and sift through the clothes—at least they were being hospitable. That was more than enough to allow you to push the uneasiness aside for the time being.

Tommy heaves the bucket of dirtied blades and utensils, cutting boards, and a collection of other tools that you weren’t sure you’ve ever seen in your life, all coated with dried, oxidized blood of varying animals, you assume. You didn’t think to ask, didn’t want to know.

Not yet, anyways.

Tommy rested his elbow against the edge of the bucket, having led you to the back of the house—it was similar to a sunroom, an entire wall of windows that gave you a beautiful view to the fields behind the house. Miles and miles of land, undistributed by the hum of city traffic and noise. The other wall, a dead-on view of the barn that Joel barricaded himself in. Tommy looks over briefly as Joel makes his trek to the locked doors, a metal jug of water in hand, a meat cleaver in the other.

“Well, he’s a ball of sunshine,” you joke before picking through the bucket of items carefully, keeping your fingers clear of the sharp blades, “is this it?”

“Most of it,” Tommy admits, “for now.”

You nod dutifully and watch as he explains things out in a few steps, rules to follow, a method of attack.

“So, just rinse at first with some soap, disinfect with the alcohol, then repeat and lay it out to dry. Pretty simple, but they need to be clean,” he stresses, his teeth peeking out beyond his lips as he stresses the syllable on his tongue, “and always use gloves.”

He grabs the rubber pair and offers it over before he’s speaking again, this time his words coming a little more hesitantly, “Also—I grabbed your car last night. I was gonna tell you over dinner, but I figured you needed a decent night of sleep.”

“As long as you found it in one piece,” You joke, fitting your hands into the gloves, and the silence has your heart dropping into your gut, “you did, right?”

“Yeah,” his voice wavers with hesitation, eyes squinting slightly in a tell that he wasn’t offering the full truth and you tilt your head, mouth turning down in frustration, “but—it was pretty mangled.”

“You’re kidding me—”

“Tires were slashed,” Tommy holds his hands up, palm out as he attempts to calm you, “there’s some rowdy kids ‘round here always causing trouble. We’ll figure it out for you, alright?”

Your jaw tenses, teeth clenched behind a tight smile and you nod jerkily. A hard swallow and harsh breath later you’re looking at him with softer, kinder eyes.

“Thank you, Tommy,” you tell him, “I feel like I’m already causing too much trouble for the both of you, doesn’t help that Joel would rather see me as roadkill than—”

Tommy rubs a finger under your chin to pull your gaze to his, a fleeting touch that has you freezing in place but looking up aptly, eagerly. He scrunches his nose slightly and shakes his head, “Darlin’, we’ve dealt with plenty of trouble. You don’t even come close.”

You laugh slightly, a grin pulling at the corner of your mouth.

Tommy claps his hands together gently before shoving them into his front pockets, looking over his shoulder briefly before his eyes are back on you, “I’m going to start on some paperwork,” he explains, “come find me when you’re done?”

You nod dutifully, turning to your task as Tommy leaves.

It isn’t hard by any means. It’s like washing dishes if you ignore the prudent smell and extra scrubbing to get the tools completely spotless before you’re running them through the steps that Tommy had listed off, attempting to ignore how weary your arms felt by the end of it.

Your eyes kept flickering toward the barn throughout, wondering if Joel would surface—two hours passed and there wasn’t any sight of him. It was like he lived in there, a nocturnal animal that needed the seclusion and no direct sunlight. It couldn’t be that enjoyable to be held up inside the barn all day.

When you’re finished you carry the bucket into the kitchen and place it on a nearby chair, tracking the back of Tommy’s head. He’s tucked away in the corner at the desk he’d shown you the other day, typing away and sorting through a small stack of papers.

Curiosity kills, so you wander over.

Peeking over his shoulder, nothing really makes sense.

It’s mostly numbers and an odd mixture of letters, a system that he must have come up with to track the intake of supplies and animals, some of them sorted by what looks like initials.

Tommy has a pen between his teeth and a calculator at his fingertips, typing away some numbers that add up to an amount that has your eyes bulging out, quickly realizing that this is none of your business.

He acknowledges your presence then, pulling the pen out of his mouth and looking over his shoulder with a curious expression, “Finished already?”

“Yeah,” you tell him, “I—sorry…if I was supposed to go slow.”

“Oh no, you’re alright,” Tommy turns in his chair, computer screen fading to black behind him, “I still have some stuff to finish up—why don’t you go check and see if Joel needs anything?”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

Tommy smirks but not in a way to tease or patronize, he understands the presence his brother gives off, all intimidating and mostly unwelcoming.

“Just give a knock on the door,” Tommy instructs, “don’t go inside, he’s really testy about that. If he needs something he’ll answer.”

You compare it to something akin of facing the wrath of some beastly devil, gearing to attack.

Tommy offers an encouraging nod that you accept on less than enthusiastic legs, turning and heading out the front door with the surety that Joel would either ignore you or stir up some storm like he had the night prior.

He wasn’t nice or cordial, not that he needed to be—but it wasn’t a wonder why they seemed to go through help around the farm, running people off with his hard stares and less than appropriate comments. If making you uncomfortable was his plan, he was succeeding.

It’s quiet outside, morning slowly dissolving into afternoon. It’s still hot, feeling the rush of hot air hit your face as you make your way toward the barn, noticing the unlatched lock but remembering Tommy’s words.

Don’t go inside.

You knock, once with no answer. Again, notably drowned out by the rev of a chainsaw and then silence, a loud bang and rustling of dirt as footsteps come closer, instinctively you begin to step back, scampering away slightly as the door swings open just enough the Joel can fit his body between them, blocking you from peering inside over his large frame.

“You need somethin?” Joel asks, his tone tight and his eyebrow arched slightly in question, his finger wrapped tight around the rusted handle of the barn door.

