#and i need them on either side of my head while he—

[kirayamee]

.。o○ [ simon riley and his flustered wife ]

this was the other version of my work [ here ], because I see that some of you wanted a new version. sorry it took long! gotta work on the list in my drafts, beloved (* >ω<)

MDNI 18+

cw: oral (m receiving)

ㅡ

You're always a flustered little kitten that honestly Simon loves to tease. So, when he discovered your silly interest in getting your head patted or your hair being played with, he got such a wonderful idea on how to make use of your interest.

He got you between his legs, kneeling on the floor while he got to sit nicely on the couch. What a sight, he thought, you and your flushed cheeks with your hair untied... so, so pretty.

"Let's try again," he whispered with a subtle smile, which almost looked like he was smirking down at you. "I know you can do it, my kitten."

With his encouragement, eyes locked with his as your lips slowly part to meet the leaky tip of his cock. Simon's gentle nods of approval guide your lips to part further as you allow yourself to swallow his cockhead. The taste and smell of him filled your senses as you gently, carefully swirl your tongue, flattening it to lap on his slit as you listened to his heavy breathing.

Simon ran his fingers through your strands, making sure every gap of his fingers brushed your hair, before he tied them up into one lock of his hand. "Deeper, kitten... you can do it."

His words were like both command and wish, making your eyes widen with arousal. Surely, you took him into your mouth, every inch delving into the warmth of your mouth. It left Simon breathless, head tipping back as his mouth gaped open in an attempt to calm himself.

"Good, kitten, so good..." He never stopped guiding you. The tips of his fingers would dig into your scalp, before carefully rubbing your scalp without trying to push your head forward. Your eyes have never seen so pretty when you realized what he did, and he smirked - but so sweetly.

"Like that, my love?" He coos, shuddering breath escaping him as you take more of him, until his cockhead rests against the back of your throat, and he almost loses it. "Oh, fuck... kitten."

Almost all in, and Simon was holding back from not looking too long at the way your matte-tinted lips wrapped around his thick shaft, or else he would actually lose it and start to fuck your mouth. "Move for me, will you, sweetheart?"

And you did, under his guidance, his fingers threading between your strands, making your head comfortable while giving him head. You could taste him, spilling down your throat from how aroused he was, the way his leg trembling on either side of your head.

Your eyes never left his as you began to suck, bobbing your head up and down along his length. His grip on your hair tightened when he started to buck. Once. Twice. Thrice. Until he escaped a growl of warning. His eyes were heavy with lust when he looked down at you, and his hips started to move, dominating your pace with his own thrust.

The gentle thread became a strong grip, but your teary eyes which were filled with pleasure told him everything that you need. He barely held back as he started to thrust into your mouth and received muffled moans from you, making him throb inside, ready to explode any second now.

"Yes, kitten. You've been good, and I'm sure you'll love the reward."

ㅡ

kirayamee, 2025 ][ do not copy

note: I wanna tag you who asked for the new ver but I'm scared ( ´∀`)

[vigilante-3073]

Daddy's Credit Card

Cullen Family x Female Vampire Reader

Jacob Black x Female Reader

PART 12

Summary: Y/N continues to spend increasing amounts of time with Jacob and Carlisle worries that she isn't taking her health seriously.

TW: Arguments, mentions of medical testing/treatments/injuries

Carlisle paced the floor of his office, clicking Y/N's contact on his screen and lifting the phone up to his ear. Carlisle had given Y/N a lot of leeway, but her tests showed that her condition was continuing to worsen.

Carlisle understood that she may be feeling better, but she shouldn't be pushing herself. Y/N and Jacob had been spending a concerning amount of time away from the house in the last few weeks. Y/N had been dismissive, refusing testing while continuing to disappear for hours on end with Jacob.

Carlisle had previously encouraged them to spend time together, but now he was beginning to regret it.

Carlisle had been waiting for Y/N to return home all night and had been calling her for the last two hours. Carlisle couldn't shake the tension that blanketed his body.

What if she was injured? What if Jacob had lost her? What if she had done something stupid?

Carlisle shook his head with a huff as he heard Y/N's voicemail message for the tenth time in the last hour.

"Still nothing?" Edward questioned from the doorway, Carlisle shook his head.

"I haven't been able to reach her," He said.

"Bella hasn't been able to get ahold of Jacob either," Edward stated.

"I have a bad feeling about this," Carlisle muttered, setting his cellphone down on the edge of his desk.

Edward turned his head slightly, both of them falling silent as they heard the faint sound of Jacob's motorcycle approaching. Edward and Carlisle wordlessly made their way out of his office and through the house.

Carlisle descended the stairs with Edward following closely behind him. He opened the door and stepped outside as Jacob helped Y/N off the back of his motorcycle.

"Are you alright? I've been calling you for hours," Carlisle said.

"I'm fine," Y/N replied dismissively.

"Where have you been?" Edward asked, crossing his arms.

"Not that it's any of your business, but I spent the night at Jacob's house," Y/N snapped.

"Y/N, you should have come home last night... What if something happened while you were away? Every second counts when dealing with an unexplained illness like this," Carlisle questioned.

"I'm not going to spend whatever time I have left as a lab rat, Carlisle," Y/N stated, walking up the stairs and into the house without another word.

"It was my idea for her to spend the night. Not hers," Jacob said.

"I appreciate that you care for her, but her situation is very precarious at this time, Jacob. She needs to be here where we can intervene quickly if something goes wrong," Carlisle replied.

"She just wants some normalcy. I get that you all want to keep her in this little bubble, but she should have the chance to actually live before she dies," Jacob stated, making his way up to the house.

Carlisle shifted on his feet, turning towards his son, "This is not going to end well," Edward muttered.

Carlisle didn't reply, reluctantly returning back into the house and walking up to Y/N's bedroom. He lingered in the doorway, watching her as she shrugged off her jacket with a grimace.

"Are you in pain?" Carlisle questioned.

"I'm fine," Y/N snapped.

Carlisle sighed softly, "I don't want you to be angry with me, Y/N. I worry because I care and want you to be safe," He said.

"I hate what my life is turning into... I can't do anything without everyone being all over me about it," Y/N said angrily, tossing her jacket on the bed.

Carlisle tensed as the hem of her shirt lifted slightly, "I need to see your back," He said.

"We're in the middle of a conversation," Y/N snapped.

"Yes, you can get back to scolding me after you let me look at you," Carlisle said, stepping closer to her.

Y/N rolled her eyes, allowing him to lift up the hem of her shirt. Her side and back were covered in large purple bruises.

"Did you get into an accident while you were away?" Carlisle asked.

"No, why?" Y/N replied.

"You're covered in bruises, Y/N," He stated.

Her brow furrowed in confusion as she looked down at her side. Carlisle touched the skin carefully with his fingertips, applying gentle pressure to the bruise.

"Does that hurt?" He questioned, she nodded.

"You didn't notice any bruising or pain overnight?" Carlisle asked.

"No," Y/N said.

"I want to check your vitals, take some blood and do an ultrasound," Carlisle listed, gently moving his fingertips over her ribcage.