“Tommy said to check if you needed help,” Joel seems to spot your curious eyes as you attempt to peek around his shoulder, his arm raising to curl around the side of the opposite, unopened door and pulling the open space tighter, his eyes peering down at you, “I finished—inside.”

“Already?” His voice is clipped but subtle with surprise, “You're the first one in weeks that ain’t emptied their stomach over that shit.”

It seemed extreme, but you knew that some people couldn’t handle things like blood or guts or even the thought of slaughtering animals. But, to you, it wasn’t that big of a deal. Sure, it was gross, but it wasn’t going to kill you.

“I’ve got a strong stomach,” you argue, shrugging your shoulders nonchalantly as your gaze refocuses on him, “besides, I told you blood doesn’t make me squeamish. Did you think I was lying?”

“Don’t know you,” He shrugs simply, “don’t trust you. Is that what you wanna hear?”

You sigh softly, trying to keep the fraying edges of your temper under control, “Is there anything I can do?”

Joel pauses for a moment, seconds dwindling into a territory that brought you silent discomfort as he looked you over thoughtfully before peering over his shoulder.

“Actually, I got some scraps for the pigs. Think you can handle that?”

You hear the disregard in his tone and take the opportunity while he isn’t staring you down to roll your eyes, just in time as he turns his head to look at you.

“Do you?”

Joel laughs at that. A genuine laugh, though quiet and short, you hear it. It was proof that he had a legitimate emotion outside of the one built around pure disgruntlement.

He disappears for a moment, barn door slamming shut in your face and before you even have time to breathe, he’s back. It's a heavy metal bin full of minced meat and a faint coppery smell that has you turning your head and huffing under the weight as Joel trades the bin off.

He points around the corner, toward the corralled pigs snorting near the entrance to their pin, sending the impending meal you were holding.

“Just throw it in there,” He gestures vaguely at the trough inside the pin, “they’ll eat it right up. Oh, clean up the pin while you’re at it, the tools are in the shed out back.”

You nod slowly, digesting the information and feeling the liquid from the bin seep into the front of your shirt, the sensation making you curl inward, gasping at the coldness of it.

“Shit,” Joel curses, “shoulda gave you the apron, that’s always a messy task.”

He sounds honest, but you stare daggers back in return.

“Next time,” He offers with a half smile that makes you sick, “don’t take too long—if you want dinner.”

“If you’re cooking, I’ll pass.”

Again, Joel chuckles. Twice in the span of five minutes.

God, maybe you were winning him over.

“I’m a good cook,” he says confidently, though the snideness in his tone lingers but barely, “you’ll regret sayin’ that.”

You snort softly as you shake your head, turning on your heels and toward the pigs, hearing the soft thud of the barn door.

It takes you a half hour to finish the task, grimacing slightly as the pigs frenzy toward their food, leaving you mostly undisturbed as you clean up the pen, catching Joel with his overalls tied around his waist, sweat dripping down his neck and his hair matted to dirty skin.

He seemed normal like this, natural. Dirtied and grimy, a permanent grimace on his face as he traded places with his brother, who was headed toward their truck.

You catch his eye, a waved offer in return for your smile.

Another moment alone with Joel sounded dreadful and maybe sticking out in the remainder of the hot summer day didn’t sound too horrible now.

But, the poignant smell of the pig pen was enough to turn anyone’s stomach, so you choose dread.

You and Joel trade off showers silently, working around each other in a less than comfortable silence, mostly trying your best to avoid him entirely, but you can only bear the avoidance for so long.

Freshly showered and in a clean set of tattered lounge clothes, you round the corner into the kitchen and catch Joel’s back, a white shirt stretched over tight muscle as his back tenses when he reaches for the burner, adjusting the heat on the stove.

His keen hearing clues him in, turning briefly over his shoulder to spot you. His expression is softer, but still mostly guarded. With Tommy not around, he was a wildcard.

“Where’s Tommy?”

Joel stirs away at the pot full of food on the stove, answering with a casual tone, “Finishin’ up some business in town—you sure you ain’t hungry?”

As if he knows, your stomach growls.

You had managed a decent breakfast and light snacking throughout the day, but the rich aroma of spices makes the food hard to ignore.

You approach curiously, noting the emptied but bloodied casing for the meat he was cooking, cutting board with a few stray vegetable ends and Joel’s gaze flickers to you once, then twice.

“You want a taste?” Joel asks, lifting a spoonful from the pot, his hand hovering under the utensil, spotting your weariness immediately.

As a show of trust, or just plain good faith, he takes a sip of the broth before shoving the spoonful into his mouth, a clear indication that it was safe to eat.

Not that you thought he would attempt to taint the food, but it did ease your worries and you were hungry despite your feelings toward him, so you nod.

Joel smirks slightly and dips a wooden spoon into the pot again, bringing the food to your lips and watching as you blow, the steam bellowing up in front of your face and you sip gingerly, invaded with a burst of flavorful notes.

It was an instant indication that maybe you had judged Joel too hard on his cooking skills, impressed by how savory the food was, stronger than you’re used to, but it was still pleasant.

Joel’s eyes are stuck on you, gauging your reaction and his lips twitching as your eyes light up, a gentle nod of approval in response. He plucks a piece of meat from the spoon and raises his eyebrows in question.

You find yourself nodding instinctively and Joel drops the spoon into the pot, guiding the chunk of meat to your lips and you open your mouth willingly, feel the soft press of the food against your tongue and the tenderness of it, like butter as your teeth grind into the meat, feeling the swipe of Joel’s finger as he cleans up dripping line of sauce that slides down your chin.

And it tastes…fine. You wouldn’t dare give Joel the immediate satisfaction that you thought it was good, because it was. It was a perfect, home-cooked meal. Your stomach was craving it, mouth watering even more as you swallowed that first bite.

Joel brings his sauce covered finger to his own lips, pressing the digit inside of his mouth and sucking. He wasn’t wasteful, clearly—savoring every last drop.

“So,” Joel grins wider than he ever has, still sated but it was new, welcoming even, “change your mind?”

You shrug indifferently, but Joel senses your intrigue.

“I’ll give it a try.”

That’s all Joel needs to hear.

Somewhere between your first bite and your last, minimal conversation as you sit and devour the bowl of stew without a single qualm, you fall asleep.

It was a mix of exhaustion and a full belly, slumped against the table and your eyes falling shut despite yourself. Joel cleans quietly, dishes clashing softly as he washes the dirtied ones and wipes them clean, stowing away the leftover stew as peeks over his shoulder.

You’re still sound asleep, plush lips pulling together in a tight line as you sigh, breathing out through your nose.

Joel rubs his hands over the front of his jeans, ignoring the half-hard jut of his cock against the denim, knowing the moment your lips slipped around that spoon he was a goner.

He’s never gone that far, he’s never tried. He and Tommy have always kept to themselves and while Tommy didn’t stick to a strict diet of Joel’s preferred meat, he did dabble on occasion.

Joel preferred it, and like his brother, was raised on it.

But, like many of the people that have come and gone, always through the process of ending up as stock for the Miller farm, Joel has never forcibly tried to push their beliefs on anyone.

Unfortunately, Joel had never met someone as intriguing as you. Not nearly as squeamish as the others, even fully grown men shying away from the task of cleaning pig shit out of a pen—you were strong, but stubborn. Joel admired it, but he liked the challenge of breaking it out of you too.

He’d wake you eventually, but for now he watches. Arms pressed against the central counter, keeping him hidden in the darkness as the soft glow of the overhead lamp above the dining table illuminated you.

Joel’s come to recognize things—good bone structure, volume of meat and muscle, all the things that make certain humans the perfect piece of product.

And you were just that.

A pretty penny.

—

Sometime in the middle of your bleary haze you’d made it to bed, whether with assistance or not you find yourself waking with a turn of your stomach and rolling out of bed in hurried attempt, feeling the force of bile as it made its way up your throat, fumbling loudly with the doorknob until you managed to pry it open.

You make it to the bathroom across the hall just in time to spill the contents of that evening's dinner into the toilet, attempting desperately to keep your wits, arms clenched around your stomach as you heaved relentlessly.

The cold hands come a moment later, icing the back of your neck as they push the hair from your face and offer a soft reassurance.

“Hey, it’s alright,” Tommy’s voice cooed, his cold palm pressing against your forehead as your head lifted to look at him, tears streaming down your face now, “you with me?”

You nod weakly, hearing Joel’s heavy footsteps before you spot him, his stocky frame filling out the doorway.

“Musta been dinner,” Joel supplies to his younger brother, “she’s probably ain’t used to the stuff ‘round here. Less processed, harsher on the stomach when you ain’t had it before.”

Tommy’s gaze lowers, focusing on his brother harshly. It was a look of words unspoken, threatening intention and one that had you holding your breath, wondering if you’d done something wrong. His hand slips down your back, rubbing at the base of your spine.

In any other circumstance you might find yourself shying away, but you lean into it. He glances over, touching your skin once more. Left cheek, right cheek. You were clammy, mouth suddenly dry and begging for anything to quench the thirst or rid yourself of the sour taste in your mouth.

“Get her some water,” Tommy instructs his brother harshly, “and somethin’ cold, she’s sweating through her clothes.”

Joel doesn’t argue, half-expecting him to put up a fight. He retreats, knowing his wrong-doing but not finding the guilt inside him to care. You’d assimilate eventually, they all do. Him, Tommy, nearly all the townsfolk have learned to adjust to this lifestyle. Unspoken and secret amongst the outliers, it was the way of life around here.

He returns with a glass of water and cold rag, passing them off to his brother, “Don’t run off,” Tommy bites, “we need to talk.”

Joel grinds his teeth at the order, watching as you close your eyes to the glorious press of the cold, wet rag as Tommy squeezed it against your face, your neck, before bringing the glass of water to your lips. A few seconds and one generous gulp later you find yourself cracking a joke amongst the tension, pulling a soft laugh out of the younger brother.

“If you wanted an excuse to feel me up, you could’ve just asked.”

“Oh, pardon me, sweetheart,” Tommy remarks playfully, “I’ll keep that in mind next time.”

Joel sniffles awkwardly, tongue pressing into his cheek as Tommy passes off the items and rises to his feet, nodding toward the hall and motioning for his brother to follow.

“You need somethin’ you shout, alright?”

You nod obediently, flushing the toilet weakly before resting your head in your hands, attempting slow breaths to calm your racing heart, waiting for the second wave of sickness to hit you but hoping it never came.

There's a muffled argument on the other side of the wall, the tell-tale sign of Joel's gruff voice, tone clipped and decisive—it was the same way he had spoken to you during your first argument.

“What’s our one fucking rule, Joel?”

Tommy’s voice bites, hushed enough that you wouldn’t be able to hear him, nor Joel as they slowly moved toward the front of the house.

“You're gonna tell me not to do it?” Joel retorts, “I already did. There ain’t nothing to argue.”

There was one thing they both knew for sure.

You weren’t like the others.

“She’s gonna find out,” Tommy assures him, “She’ll find out and then you’ll be the one that’s gotta do the dirty work, not me.”

“Afraid of me choppin’ up your girlfriend into tiny little pieces for Robert and Stan down the road?” Joel asks, a vicious and cutthroat way to take a shot as his brother, who he knew better than anyone.

He’s grown attached too quickly. Joel had suspected, assumed by the immediate likeness to you, but the moment of care shared in the bathroom moments prior had confirmed that if Tommy wanted you, he could have you. The smile you offered in return for his kind efforts was enough for Joel to know.