She made a soft noise in her throat, grimacing as she flinched away from his touch.

"I think your ribs may be broken," Carlisle stated.

"How? I didn't even do anything," Y/N said.

"I don't know," Carlisle replied.

...

Edward sat in the chair at Y/N's bedside, silently watching over her as she slept. Carlisle's testing had revealed that Y/N's body was almost entirely depleted of calcium and the clotting factors in her blood were concerningly low. This meant that her bones were incredibly brittle and any bleeding could easily become unmanageable.

Carlisle quickly placed her on bedrest, restricting her activity as much as he possibly could. X-rays revealed that Y/N had multiple broken ribs and fractured bones all over her body.

The pain soon became apparent and Carlisle ensured that Y/N was given the necessary medications to relieve her discomfort. She had been sleeping steadily for the last few hours, only stirring when the pain began to resurface.

Y/N shifted with a grimace and Edward sat forward in his chair. He watched her as she struggled to find a comfortable position before standing up from his seat. Edward moved over to the door, opening it and leaning out into the hallway.

"She's in pain," He stated.

Carlisle nodded, standing up from his seat and making his way down the hallway. Jacob stood as Carlisle slipped into the room, slowly approaching Edward as Y/N was given another dose of pain medication.

"I can take over," Jacob offered, Edward nodded.

Jacob lingered by the doorway as Edward returned to the living room. Carlisle lifted the blankets over Y/N before quietly exiting the bedroom.

"Is this the only thing we're doing for her now? Dosing her up when the pain becomes too much?" Jacob questioned.

"I don't like this either, Jacob. But there's nothing else I can do for her right now. Tests are pending and hopefully we'll get some good news," Carlisle said.

"We both know that she didn't want to end up like this," Jacob stated.

"It was unavoidable," Carlisle replied simply.

"We could have let her go out on her own terms," Jacob said, Carlisle tensed for a moment before steeling himself.

"Maybe you should return home for a while, Jacob. This situation doesn't need to become more difficult than it already is," Carlisle said calmly.

"I'm not leaving her," Jacob responded, making his way over to Y/N's bed.

Carlisle didn't reply, closing the door quietly before returning to sit with his family. Jacob stepped out of his shoes, lifting the blankets and laying down in the bed behind Y/N.

Jacob shifted closer to her, carefully wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her body back against his chest. Y/N exhaled softly as she settled back into his warmth, body relaxing in his grasp.

Her fingers brushed over the back of his hand gently as she intertwined their fingers, "Thank you for staying," She mumbled.

"Can't think of anywhere else I'd rather be," Jacob replied.

...

Y/N's strength and mobility had become increasingly limited as the days went on. She could barely manage to make it to the bathroom without being carried. Y/N had lost a great deal of weight, her bones stuck out from under her skin as she wasted away to nothing.

Carlisle tried to get her repositioned in bed or moved to a chair to keep her from resting on any newly exposed bony prominences. The last thing she needed was a bedsore on top of everything else she was already going through. Carlisle had her on fluids the majority of the time, but her nutritional intake was virtually inexistent.

Y/N couldn't keep anything down and the constant vomiting had led to a tear forming in her esophagus. She had been throwing up blood for days and she remained anemic after countless blood transfusions.

Nothing was helping and Carlisle was running out of options. Y/N was miserable and everyone could clearly see that she wasn't getting any better.

Carlisle had been moving her out into the living room every day, hoping that a change of scenery or some television would distract her.

It didn't.

Y/N barely spoke, staring off into space as she struggled to cope with the pain in her throat and body. Jacob stayed close to her at all times, watching over her for as long as he could before eventually falling into a dreamless sleep.

Y/N slept on the couch with her body leaned back against Jacob's side. She shifted slightly in her sleep and he looked down at her, waiting for her to settle before his eyes returned to the television.

Bella watched him from across the room, smiling slightly at how caring he was. Y/N was truly lucky to have him at her side during such a hard time.

"What are you smiling about?" Edward questioned quietly, standing beside her.

"I think he likes her," Bella replied, watching Jacob as he pulled the blanket up over Y/N's body.

Edward huffed a laugh, "Of course he does... They understand each other in a way that most people don't," He said.

"I can hear you," Jacob muttered, not bothering to tear his eyes away from the football game on the screen.

Y/N brow furrowed as she opened her eyes, "Are you okay?" Jacob questioned.

She shook her head, turning slightly with a grimace, "Wanna go back to bed?" Emmett asked, Y/N nodded.

Emmett stood up from his seat, moving over to her, "I can take her," Jacob offered.

"Nah, don't worry about it. You stay here, I can sit with her for a while," Emmett said.

"Okay, let me know when you want to trade off," Jacob replied.

"Will do," Emmett nodded, bending down and sliding his arms underneath her body carefully.

Emmett lifted her up and she let out a cry of pain as a soft cracking noise filled the room. Carlisle shot up from his chair, rushing over to them as Jacob shifted off the couch.

"Lay her down as gently as you can manage. Edward, get the portable x-ray machine and bring it over here," Carlisle instructed quickly.

Emmett lowered her down on the couch again, removing his arms from under her body, "I'm so sorry. I don't even know what I did," Emmett said.

"Her bones are incredibly fragile. You were as gentle with her as you could have been," Carlisle replied, kneeling down on the floor beside the couch.

"Where does it hurt? Your back?" He asked.

"Yeah," Y/N whimpered, eyes glossing over with tears as her body trembled.

Edward returned with the x-ray machine, Carlisle slid the board underneath her before taking a few images. He viewed the pictures for a moment before turning off the machine.

"How bad is it?" Jacob questioned, holding onto Y/N's hand.

"Her back is broken.... We should get her back into her bed and I think we need to refrain from moving her," Carlisle stated.

"What kind of life is that?" Jacob questioned.

"Jacob, please, not now," Carlisle said firmly.

"No, we can't keep pretending that she's gonna be fine. We need to talk about what we're doing for her because this isn't working. She's throwing up blood, can't eat, can't talk, her bones shatter like glass and she's in pain every single day," Jacob listed angrily.

"You people claim to care about her, but this isn't what loving someone should look like. You're selfish. All of you. She told you exactly what she wanted and none of you even considered it. Y/N deserves to make the choice about how her life ends, not any of you," Jacob continued.

"You really want to kill the girl that you love, Jacob?" Edward questioned, his tone was eerily calm.

Jacob glared at him, "I want what's best for her," He spat.

"Carlisle just needs more time. He could find the cure for whatever this is tomorrow and it'll be for nothing if she's dead," Edward snapped.

"She should have-," Jacob began.

"There isn't one," Carlisle stated, swiftly cutting Jacob off.

The room fell silent, "What?" Jacob asked softly.

"There isn't a cure... I don't know what this is, neither does the Volturi," Carlisle said.

"You said that we weren't going to involve them in this," Edward said.

"I had no other choice. I tried everything that I could, but found nothing... The Volturi was my last option and they've never heard of anything like this," Carlisle said.

"How long have you known this?" Rosalie questioned.