So, yeah— feeding unknowing people human meat was the number one rule. But, growing attached was the unspoken one that the Miller brothers had always followed, without fail.

Until now.

“She’s smart—could use that, ya know?” Joel suggests, which is a surprise to Tommy.

His brother, who only ever thought about himself—he was suggesting you stay, that you could help.

“When are you gonna tell her?” Tommy asks, eyebrows raised in question as his hands settle on his hips, pajama pants hanging low. “Tomorrow?”

“I ain’t,” Joel responds without hesitation, “Like I said—she’s smart, she’ll figure it out.”

“Joel, if you don’t tell her I will—”

“No, you won’t,” Joel bites at his brother, stepping closer in an attempt to intimidate, “you tell her and she’ll run for the damn hills—let her figure it out and she’ll confront you. Then we’ll see how good you are at coverin’ our asses.”

It was Tommy’s job, the forefront of their business. He made the sales, talked to distributors in town. He was the face—a pretty face, more approachable. Joel was always sharper around the edges, harder to read.

Regardless, it didn’t matter. Joel had dug the hole for both of them and there was no way out.

–

You wake with an ache in your muscles and the instant need for a shower, covered in a layer of sweat that makes you want to strip your clothes instantly. You remember Tommy helping you to bed the night prior, the faint memories of you hunched over the toilet as you discarded your stomach contents and Joel watching over, observing, but the rest was a blur.

Not trying to waste anymore time, you quickly shower and dress, meeting the two boys in the kitchen as they readied themselves for the day, picking over breakfast. You settle for a couple of slices of bread, toasting them to a near crisp and snagging a ripe fruit from the basket on the counter, watching curiously as Joel makes a cup of coffee. It was the most normal course of action you’ve seen him take—he even took it with sugar, but obviously no cream.

Tommy already tore through breakfast and was sipping on his own cup of coffee, looking up at you occasionally over the newspaper he was reading, knowing that you were attempting to eat light after the night prior.

“Feelin’ better?” Tommy asks.

Your nod is noncommittal but Tommy doesn’t press.

Without prompting, Joel speaks, “It takes some gettin’ used to,” He explains, “it ain’t like the shit you get in the city.”

It would explain why he was unaffected, that maybe your stomach was just too weak.

“Same business today,” Tommy cuts in, ignoring the long stare you and Joel were holding, chewing slowly at the now soggy toast in your mouth, “we might have some stuff comin’ in tonight though and we’ll all have to offer a hand in unloading it, can you handle yourself?”

You approach him casually, stripping the peel off your banana as you take a bite.

“I can handle myself just fine,” you assure him, eyes pulling up briefly to regard Joel who was already departing for the front door without a word, “—you sure he isn’t trying to poison me?”

Tommy snorts softly, watching as you chewed thoughtfully on the banana and your gaze followed Joel through the windows, tracking his movements until he hit the barn. You feel Tommy’s hand graze your bicep, pulling your attention back toward him.

“He’s not,” If it was a lie, you couldn’t tell, “it all takes some adjusting, he isn’t lying.”

His hand still hadn’t moved and you looked down, his thumb rubbing over the exposed skin of your arm, “You know, I did say all you had to do was ask.” Tommy’s eyes crinkle with laughter, not expecting you to remember your words from last night, “Or, that’s inappropriate because…you’re technically my boss—”

“There isn’t rules out here, honey,” His voice is warm, inviting—but he’s still trying to keep himself at a distance, not too fast or too hard all at once. He’d set out the bait and wait for you to bite it, “we’re just here to help out and mind our business.”

“Okay,” Your response is soft, a gentle lilt to your voice that makes Tommy smile, “and...thank you for last night. I know it isn’t the most pleasant thing to wake up to in the middle of the night.”

His hand drops slowly, fingers trailing until they find your wrist and offering a gentle squeeze before his fingers depart you entirely, “I lived on this farm my entire life. There isn’t much that I haven’t seen or dealt with before. I think I can handle a little throw up.”

Tommy offers up the remainder of his coffee, still warm as you bring it to your lips and savor the rich taste—it was much more your style, full of cream and sugar to the point where it might rot your teeth out.

And the day proceeds without problem, moving through the motions of the tasks Tommy had assigned you yesterday, along with feeding some of the other animals littered around the farm. Horses, cows, goats—it was a wonder how they kept up with it by themselves. They were capable, but it seemed like too much for just two people. Regardless, it was impressive.

By evening, Tommy was pulling in with a truck full of secured and banded boxes on the trailer and Joel resurfaces from the barn by then, reeking something awful. You turn your nose away and scatter to Tommy’s side, earning a chuckle from the younger brother.

“You get used to it,” Tommy tells you, “like everything else.”

You eye Joel wearily, who seems less than amused. He offers a low grunt of acknowledgement as he stacks the boxes two high and heaves them up and into his arms, ignoring any attempt at small talk with either of you.

You couldn’t be bothered to care, knowing that Joel’s behavior was nothing if not peculiar.

“What’s in the boxes?” You ask when both of the men are reaching for boxes, sliding a smaller one into your own grip. They share a look, uncertainty. Who speaks first? Lie? Truth?

Joel huffs quietly—fine, half-truth.

“It’s stuff for cleanin’ up the barn. All the mess and shit. Interesting enough for you?”

Your nose crinkles at his tone, turning on your heels and heading toward the barn with the men in tow, “You’re snippy today,” you remark at Joel and Tommy hollers out a laugh from behind you, full-bellied and genuine, “when are you gonna give me a tour of it?”

“The what? The barn?” Joel asks for clarification before immediately shutting you down, “Never.”

Tommy shakes his head as he places the box down amongst the others, watching as you two bicker with shared looks and a soft giggle coming from you when you realize just how frustrated Joel had become, “I’m gonna head inside—try not to kill each other, alright?”

When Tommy is finally inside, you place the final box down. Joel was rearranging them silently, occupied with the task as you step backwards slowly, turning your head over your shoulder as you reach for the barn door.

The curiosity was likely to kill you—just a peek, that was it.

The creak pulls Joel’s attention up and he’s on you within seconds, door slamming by your head as his hand pressing against the flat of your chest, fingers itching to squeeze around your throat. You gasp, a guttural noise forced out of you as he pressed you into the hard surface of wood, feeling the splinters dig into your skin.

“What did I fuckin’ say?” He asks. No response. It sets his eyes ablaze, “Answer me, goddammit.”

“Mind—” You gasp again, sharp as his hand presses into your throat now, forcing you to answer, “mind my business.”

“Doesn’t seem like you’re doing much of that right now,” Joel points out, “seems like you’re enjoying pressing that nose into places it doesn’t belong.”

It was a barn, for christ sake. What the hell was he hiding?

“Hey,” you croak, weakly, “don’t kill me, remember? Your brother won’t be too happy about it.”

“That’s only because he wants to fuck you, girl.” He assures you, “You ain’t the first and you won’t be the last.”

Your gaze softens, fingers clawing at his forearm. The disappointment in your eyes was obvious, but a sting to Joel’s ego. Tommy was always the more favored one of the pair, there wasn’t much he could do about it. But, it didn’t soften the blow.

His hold lessens slightly.

“Did you think you were the only little lady that’s come through here that my brother hasn’t tried to sink his teeth into?” Joel grins in amusement, tapping his fingers gently against the side of your cheek. It was patronizing and foolish, but he couldn’t resist teasing you for the dejected look on your face. “I like my privacy, alright? Don’t appreciate it when people invade it.”

You nod quietly, lips opening to offer a weak apology.

“Don’t say sorry,” he tells you, “not when you don’t mean it.”

Instantly, your mouth snaps shut. Joel smirks, satisfied that he was right about that.

You weren’t sorry. You didn’t care. But, you were scared. Eyes still wide as saucers and boring into his own, all blacked out with rage but quickly fading back into their usual warm brown.

“You hungry?” He quickly adverts the topic, pulling at the fabric of your shirt to adjust it back into place like nothing happened, “I’m fixin’ to cook up dinner.”

Two could play at that game.

“Is it gonna make me sick again?”

Joel shrugs, “Might. Might not. You willin’ to take that risk?”

–

You luck out, for the most part. Aside from the dinner being nothing short of delicious, it makes you slightly queasy but it was easily qualmed by a glass of champagne, a nightcap to the work day as Joel has already wandered off to bed after cleaning up, leaving you and Tommy to perch on the stairs out front, a cigarette stuffed between his middle and pointer finger as he flicks off the ash, sipping from his own can of beer.

“I forgot to ask about pay, you know,” You laugh softly, “just…slipped my mind.”

“Weekly,” Tommy answers simply, “every Friday. So, tomorrow?”

You do the mental work in your head, feeling like the days have blurred together. Realistically, it had only been a few but you hadn’t expected how overwhelming those days would be, finally feeling the exhaustion settling in your bones as you rested beside Tommy on the front steps of the Miller home.

“You feelin’ okay?” Tommy asks curiously, beer tipped to his lips as he takes a sip and awaits your response.

“A little queasy?” You’re unsure what to consider it, that unsettling feeling in your gut. You weren’t even sure if it was the food making you feel that way, almost certain that even a single look from Joel would give you the same feeling.

“You’re thinkin’ about it too much,” Tommy points out, “it’ll make it worse.”

You gulp down the rest of the cheap champagne and press the flat stand of glass into the stair besides your bare feet before leaning back on your elbows. Tommy mirrored you, crunching the aluminum can in his hand and tossed it aside.

“Okay, so—distract me,” you responded pointedly, a kind smile sent his way.

Tommy takes a deep puff before you’re plucking the nearly finished cigarette from his fingers and bringing it to your own lips, feeling the nicotine burn your throat. Tommy doesn’t seem fazed at all, used to it.

Maybe Joel wasn’t lying about all those women.

This was a normal routine for Tommy. You were another passerby willing to take the bait.

“You wanna go for a swim?”

Your brow raises curiously, amused.

Tommy looks on, awaiting your response.

“Oh, you’re serious?” You ask, stuttering at the unexpected proposition, “Uh, yeah—sure. I mean…where?”

“It’s a walk, but there’s a lake behind those trees,” Tommy points off to the west, a long and dense line of trees surrounding the edge of the Miller farm, “feelin’ up to it?”

Your mouth waters unpleasantly as you continue to sit with your thoughts, yearning for distraction. You nod.

Tommy grins wide and takes your hand into his own.

He wasn’t lying. Under the moonlight, it was a huge lake with eerily undisturbed water. Pitch black and despite the hot and sticky heat, the water was cool to the touch as you dipped your feet into the shallow edge. Tommy is already wrestling with his belt, shucking his jeans down hastily and it forces you to move, stripping your own clothes off in time with him.

Down to your underwear you edge toward the deeper waters, hissing as more of your skin becomes engulfed in the ice cold plunge, feeling Tommy hover around you as he dipped under the water for a moment of time before emerging in front of you, pushing his damp hair from his face.

The cold water has you frozen, paralyzed.

“Come on,” he jests, “dunk yourself, it’ll help.”

You shake your head hesitantly, managing the inch by inch efforts as you move forward slowly.

“I’ll do it with you.” Tommy suggests, his fingers wrapping around your wrists as he wades the water—you feel yourself rising on your tiptoes to give yourself a few lingering moments before you have to force yourself under.

Tommy doesn’t force you, only waits for your reassuring nod after a long moment of indecisiveness before he’s doing a slow countdown and you’re both slipping under the water.