"Two months," Carlisle stated.

Jacob felt his body temperature rise, anger burning like a fire in his gut. Edward looked over at him, "You need to go before you hurt Y/N," He instructed.

"This isn't over," Jacob growled as he stormed out of the room, bumping harshly into Carlisle as he raced out of the house.

"Jacob," Y/N called softly, crying out in pain as she attempted to sit up.

"He'll be back, he just needs some time to calm down," Bella assured, desperately hoping that she was right.

Jacob ignored her cry as he rushed into the woods, skin burning with fury as his body trembled. He threw off his clothes, breathing heavily as the wolf took over. He sprinted through the forest as fast as he could, claws digging into the dirt as he ran.

Jacob had never been more enraged in his entire life. These people were monsters. Carlisle had known that he couldn't save Y/N for two months and hadn't said a thing.

Jacob believed that Carlisle would figure out what had caused her illness and cure her. He hoped that they could be together for more than her final days and he felt like a fool.

They had both been through so much and Jacob had been planning a future that they could never have. Jacob wasn't sure when Y/N became such an important person in his life, but she had found a way into his heart.

Jacob had fallen in love with her and now he would have to watch her die.

Bella had shattered his heart and he had finally started to put the pieces back together when he met Y/N. They were two broken people who needed someone on their side.

Jacob wasn't ready to lose her, but he knew that he didn't have a choice.

[headdinthewall]

DOMESTICITY ──  g.clarke  ౨ৎ ⋆｡˚

summary : what it’s like living with george (not with arthur & chris) a/n : high chance i’ll do this for all the boys // i realise some of these don’t take place in the clarkey x reader home, but i wanted to include them anyway so yeah content : established relationship ,, mentions of sex ,, drinking

─────── AT THE BEGINNING, it’s slightly weird and awkward as you both take time to adjust to spending practically every waking moment together. You find it strange that you could turn one corner in your house and he’d just be right there, but after a couple of weeks, it becomes a regular, comforting thing that you both grow to love.

𐙚 At first, when it came to sleeping in the same bed, you were all cuddled up, his chest to your back or your head on his chest, either if the two were your go-to sleeping positions, but now? You fall asleep barely touching each other. It’s not that you despise touching him when you sleep, it’s more so that you both understand each others sleeping patterns and habits, for example, George found out that you kicked in your sleep the very, very hard way, so now he knows to give you space while you drift off. It doesn’t bother you both that much, you both end up in each other’s arms by the time you wake up anyway. However, when he does his late night streams and you fall asleep in the back, he will crawl in and spoon you once he’s done, but if you’re both in bed at the same time? Nah, opposite ends.

“Ow!” He hissed as your foot came into sharp contact with your shin. He turned his head, only to see you fast asleep. You whined in your sleep, rolling over and completely invading his personal space. Your arm and leg sprawled across his body and your head on his collarbone. He sighed and patted your thigh, hooking it over his waist so it was more comfortable for him.

𐙚 Couch cuddles are always the best, and it helps that George is constantly warm. If one of you is working, you’ll use his side as a back rest and his arm will drape across the back of the sofa so that both of your laps are accessible to do whatever work you need to. However, if you’re both indulging in your free time together, your legs are across his lap and your head is on his chest while one of his arms falls across your waist and the other on your thighs. Sometimes, if he’s just finished filming and you’re chilling on the sofa, he’ll just come and lie on top of you without warning, hands up your shirt and on your back, head on your boobs and making sure your legs are wrapped tightly around his chest.

“Missed you today.” He mumbled against your chest, fingers stroking your skin delicately. You chuckled slightly, “You were filming with Chris for four hours. He’s literally one of your best friends.” “Yeah? And? You’re my girlfriend. I’d rather film videos with you.”

𐙚 Speaking of filming videos together, you like to film ‘day in the life’ videos and mini blogs for your youtube channel. You also occasionally post the odd ‘advice for teenagers’ video for girls about maintaining physical health, aimed to help those who may not have had good mothers. So sometimes George appears in the back of those, waving or coming up to you just to show you something he found funny or an edit of either of you. But he does feature in every one of your vlogs at some point.

“So … yeah, honestly your skincare routine doesn’t need fifty million steps and you don’t need— What are you doing?” You laughed as George just stood in the doorway of the kitchen. You grabbed the camera and flipped it so that you were filming him. “What are you filming?” He asked, rubbing his chin and walking over. “Advice for teenage girls on hygiene and stuff.” “Oh, I’d know all about that.” He joked, holding a finger up. “Yeah, because you have a vagina, George.” You rolled your eyes, setting your camera back down. “Ohhhh, it’s one of those videos.”

𐙚 You’re in the back of his videos a lot and he purposefully leaves in the parts of the video where you call for him in the back. He likes to do this because he enjoys seeing all the comments getting excited about your feature, even if it’s just your voice (it’s also a subtle brag that he’s still in a relationship with you).

“Would I do Inside again? Yeah, absol—“ “George!” Your voice shouted out from the living room. “Yeah?!” “The TV stopped working!” He gives a deadpan look to the camera and then the video cuts to when he continues talking.

𐙚 You wake up before him for your morning pilates workout, and he has the same reaction every morning when he wakes up and walks out the room and sees you:

“Nice!” George said in his ‘funny’ high-pitched voice before smacking your bottom while you were on your hands and knees. “George!” You exclaimed, disguising your attempt to kick him as just doing your workout.

𐙚 He tries to get you to go to the gym or on a run with him, but you’re fully against the idea of going anywhere male-dominated, even though you’re with him. He doesn’t push you to do anything you don’t want to, but every now and then he’ll bring it back up again.

“Do you not even want to try? I’ll be with you and I’ll help if you get embarrassed or whatever.” He offered again. “I mean … I just don’t really want to go, I’ve seen too many videos of weird guys and the idea of that happening makes me feel uncomfortable.” He frowned at your response, not because he’s mad but because he doesn’t like the idea of you being uncomfortable, “I promise you, if any guy even tried it with you, we’d either leave immediately, or he’d end up with a dumbbell in his head.”

𐙚 Eventually he does get you to go to the gym with him, and he’s constantly keeping an eye on you and spotting you. He makes sure that you’re 100% okay with your next rep and sets before starting on his own thing, but he makes sure he’s always no less than five metres away from you.

𐙚 The house is never messy messy. It can get a bit hectic and disorderly at times, but because you both don’t work nine to fives and tend to have quite a bit of spare time on your hands, you make sure the house is in good condition.

𐙚 Max and Chris have said on a podcast before that they don’t think George’s sex drive is that high, which used to be true, and then you two moved in together. You have sex at least once a week, sometimes more if your calendars aren’t too full. If it’s a really busy week, you’ll just exchange oral and handjobs, which neither of you complain about.

𐙚 Sex mainly happens in the bedroom, of course, but he’ll occasionally switch it up and start initiating things elsewhere, for example the kitchen or the living room, in which instance it’s a then and there type of situation. If it’s on the couch, you’re most likely to be on top, with him looking up at you like you’re an absolute goddess. If it’s in the kitchen, the chances are your chest will be pressed against the counter and his hand in your hair or on your hips. He likes to tease a lot, which leads to foreplay taking longer than actual sex.

“George,” You whispered against his lips as you straddled his lap and his hand squeezed the fat of your waist and his other groped at your chest. Your own hands moved to pop the button of your shorts and unzip them, and as enticing as it was for him, he only let his hands dip to your inner thighs, dancing along the sensitive skin there. “You’re so pretty,” He hummed, helping drag your crotch against his.

𐙚 He 100% brings you along to the pub golf videos, he can even sense that Chris is going to ask before he does.

“Mate, do you think—“ Chris was cut off by George, “Yeah, reader can come on the next pub golf.”

𐙚 Because of his miraculous ability to remain sober for longer than the average person, he’s always the one looking after you on the way home. If you’re not passed out, knackered by the constant walking and drinking, you’re rowdy and restless, meaning he may have to physically hold you down against him so that you don’t bother anybody on the train.

“Oh my God! Arthur—“ “Reader, my darling, you’re being very loud.” George says calmly, holding your face in his hands, “Let’s be quiet, yeah?” You pout and huff, slumping against him, but just a minute later, you shoot up, ready to start loudly proclaiming a drunken statement, but he’s quick to hold you this time, despite not being a man of PDA himself, if it’s the only way to keep you calm, he’ll do it.

𐙚 Hangovers always hit you like a truck, so after nights out, he always makes sure to wake up before you so he can get you some water and paracetamol.

𐙚 He’s not overprotective or easily jealous, because he’s secure in his relationship, but if you’re out and he spots a guy constantly giving you bedroom eyes and looking like he’s about to make moves, George’s arm is around your waist in a split second, fiddling with the belt loop on the front of your jeans.

𐙚 If you’re in uni and need help studying/ revising, he’s there at the drop of the hat. It doesn’t matter if he’s streaming of editing or filming his next video, the moment you ask for help he’s at the couch, reading out your notes and leaving gaps for you to fill in or reciting flash cards to you. If it’s anything practical, like debating and law, he’s happy to play any role you need him to, whether that’s the one being prosecuted or the opposing lawyer.

“Your honour, she’s just blatantly lying now.” George says in his ‘client’ voice, obviously trying to throw some fun into it so you don’t get burnt out. “George!” You laugh, “Well, actually, you could say that, but you need to explain why I’m lying.” “Uhh … your honour, I said she’s lying because I want this to be over so I can take her clothes off.” “That’d get you kicked out immediately.” You snorted. “Good thing it’s not my course then.”

𐙚 Arguments aren’t frequent at all, and when they do happen it’s usually because one of you has had a bad day and is just lashing out, or because one of you has been doing something that’s been annoying the other. They’re resolved fairly quickly, if he’s in the wrong he’ll apologise and buy you some flowers and a shirt you’ve had in your wish list for a long time and provide lots of long, randomly placed kisses. If you’re in the wrong, you’ll make his favourite dinner and lay out the kitchen island nice and romantically with candles and wine, even sometimes going as far to leave a little note on his napkin saying ‘I’m sorry! I love you, Clarkey’.

𐙚 Home-cooked meals are a constant thing you do. Usually it’s you cooking, and he’ll sit at the kitchen counter, doing bills or editing videos, which you don’t mind at all. You still get his company and he’ll occasionally turn his laptop to you and ask you which font you like more, or which colour to use etc. On a Friday or Saturday (sometimes both if you’re feeling lazy) you’ll order a takeout or physically go out on a date.

𐙚 Dates don’t happen too frequently because you both admitted that you enjoy spending every minute with each other in the house anyway, and as long as you are spending time together, the way in which it happens doesn’t bother you that much. When you do go on dates, it’s usually to a fancy restaurant or he’ll take you to a place you’ve been talking about for a while (museum, sealife centre etc.)

𐙚 If you’re not together, he’ll still find a way to reference you in whatever he’s doing, whether it’s filming a podcast ep or a football challenge video, if he’s featured in it, your name is mentioned at least three times in it.

George is cackling as Arthur fell while trying to kick the ball, “This reminds me of that time reader tried—“ “Oh, George, shut up about your girlfriend! We get it! You’re finally getting some action!” Chris exclaimed, though it was obviously jokingly — he’d never intentionally make fun of you.

𐙚 If you’re getting hate online and he sees it, he’s immediately replying to the comment and standing up for you and if it becomes a frequent thing (like this) he’ll make a short tiktok about it.

“If you’re hating on my girlfriend but still claiming to be a fan, then don’t. It’s sort of fake, and I don’t appreciate any nastiness towards her, especially when she’s just being herself.”

[solrburst]

nothing but miles — joel miller x reader

summary: You was just looking to run — crop top, high heels, and nowhere to go. Joel Miller picked you up on the side of the road, not expecting to lose control over the sharp-mouthed girl.

warnings: age gap (20s/40s), light daddy kink, smut (+18), smoking, car sex, comfort, NO CORDYCEPS (alternative universe), dirty talk, no reader description (gif is only for the aesthetic), toxic family mention, masturbation, protective joel

author's note: saw the sabrina's new song teaser and again had to do something, let me know if you want part 2 bc i really liked them together

word count: 6,1k (sorry not sorry)

The heat off the asphalt was enough to cook your feet in your heels. You'd been standing there for hours — thumb out, half-squinting against the sun, half-hoping no one would stop, because what then?

But when the dusty old truck slowed down — window rolled down, music low, engine growling — you didn’t hesitate.

Not even when you saw the man behind the wheel.

Late forties. Graying hair under a faded cap. Hands big and scarred on the steering wheel. That kind of face — rough, sun-lined, tired in a way that didn’t scare you. Just made you curious.

He looked you over — not in a gross way, just... assessing.

“You runnin’ from somethin’?” he asked.

You smiled, sweet and sharp.

“Would it make you not pick me up?”

He huffed. “Probably should.”

“But here you are,” you said, opening the door.

He didn’t argue.

You climbed in, tiny shorts sticking to the seat, crop top already damp with sweat. He glanced at your legs, then stared firmly back at the road.

“Where you headed?”

You leaned your head back against the seat, exhaled.

“Anywhere that’s not back there.”

He nodded, like that made sense.

“Name’s Joel,” he said after a few miles.

You looked over, smiled like you were already trouble. “You always pick up girls in crop tops and heels, Joel?”

He gave you a quick look, the corner of his mouth twitching.

“Only the ones with no damn sense.”

You grinned. “Then I’m your girl.”

He shook his head, but didn’t stop smiling. Didn’t stop the truck either.

You were about twenty minutes out of town, the silence between you only broken by the low hum of the radio and the wind slipping through the cracked window.

Joel tapped the wheel once with his thumb, like he was weighing whether or not to say it.

“You said you were gettin’ away,” he said finally. “That still mean trouble?”

You looked over at him, sunglasses slipping down your nose, mouth tugging into that tired smirk you’d learned to live behind.

“Doesn’t it always?”