Moments later, you emerge with a gasp but it is full of elation. Tommy had pulled you out deeper, forcing you to swim until neither of you could touch and you clung to him instinctively, feeling the words that fall from his lips brush the back of your neck, “Distracted enough?”

It had, truthfully. You nod in response, feeling deft fingers at your hips as they turn you, your legs kicking in a melodic synchronicity. His touch lingers for a moment before he’s pushing away, using his arms to gain momentum and swim away, looking over his shoulder with a silent challenge.

Chase him.

You giggle to yourself before following, moving gracefully through the calm waters. It continues like that for a while, minutes passing away effortlessly. The monotone buzz of insects hovering over the lake water and the insistent chirp of the crickets hiding in the grass kept your mind busy. It was peaceful out here, like the rest of the farm.

“So, you grew up here?”

“All my life,” Tommy answers easily, “it isn’t exactly tourist worthy sights out here, but it has perks. Where are you from?”

“Here, there—” you answer noncommittally and shrug, earning a dismissive laugh from Tommy, “everywhere, honestly. I don’t stick around places for very long.”

“Which reminds me,” Tommy interjects, “your car should be fixed up soon—but, if you wanted to stick around—”

“I don’t think Joel would appreciate that,” you respond, feeling the heat of his gaze on you despite the farmhouse being miles away, “besides—I’m just another mouth to feed.”

“Most people who pass through here don’t last more than a day,” Tommy admits, “it may not seem like it, but he’s warmin’ up to you.”

You reminisce on the heat of his palm against your throat.

If looks could kill….

Joel would have maimed you at that moment.

“He’s a dick, but he ain’t immune to pretty girls,” Tommy teases and it makes your gut twist, “we don’t get many women through here anyways—I think he’s just forgotten how to talk to ‘em.”

You think back on Joel’s words again and decide to poke the bear.

Swimming toward the shore you turn your head over your shoulder and speak, “You know, he said this is a bit of a routine of yours,” you begin, “seducing helpless women who come asking for help.”

Tommy rolls his eyes lightheartedly, chuckling at the absurdity of your words.

“Joel told you that?” Tommy inquires, swimming toward you. You turn on your hands, slowly scooting your way upshore with your palms until your ass is pressed against a bed of rocks buried in the dirty, shallow water lapping at your shins. “Honey, it’s been nearly a year since any type of lady came across our farm—and the last one? It was some old lady needin’ a jump on her car.”

Tommy is edging closer now, on his hands and knees as he works his way forward.

“People see the farm and they drive in the other direction,” Tommy admits, “but, not you.”

You lean back slightly as he hovers over you. Your heart pounds in your chest, a salacious grin spreading across his face.

“Helpless, remember?”

Tommy shakes his head slowly, “Ain’t nothin’ helpless about you.”

You bite first, silencing him with a heated press of your lips against his own, your hand curling around the back of his neck and your blunt fingernails pinching at his skin. His hiss turns into a warm chuckle. He spreads his palm out over the inside of your thigh and beckons your legs apart until he can fit between them comfortably before it curls around the side and pulls you back in, your knees barricading his hips.

He coaxes you back, taking the balled up shirt on the shore and sandwiching it between the dirt and your head as he pulls back with a low sigh, eyes half-lidded and switching between your lips and your steady gaze, catching the way your tongue licks at your bottom lip.

“Need a little more distraction?” Tommy asks softly, the fingers on his free hand toying with the waistband of your panties, awaiting the nod of confirmation. It comes without thinking and he’s peeling the fabric off gently, watching as it stuck and rolled against your skin, sopping wet from the lake water as they fall to the ground with a soft squelch.

His fingers curl around the back of your neck, pushing forward in a way that beckons your chin up, meeting his lips in another hot and messy exchange of tongue and sweet, soft sighs breathed into each other’s mouths, feeling the tingly pulse at your core as his fingers drag through the center of your pussy. There was no mistaking the slick that had gathered there amongst your heated exchange, a low hum rumbling in his throat as he leaves you, sinking further and further down your body, eyes locked on your own.

“Open up for me,” he commands gently, his hands curling around your thighs as he settles on his stomach, “fuck—that, just like that. Goddamn girl, she’s glistenin’ for me.”

He chuckles at your meek response, looking away with a subtle smile that made you want to crawl away from him, but he held you firm.

“Nothin’ to be shy about,” he reassures you.

You exhale slowly, a calming breath that quickly melts away as he licks a broad line up your cunt with his tongue, through your folds and slurping up with sweet, sticky slick. You gasp, hands curling into fist helplessly, moaning out into the silent night. There was the softest wisp of a breeze that blew over your skin, prickling your skin. But, it’s beat out by the heat of Tommy’s touch as he pulls your hand to his scalp, silenting guiding you toward his long locks and hoping you get the idea. You curl your fingers into his hair and tug, pulling his motions up toward your clit and he sucks, sucks so hard you think you start to see white before he smooths the intensity out with the gentler licks of his tongue.

It doesn’t take long before you’re coming with a loud moan, nearly uprooting yourself from the ground as he holds you still, the insistent wiggling of your hips from the overstimulation of his tongue enough to make you beg, plead even.

“Tommy, please—stop, s’too much. Too much.” You breath out in a hurry and eventually, a few greedy seconds later, he relents.

He rises with a sated smile sometimes later, watching as you desperately try to catch your breath. Whatever uneasiness you were feeling in your stomach earlier was long, but it didn’t snuff out the mental feeling of it. Fear, worry—like you were being watched.

The weeks beyond that pass with ease, falling into a steady routine.

Your car still sat untouched, but you couldn’t find it in you to be a pest about it—things were going well, a steady paycheck and roof over your head. You could bother them about it eventually, but not now. Not while things were good.

By October, the air is cooler and the work is easier to handle. Sometimes you help Tommy on the administrative end, filing away paperwork with information that doesn’t make much sense to you, as much as you try to piece it together. But, you do know they’re bringing in money. And lots of it. Absurd amount, actually. You don’t press Tommy on it either, worried that it would pop the pristine bubble around you both.

He was smitten, kind—sometimes he would sneak into your room at night instead of the latter for you, tiptoeing around Joel in the chances he might have something, anything to say. He’d lied to you about Tommy for his own benefit—but why? You tried not to dwell on it.

But, eventually you find yourself around Joel more often than not. Or, attending to him.

He still barricades himself in the barn most days, only popping his head out as he calls for things—but there’s one particular evening where things, usually calm, fly off the rails.

Mentally, at least.

And it isn’t the most auspicious way to let you in on their secret, but Joel can’t seem to rid himself of you. You’re always there, lingering, and even if you weren’t certain of things, suspicion had been raised long ago.

You weren’t even sure what you were trying to confirm, or if Joel’s unsettling nature was just a ploy to scare you into behaving, but you could feel it. Something was up.

He’s tasked you with feeding the pigs a number of times—it’s always gross and messy and not a favorable task by any means, fortunately you’re used to it. But, a large, stray rock buried in the dirt robs you of normality and the bin of bloodied scraps spills out as you land on your hands and knees, the skin scraping off your shins against the rough ground and a loud hiss slips beyond clenched teeth as you scramble to get back on your feet, looking around in desperation and hoping that neither of the brothers had witnessed your misstep.

Your nose scrunches up in disgust as you hold back a gag, scooping the discarded scraps back into the bin, the meat like mush beneath your fingertips and you reach for a bigger chunk, immediately startled by the more solid texture of it.

Joel usually grinded up the meat, making it easier for the pigs to consume. But this, it was a whole and solid chunk. You push the bin away gently and swipe away the chunks of congealed blood and fat and rub your thumb over the texture of it. Thick, solid. The color was dull and pale but there was no mistaking it. It was skin, but more notably amongst that was the tattoo. It clearly wasn’t the full piece, a couple letters surrounded by an intricate design where it was precisely sliced.

You’ve heard of people using pig skin for tattooing, wondering if Joel was taking up a side hobby amongst the already interesting career path he had taken, but something doesn’t sit well.

Five pigs, that was how many you’d seen since you arrived. You push the bin weakly toward the pin on your hands and knees until you can find the strength to dump it into the trough, allowing the metal to clatter to the ground carelessly as the pigs flood to their food. One, two, three…and two stragglers trotting over leisurely. Five pigs, not a single one missing.

The creak from the barn has you peering quickly over your shoulder, eyes landing on Joel as he leaned around the door, a perturbed look on his face. You thought it was worry for a split second and as he came closer—curious and cautious over the loud noises he had heard when his saw cut dead—it was.

He spots the blood on the ground first, a mess you had made. His eyes follow the trail of blood to the pin before they travel over you, covered in the rest of what didn’t make it inside the trough and then your legs—you don’t feel the sting until he kneels, his fingers running over your knees, tiny bits of dirt and gravel buried in the wound as his fingers continue down your shin. His eyes scan the expanse of the property before they’re locked back on you.

“Get inside,” It was a cold demand, detached and emotionless but you can’t move, frozen with a fear that didn’t hit you until Joel’s fingers touched your skin, “go on—you can walk, can’t you?”

Vehemently, you swallow down the lump in your throat. Human skin, not pig skin. You weren’t feeding the pigs scraps of other animals—it was humans. Weeks of clueless wandering, the itching feeling of uneasiness was confirmed for you in seconds. The bile in your stomach was threatening to escape as you walked on wobbly legs to the house, falling down into a chair tucked under the dining table, flexing shaky fingers into fists over and over, slowly in an effort to calm yourself alongside your practiced breaths.

Tommy wasn’t here. He would’ve come running otherwise—you vaguely remember the truck missing as you made your way inside, wondering how distracted you had to be to not realize he left. You hear Joel clearing his throat as he approaches the door, swinging it open harshly as it nearly pops off its hinges.

You make the effort to move, but Joel is quick to snap at you.

“Stay put,” He commands, eyes washing over your stoic expression.

You must’ve been a sight, wide-eyed and disturbed, following Joel’s every move. You were covered in a mix of your own blood and someone else’s—maybe not even one, it could be multiple. Joel seems to sense your stomach turning and lunges toward the trash bin in the kitchen and quickly shoves it in front of you, barely catching the vomit that spills from your throat as you retch your breakfast up forcefully.

Joel moves quietly amongst your sickened state, grabbing a few supplies that he slides onto the table beside you and waits, kneeled down at near eye level as you peer up, wiping the string of spit from your mouth and he looks enthralled, wondering what had caused such a chaotic string of events to unfold.

“You’re upset,” He notes, ripping open a package of cotton balls and pouring a handful onto the table, popping open the cap of isopropyl alcohol, dosing the cotton before he was pressing it into your leg without warning, earning a sharp whine of pain from you.

Was he expecting a different reaction?

“Fuck!” You shout, shoving the trash can aside as your fingers dig tightly into Joel’s shoulder, earning a fiery look from the man—but if he wasn’t willing to give you sympathy, you weren’t going to return the favor, “—you are too, are we pointing out the obvious?”

His fingers drag along the back of your calf, position your heel against his hips as allows no relief, haphazardly pouring a small amount of alcohol against the wound and you grip the wood of the chair so hard you swear you hear it crack.

“Jesus, ease up,” you snap at him, “I fell, I fucked up. I’m sorry, is that what you wanted to hear?”

“What’re you apologizin’ for?”

There’s a distinct rip of tape as you watch Joel smooth the gauze over your shin, securing the bandage over the wound before he works carefully at your knee, cleaning the cut before leaving it alone and moving to the opposite leg.

“Are you not mad at me?”