He didn’t press. Just waited.

So you exhaled.

“My mom’s a piece of work,” you said. “Been that way since I was born. Always picked the worst kind of men — the mean ones, the drunk ones, the ones who looked at me too long when they thought she wasn’t watching.”

Joel’s grip on the wheel shifted.

“She’s got a new one now. Fresh outta jail. Smells like vodka and piss, thinks calling me ‘sweetheart’ is flirting.”

You looked back at the road, jaw tight. “She told me if I didn’t like it, I could leave.” You shrugged. “So I did.”

Joel didn’t speak for a while. Didn’t need to. Just kept his hand steady on the wheel, eyes forward.

But his voice, when it came, was low. Measured.

“You got people who’d be lookin’ for you?”

“Doubt it,” you said, folding your arms. “No one there ever looked for me when I was right in front of ‘em.”

Joel’s jaw worked once. Then he just nodded.

“Good,” he said. “Means no one’s gonna come screwin’ this up.”

You looked at him again — and for the first time, his gaze met yours and held it. Not pity. Not fear. Just a solid, grounding presence. You blinked, then laughed — short and sharp. “That your way of sayin’ I’m safe in your truck?”

He smirked faintly. “Safer here than anywhere else you’ve been, sounds like.”

Joel kept driving, eyes on the road, fingers loose on the wheel. You were still watching the trees blur past when he spoke again — quiet, like it didn’t matter if you answered or not.

“I work construction,” he said. “Mostly framing and roofing. Sometimes electrical, if I can get paid enough to crawl under a crawlspace in ninety degrees.”

You smiled, glanced at him. “So, basically, you’re a sweaty man with a toolbelt and calloused hands.”

Joel snorted. “That’s one way to put it.”

“And the ladies of Texas let you stay single?”

He gave you a side-eye. “Never said I was single.”

You arched a brow.

Joel smirked. “I am, though.”

“Mmm-hmm.” You sipped from the lukewarm bottle of water he’d handed you earlier. “So you’re a grumpy builder with trust issues. Tell me you’ve got a tragic backstory too, and we’re halfway to a Netflix drama.”

He laughed — really laughed. The sound was rough, rusty, like it didn’t get used often but felt damn good coming out. “Jesus,” he muttered, shaking his head. “You’re somethin’ else.”

You leaned back, putting your boots on the dash like you owned the damn truck. “You’re welcome.” Joel rolled his eyes but didn’t push your feet off.

“Live with my brother, too,” he added after a pause. “Tommy. Younger. Loud as hell. Thinks I’m ancient.”

“How ancient are you?”

He gave you a long look. “Forty-six.”

You whistled. “Damn. And you’re still carrying drywall like that? I’m impressed.”

“Better than hitchhiking in stripper heels,” he shot back.

You gasped, hand on your chest. “Rude. These are classy heels.”

“Sure,” he said, deadpan. “Real classy.”

You grinned, stretching out. “So, Joel the grumpy builder. You just pick up stray girls for entertainment?”

“No,” he said. “Only the ones that talk like you do.”

That quiet heat buzzed in the air for just a second too long.

The gas station popped up like a desert oasis — flickering sign, two pumps, and a tiny convenience store attached to a diner that looked like it hadn’t changed since the ‘80s.

Joel pulled in and killed the engine with a sigh, stretching his arms over the steering wheel. “Gas first, food second.”

“Look at you,” you said, already climbing out. “So responsible.”

He gave you a look. “Don’t touch anything while I’m gone.”

“Like I haven’t heard that before.”

Joel shook his head, muttering something about “smart-ass” under his breath as he grabbed his wallet and walked toward the pump. You wandered inside the store-turned-diner — a cramped little place with two booths, dusty candy racks, and a humming soda fridge. The cashier gave you a lazy look and a bored nod.

You found a menu taped to the counter: Breakfast all day. Burgers after noon. No substitutions. No bullshit.

Charming.

Joel came in a few minutes later, brushing his hands off on his jeans. “Pump’s slow as hell. Go ahead and order if you want.”

You gave him a mock-salute. “Two coffees, two burgers, and fries. And a cookie the size of my head, because we deserve it.”

Joel raised a brow. “You order like you’ve been living off granola bars and sarcasm.”

You grinned. “Because I have.”

You took a seat by the window, and Joel slid into the other side of the booth. His leg brushed yours under the table — not intentional, but not avoided either. He looked around the place, then back at you.

“You do this a lot?” he asked.

“What, flirt with older men at gas stations?”

Joel’s mouth twitched.

You shrugged, a little more serious. “No. Just… get in cars and drive. Or run. Or leave.”

Joel nodded slowly, eyes on you now, but still quiet.

“I’m not used to people sticking around,” you admitted.

He took a sip of water, then looked you dead in the eye.

“I stick,” he said simply.

You didn’t respond.

Didn’t know how.

But when the food came, and your knee brushed his again under the table?

You didn’t move away.

You reached across the table, swiping one of Joel’s fries without asking and he raised an eyebrow. You popped it in your mouth slowly, licking a bit of salt off your finger. “Stealing fries is a love language, you know.”

Joel didn’t blink. “Good thing we’re not in love.”

You smirked. “Not yet, old man.”

He paused, mid-bite, then gave you a flat look. “You’re about three seconds from wearin’ that milkshake I haven’t ordered yet.”

You grinned, teeth catching your bottom lip. “That a threat or a promise?”

Joel leaned back, shaking his head. “Jesus.”

You chased it, toe nudging his boot under the table. “You always this grumpy when a pretty girl flirts with you?”

“I ain’t grumpy,” he muttered, stabbing a fry into his ketchup. “I’m just not used to gettin’ flirted with by someone dressed like a pop song.”

You gasped, mock-offended. “This is classic summer hitchhiker chic.”

Joel gave you a long, slow once-over — not leering, just very plainly looking.

“Chic, huh,” he said. “More like trouble with a side of sass.”

“And you keep letting me ride in your truck,” you said, taking a dramatic sip of your soda. “Makes me think you like the sass.”

Joel didn’t answer right away.

Just stared at you for a long moment — jaw tight, mouth twitching like he was fighting a smirk.

Then, finally:

“I like the quiet better.”

You leaned forward, chin in your hand, eyes locked on his.

“Then why do you keep talking to me, Miller?”

Joel picked up his burger, but not before saying, low and without looking at you: “Because you’re fun to look at when your mouth is running.”

That shut you up for a full two seconds.

And Joel? He savored that silence like it was his favorite damn meal on the table.

You stepped out of the diner with Joel behind you, the sky darkening into a deep velvet blue. The air had cooled just enough to raise goosebumps on your skin, your legs bare beneath the hem of your tiny shorts.

You were laughing — something about the way Joel had picked all the tomatoes off his burger like it offended him personally.

And then you heard it.

“Damn, baby — if I knew they served that in there, I would’ve ordered a piece for myself.”

You stopped. Joel did too.