Joel chuckles dismissively, eyes flicking up toward you briefly, “Not everything is about you, girl.”

Fed up and simmering with your pain, you don’t think and the words slip from your lips before you can stop them, “Is it about Tommy then?”

Joel’s hands still, stopping the slow dragging lotion down your wound as he tilts his head up at you curiously, “You think I’m jealous of that little thing you got going on with my brother?” Joel shakes his head in amusement, his teeth peeking out beyond his grin, “I don’t get jealous. If I want somethin’, I’ll take it.”

The words pierce your chest, knowing there was deeper meaning beyond those words but you look away carelessly, feeling his less than gentle press into your skin as he continues.

“Business is slow, I don’t like it.” Joel admits, hearing the hesitancy in his voice as he admits it, but it seems harmless. In his mind, you have no clue of the nefarious nature behind their work.

Except, you do. Or at least you think you do.

“Is there any way to fix that?”

Joel shrugs, “Tommy’s workin’ the people around town, doing all the talking. We’ll see if it works.”

You have two choices.

Admit what you found or bide your time, poke around and see what you can find—you know that won’t go over well with Joel, or Tommy, even. So, you call his bluff.

Because something—be it Joel or that sinking feeling in your chest, tells you that whichever path you take would lead down the same road. You weren’t leaving here without a fight.

“Does the body reject it the first few times?”

You ignore the way your voice shakes, the recognition sitting with you, knowing that they had fed you the meat without your consent. Tommy, too. He’d sat there at the dinner table and tore into the meals all the same, less intrigued as his counterpart, but he was still an accomplice.

Joel’s expression changes, like switch flips. Bandaging up the opposite leg he rises, answering with a clipped, “Yeah.”

Silence amongst the clattering of items as Joel piled them into his arms and stored them away, another question slips past your lips.

“Was it on purpose?”

Joel’s brow raises, but he doesn’t answer.

“The tattoo,” You explain, “did you want me to find it? Or did you fuck up?”

At those words, he lunges. His hands grip the table behind you, pinning you against the chair as you lean back and look up, feeling the deep rumble in his chest.

“I don’t fuck up,” Joel retorts and your eyes stray from his hardened gaze, “No—look at me. Now.”

Your teeth dig into your bottom lip harshly, but you listen.

“You knew,” Joel challenges, “long before that, I’m sure. You could’ve ran if you wanted, granted you’ve got that busted car out front, but you could’ve ran. Hell, you could have while you were outside just now—but you listened to me.”

You know what angle he’s pushing, backing you into a corner and you feel it, that tingling feeling of guilt in your gut. He was right, you could have.

“What are you hidin’ in there?” He presses, eyes narrowing as his pointer finger taps gently at the center of your forehead, “I’m telling you we’re murderers, cannibals, and you haven’t screamed or shed a tear. You aren’t scared of me, are you?”

You shake your head and Joel speaks again, “Scared of dying though, right? What’s stoppin’ me from killing you? Tommy ain’t here.”

The finger on your forehead follows down the center of your face until Joel can reach your chin, tilting it upwards.

“You like it here, don’t you?”

There was no nod, but the subtle twitch in your cheek as you bite down hard on the inside of it was enough of an answer for Joel. Don’t give him those words, don’t give him the satisfaction.

“You killed before?”

Another question that goes unanswered, but your actions give you away.

You twist away, desperate to flee his touch. Joel isn’t done with you yet, one hand pressed against his knee as he leans down to your level and the other grabbing for your face, forcing you to look at him.

Admittedly, they weren’t all bad men. Some of them had tried to attack you on the road and ended up at the wrong end of a blade, but others—the few with bad timing and things you needed…it was collateral, in your eyes. Seven of them that you can remember, all unsuspecting men with an eye for the meek and defenseless.

You snarl slightly, fighting against his hold but Joel is stronger, much stronger.

“Knew you’d be useful,” Joel admits, “s’why I let you stick around. You got that…look about you.”

Your brow furrows in a mix of disgust and confusion and you catch the way Joel spaces out for a moment, admiring your expression and you twist, shoving him hard with both hands in an attempt to send him stumbling back. It only forces him off-balance and your attempt to flee is stopped by his large, bear-like grip on your forearm as he throws you against the wall, knocking the air from your lungs.

“Nuh uh,” Joel mocks, “can’t letcha go that easy, sugar.”

Joel's grip on your wrist is deadlocked, crossing your arms over your chest tight, pressing himself against you. Under this light, this closeness, you notice the small scars, years of healing left it fading into the skin and Joel notices you admiring for a brief moment—incredibly brief as your teeth clamp down around the side of his hand. Hard. It breaks through the skin and forces blood to spill from his hand and pool into your mouth before he pulls the wounded hand back and balls it into a fist, freezing as you spit his blood back into his face, an instant chuckle ripping from his throat.

“There you are, ya little killer,” He goaded, his eyes ticking up at the sound of a car door slamming outside and a wide grin spreading across his face, “well, isn’t that some fine timing.”

The door swings open a second later and Joel has already pushed away from you, nursing his flesh wound with a dry, clean kitchen towel, leaving Tommy to examine you both with a less than auspicious gaze, blood ringing your mouth and a smug expression on his brother's face.

You approach Tommy hesitantly, reaching for the door with a worried gaze but his hand comes up too, slamming against the flimsy frame and preventing you from roaming further.

“Can’t let you out, honey,” he apologizes, his voice more sincere than you’ve ever heard it to be before his head turns up toward his brother, waving around a white envelope addressed out to the both of them, “we gotta figure somethin’ out.”

He tosses the letter on the dining table and slides his hand down your forearm, a softer grip than his counterpart but it didn’t leave room for argument, jostling you around until he could get the front door locked, dead-bolted, and secured.

“This is home now, baby.” Tommy soothes.

Because really, where else did you have to go?

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