The voice came from across the lot — some guy in a sweat-stained cap leaning against his rusted-out car, eyes tracking you like you were a goddamn object. You rolled your eyes, about to throw something snappy back — you weren’t new to comments like that — but before you could open your mouth, Joel stepped in front of you.

He didn’t raise his voice.

Didn’t posture.

Just walked straight up to the guy, calm and cold.

“What’d you just say?” Joel asked.

The guy smirked. “Relax, man. Just admiring the view. Ain’t illegal to look.”

Joel tilted his head. “But talkin’ like that? Real fucking stupid.”

The guy straightened up, but Joel was already in his space — not touching, just standing there with that weight, like the ground might crack under his boots. “You say another thing about her,” Joel said, voice low and even, “and I’ll knock your teeth down your throat so you can admire her from the ER.”

Silence. You could feel your heartbeat in your throat.

The guy muttered something — probably a curse — and ducked back into his car.

Joel didn’t watch him go. He turned back to you, jaw tight, chest rising a little faster than usual.

“You okay?” he asked, eyes scanning your face.

You gave him a lopsided smile. “That was... hot.”

Joel let out a breath — somewhere between a sigh and a laugh — and ran a hand over his jaw.

“You’re trouble,” he muttered.

“And you’re stuck with me,” you said, stepping up beside him again. “Better get used to it.”

Joel looked at you for a long second — then opened the truck door, the tiniest smile playing on his lips.

“Get in, brat.”

You did. And this time, when you buckled your seatbelt, you couldn’t stop smiling either.

The road stretched dark and long ahead of you, headlights cutting through the silence like a blade.

Joel didn’t say much after the diner — just muttered something about “idiots” and kept his eyes on the road. But you could feel the way his jaw was still tense, his knuckles flexing on the steering wheel every so often.

You glanced at him, then grinned to yourself.

You slipped your shoes off and slowly propped your feet up on the dashboard, wiggling your toes.

Joel glanced over. “Careful. I might slam on the brakes.”

You stretched, letting your legs extend just enough for him to notice. “Why?” you asked, voice sweet. “Distracting?”

Joel didn’t answer.

Didn’t need to. You caught the slight shift in his posture, the way his grip tightened on the wheel, the flick of his eyes over your thighs before he forced them back to the road.

You smiled, biting the inside of your cheek.

“You always get this tense when a girl stretches her legs?”

“I get this tense when someone treats my dash like a damn footrest.”

You gasped dramatically. “Are you mad, Joel?”

“Not mad.” He exhaled through his nose. “Just real close to pulling over and remindin’ you what respect looks like.”

Your heart jumped — not from fear.

From anticipation.

But you weren’t done yet.

You shifted again, twisting to face him more directly, one arm draped along the back of the seat.

“So,” you said, voice lower now, “you always that protective of every girl you pick up on the side of the road? Or just the ones in short shorts?”

Joel gave you that look — the one that made you feel like the temperature inside the cab had just jumped ten degrees.

“You talk a lot,” he said.

You smiled wide. “And you keep listening.”

He didn’t deny it. Didn’t say anything at all — just kept driving, the muscles in his forearm flexing with every mile, his jaw locked tight. And still, you stayed exactly where you were — legs on the dash, grin on your lips, and the heat between you slowly, deliciously rising with every passing second.

You leaned forward and popped open the glove box without asking.

Joel glanced over. “What the hell are you—”

You pulled out a few loose cigars in a crumpled pack, holding them up with a grin.

“Oh my god,” you laughed. “Of course you have these. You really are a walking cliché, huh?”

Joel rolled his eyes. “Put those back.”

Instead, you bit the end off one like you knew exactly what you were doing, then pulled a lighter from your bag and sparked it up like it was just another Friday night.

Joel blinked. “Seriously?”

You took a slow drag, lips wrapping around the cigar with just enough flair to make his grip on the steering wheel tighten again. Exhaled a curl of smoke out the open window.

Then turned to him with a smirk.

“I’ve never been with an old man before,” you said, voice light but deliberately sharp. “Is this where you tell me I’m missing out?”

Joel let out a low breath — not quite a sigh. Not quite a groan. Just something tight and contained.

“You’re gonna make me pull this damn truck over,” he muttered.

You laughed. “What for, Grandpa? To give me a lecture?”

Joel’s jaw ticked. “To put that mouth of yours to better use.”

That shut you up — for about two heartbeats.

Then your grin returned, slower this time.

“Thought you liked my mouth.”

Joel didn’t respond.

His silence said more than any words could.

You took another drag, stretched your legs back across the dash, and let the silence simmer between you — thick and humming with want.

And from the way Joel’s fingers tightened again around the wheel?

You knew exactly how close he was to snapping.

The cigar burned low between your fingers, smoke curling out the open window. The highway stretched empty ahead, stars blinking in the black sky, and Joel’s hand hadn’t eased on the steering wheel once in the last ten minutes.

You didn’t say much either.

The silence between you was thick — not awkward, not heavy. Just full. Like it was waiting for something.

Finally, you broke it.

“You ever think about what’d happen if we weren’t in this truck?”

He wasn’t looking at you. Just ahead. Jaw clenched, brow furrowed, voice low.

“Thinkin’ too damn much lately.”

Your heart picked up. You turned your body toward him, flicking ash out the window. “Yeah? About what?”

Joel’s mouth twitched like he was considering lying — brushing it off, changing the subject.

But then his voice dropped.

“‘Bout what you sound like when you’re moanin’ my name,” he said. “What you taste like with your legs over my shoulders. How you’d feel ridin’ my cock in the backseat with that smart mouth of yours finally shut up for a minute.”

The air punched out of your lungs.

Joel still didn’t look at you — like he couldn’t trust himself to. Like if he saw your face, he’d pull over right then and there.

“I think about those shorts,” he went on, voice grittier now. “How they ride up every time you stretch your legs on my dash. How your tits bounce when you laugh. How good that fuckin’ mouth looks wrapped around a cigar and how much better it’d look around my cock.”

You stared at him, speechless. Heat bloomed low in your belly — heavy, aching. Joel finally glanced over, his eyes darker than you’d ever seen them.

“You asked,” he said simply. “Don’t get quiet on me now.”

You swallowed hard, trying to catch your breath, your voice, anything.

And for once — maybe for the first time — you didn’t have a comeback.

Because Joel Miller just told you exactly what he wanted. And God help you… you wanted it too.

You leaned back into the seat, the night road stretching ahead, humming beneath the tires.

Joel was silent, tense. You could feel it in the air — the weight of his earlier words still hanging heavy between you. What he wanted. What he pictured. The filthy way he said it like a confession carved out of gravel.

So you didn’t say anything.

You just slid your hand down. Slow. Not enough to be obvious — but not exactly subtle, either. Fingertips brushing the edge of your waistband. Just under the hem of your tiny shorts.

Joel’s knuckles whitened on the steering wheel.

“You better not be doing what I think you’re doin’,” he muttered, eyes still fixed on the road.

You let out a breathy little laugh, letting your fingers drift just a little lower, pressing down over the heat between your legs.

“Just adjusting,” you lied. Poorly.

Joel glanced at you — sharp, fast — then looked back to the road like if he looked any longer, he’d swerve.

“Put your feet back on the floor.”

You didn’t.

You hooked your knees up on the dash again, shorts riding up higher, crop top shifting as you arched your back just slightly — one hand still teasing at the seam of your shorts, the other drifting up to skim across your chest.

You saw his jaw clench.

“You’re pushin’ it,” he said.

Your voice was soft now, teasing but with a thread of heat. “You started it.”

Joel didn’t answer. You caught the way his hand shifted on the gearshift. The way his breathing changed — shallow, rough, like every little sound you made beside him was sinking in under his skin. You pressed your fingers just beneath the waistband now, biting your bottom lip.

Not fully touching yourself. Not yet. But close enough to drive him wild.

Joel let out a breath through his nose, like he was trying to talk himself down from the edge of something.

“Five more minutes of this,” he warned, voice tight, “and I’m pullin’ the fuck over.”

You just smiled. Because that was exactly what you wanted. Your fingers slipped just a little deeper beneath your waistband — soft circles, slow and teasing.

You weren’t trying to hide it anymore.

Joel’s jaw was tight, hand gripping the wheel like it was the only thing anchoring him. His knuckles flexed once, then again. And then—

You let out a soft moan.

Breathy.

Barely there.

But it hit him like a gunshot.

Joel’s hand snapped to the shifter, slammed it into park, and the truck jerked to the side of the road in one hard, controlled movement. Gravel crunched beneath the tires as he pulled off into the dark.

He killed the engine. The headlights cut out. Only the quiet hum of the cooling engine and the rush of your pulse remained.

Joel turned toward you, jaw clenched, eyes blazing in the low glow of the dashboard.

“Out,” he said, voice rough. “Back seat. Now.”

You blinked, heart slamming, blood rushing hot through your limbs.

“Joel—”

“I said now.”

And the way he said it? No anger. No hesitation.

Just want.

The promise of everything you’d been teasing him about — finally, finally about to be yours.

You barely had the door closed behind you when Joel caught your wrist.

Pulled you back against him.

His mouth crashed onto yours — not gentle, not testing. Just need. His hand cupped the back of your neck, fingers buried in your hair, and the kiss went deep fast, heat slamming through your spine as your lips opened to him.

You moaned into it — unfiltered.

That was all it took.

He backed you into the seat, pushing you down without a word, his body covering yours in seconds. “You think I’m not gonna make you pay for that little show?” he growled, breath hot against your mouth.

You smirked, trying to catch your breath. “You liked it.”

Joel’s hand slipped up your shirt, rough fingers grazing your ribs. “I loved it,” he muttered. “But now I’m gonna take what’s mine.”

You opened your mouth to throw something back — another sharp, dirty line — but then his hands slid your shorts down in one firm pull.

And the words vanished.

Joel dropped to his knees between your spread thighs, growling low.

“Been thinkin’ about this for hours,” he said, eyes on your core, his breath warm where you needed it most. “You’re gonna come on my mouth, brat.”

You gasped, breath catching, already trembling.

“Say it,” he demanded, voice darker now. “Say you want it.”

Your fingers curled in the seat beneath you, eyes locked on his.

“I want it.”

Joel smirked — slow, wicked, hungry.

“Good girl.”

And then he lowered his head — and everything else disappeared.

His mouth was already on you.

Hot. Wet. Relentless.

You weren’t ready — not for the way he licked, slow and thorough, like he was tasting you for the first time and planned to memorize it. Not for the way his hands gripped your thighs, holding you open like he had every right to.

Your head fell back against the seat with a moan, one hand gripping the edge of the door, the other buried in his hair.

“F-Fuck—Joel—”

He growled against you, the vibration making your hips jerk. One thick finger slid inside you, curling just right, just perfect, and his tongue didn’t stop moving.

You tried to keep quiet.

Tried to keep some of that attitude — the bite, the sass — but it was crumbling fast.

You gasped, legs trembling. “Please—please don’t stop—”

Joel didn’t even lift his head. “I’m not.”

And then—

It happened. It slipped out, not planned, not flirted — just broken, soft, completely real:

“Daddy—”

Joel froze.

Just for a second.

Then slowly pulled back, glancing up at you, lips wet, eyes dark.

“What did you just call me?”

You blinked, panting, eyes wide.

“I—I didn’t mean—”

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, smirking like the devil, voice low and filthy.

“Oh, you meant it.”

And then he was back between your legs — rougher, deeper, hungrier — like that one word flipped a switch in him.

And you?

You couldn’t stop saying it now if you tried.

He didn’t stop.

Not after you moaned it.

Not after you whispered “daddy” again, breathless, stunned by your own voice.

If anything, Joel got worse.

Tongue dragging through you like he needed your taste to live, like your moans were oxygen. His hands dug into your thighs, keeping you open, holding you still, grinding his mouth against you until your whole body locked up and—

You shattered.

Hard.

Your cry tore out of your throat like it had claws, legs shaking around his shoulders, vision white at the edges.

Joel groaned against you, slow and deep, like he’d just won something.

And when he finally pulled back, his mouth was glistening, jaw sharp, chest heaving like he’d been the one wrecked.

You blinked, dazed, heart pounding.

“Come here,” he rasped.

You didn’t even think — just obeyed, crawling into his lap as he leaned back against the door, jeans already unzipped, thick cock pressed hot against your thigh. He looked up at you — flushed, hair mussed, eyes wild — and ran his hands up your sides, pushing your shirt higher.

“You know what that mouth did to me?” he muttered, voice rough. “You call me that again, and I’ll keep you on top of me all night.”

You whimpered.

He grabbed your hips, lifted you, lined you up—and as you sank down onto him, inch by inch, your hands clutching his shoulders—

Joel’s eyes slammed shut.

“Fuck, baby… look at you.”

You did.

And the way he looked at you then — like you were his damn religion — made your whole body burn.

“Ride me,” he growled. “Show me how bad you wanted it. Show me what that filthy mouth was beggin’ for.”

And with every roll of your hips, every breathless moan, you did.

Your hips rolled harder now, thighs trembling from the effort, skin slick with heat. Joel’s hands gripped your waist, then slid up, fingers tangling in your hair and yanking just enough to make you gasp — head thrown back, chest arched into him.

“Joel Miller,” you panted, voice breathless but wicked. “You were dying for this, huh?”

Joel’s eyes were wild, jaw clenched tight. He tried to answer, but you ground down again and he choked on a groan instead.

“Mmm,” you smirked. “Bet you were thinking about me every damn mile. All quiet and serious, pretending you weren’t imagining my pussy wrapped around your cock.”

He cursed under his breath, hips bucking up into you.

“You were” you whispered, leaning in close, your mouth brushing his ear. “Thinking about me riding you just like this. Dripping. Desperate. Loving how your cock fills me up.”

Joel growled low in his throat, one hand grabbing the back of your neck, the other still fisted in your hair, pulling you down to meet his eyes.

“You little fuckin’ tease,” he breathed. “Keep talkin’. See what I do to you.”

You grinned, licking the edge of his jaw, rolling your hips harder now, faster.

“Yeah? Gonna wreck me, daddy?”

His hands tightened.

His hips slammed up into yours — once, hard — and the cry you let out wasn’t teasing anymore. Joel’s voice dropped, rough and deadly close to snapping.

“Keep saying, baby. I’ll make sure you never forget how this feels.”

Joel snapped.

One second, you were grinding on him, breathless and smug, teasing with every filthy word — and the next?

You were flat on your back, your legs spread around his hips, wrists pinned above your head, breath knocked from your lungs.

He hovered over you, chest heaving, eyes burning into yours like you were the only thing that existed in the entire goddamn world.

“You wanna play games?” he growled, hips already grinding down, thick and heavy between your legs. “I’ll end the fuckin’ game.”

You whimpered — not scared, but starved. And then he slammed into you.

Hard.

Deep.

You cried out, body arching under him, already shaking. He didn’t slow down. Didn’t give you time to adjust.

Just grabbed your thigh, threw it over his shoulder, and drove into you again.

“Say it again,” he panted, snapping his hips into yours. “Tell me whose cock you’re takin’.”

“Yours,” you gasped. “Daddy— Joel—fuck—”

He groaned loud, hand sliding to your throat, not squeezing — just holding, claiming.

“Louder.”

You screamed it.

You couldn’t stop.

And Joel? He kept going. Rough. Possessive. Unrelenting.

And by the time your voice cracked from moaning his name, by the time your whole body locked up around him, he was right there with you — gasping your name like a prayer he didn’t deserve.

You were already shaking — body stretched tight, legs trembling, your throat raw from moaning his name. Joel hadn’t slowed for a second.

Every thrust hit deep, his hand gripping your thigh, his other arm braced beside your head. His mouth was on your neck, jaw, collarbone — biting, tasting, claiming. “Can’t believe how fuckin’ tight you are,” he grunted. “You were made for this. For me.”

You nodded, eyes glassy, voice breaking. “Joel—I’m gonna—fuck—I’m gonna come again—”

He pulled back just enough to look at you — eyes burning.

“Then come on my cock, baby. Let me feel it. Let me own it.”

And you did.

Harder than before — your whole body curling into him, nails dragging down his back, a scream breaking out of your throat that didn’t sound like a word at all.

Joel cursed — loud, broken — hips stuttering as your walls clenched around him.

“Jesus fuckin’—”

And then he was spilling into you — hot, deep, his body shaking above you as he groaned your name into your shoulder, panting like he’d just survived something wild.

He didn’t pull out.

Didn’t move.

Just stayed there, buried inside you, his breath ragged and warm against your skin, his arms wrapping around you like he needed to hold you together — or maybe keep himself from falling apart.

The truck was quiet. Just the sound of your breathing, still uneven. Joel’s chest rose and fell against yours, his heartbeat thudding steady against your skin, his arms still wrapped around you like he wasn’t ready to let go.

You shifted beneath him, muscles sore in the best way, and let out a breathy, satisfied sigh.

Joel lifted his head, brushing his thumb over your cheek — soft now, his voice lower than before.

“You alright?”

You blinked up at him, lips twitching.

“Oh, I’m fantastic. Can’t feel my legs. Might need to walk bow-legged for a week. Thanks for that, daddy.”

Joel groaned, dragging a hand down his face.

“Jesus Christ.”

You grinned wider. “What? You said to keep saying it.”

“You say it one more time,” he warned, voice rough, “and I swear I’ll bend you over the seat and you won’t walk at all tomorrow.”

You raised a brow. “Promises, promises.”

Joel narrowed his eyes, still not moving from between your legs. “You’re a menace.”

You leaned up, kissing the edge of his jaw — soft, smug, sweet. “Yeah, but you love it.”

He didn’t deny it. Didn’t even try.

Instead, he kissed you again — slower this time, deeper. His hips rolled just a little, still inside you, and you both gasped.

Then he pulled back just enough to mutter:

“Keep runnin’ that mouth, sweetheart. We’re not done.”

And from the look in his eyes? You believed him.

Joel finally pulled out with a quiet groan, both of you exhaling at the loss of heat and closeness. You flinched as the air hit your skin — goosebumps blooming across your thighs, your stomach.

“Cold?” he asked, already reaching into the front seat.

You nodded, still a little dazed. “A bit. Also, I think my soul left my body for like… three minutes.”

He let out a huff of a laugh and tossed a crumpled T-shirt toward you. “Here.”

You slipped it over your head — it was big, soft, smelled like him. Like sweat and worn cotton and something grounding. Familiar.

Joel didn’t say anything as he grabbed a clean rag from the glove box and gently cleaned between your legs — slow, careful, like he wasn’t going to rush a second of it. You hissed a little at the sensitivity, and his hand paused.

“You okay?” he murmured.

You nodded. “Yeah. Just tender. That was... a lot.”

He smirked faintly. “Yeah. It was.”

After he was done, he helped you pull your shorts back up, then leaned forward and wrapped his jacket around your legs, tucking it under your thighs like a blanket.

You blinked at him. “Joel.”

“What?”

“This is weirdly... sweet.”

He rolled his eyes, already climbing into the driver’s seat again. “Shut up.”

You grinned, curling into his jacket as he started the engine. “You like me,” you teased, voice sing-song soft.

“I liked the silence better.”

You laughed — breathless, warm, and finally content.

The truck rolled back onto the empty highway, stars overhead, you in his shirt and jacket beside him. You didn’t want to be anywhere else.

By the time the truck rolled into Jackson, the sky had faded to a pale gray-blue. Early morning fog clung low to the road, the town still quiet, barely stirring. It looked peaceful — too peaceful for someone like you.

Joel slowed to a stop near the center of town, engine idling low. You blinked out the window, pulling his jacket tighter around you, the worn collar brushing your cheek.

“This it?” he asked, voice low.

You nodded slowly. “Guess so.”

Joel glanced over. “Where am I takin’ you?”

You hesitated.

You hadn’t thought that far.

You’d made it here — wherever here was — but there was no plan past escape. No hotel. No apartment. Just a girl in someone else’s shirt with a sharp mouth and a suitcase full of nothing useful.

Joel read it in your silence. He cursed under his breath and threw the truck into gear. “You’re comin’ with me.”

You blinked. “What?”

“Don’t argue,” he muttered. “Ain’t leavin’ you out here with nowhere to stay.”

You swallowed, suddenly quiet.

“Unless,” he added, “you’d rather find some stranger on the corner to flirt with until they offer you a couch.”

You glared, but it was weak.

Joel smirked. He pulled into a quiet neighborhood on the edge of town, a one-story house with a wide porch and a half-built fence in the yard. There were tools on the steps. A dusty truck beside his own.

“You live here?”

“Yeah.”

“With your brother?”

“Tommy’s got his own place. He stays over sometimes, eats all my food, breaks my shit, then leaves.”

You smiled. “Sounds like family.”

Joel unlocked the door and gestured for you to go in first. The place was clean, lived-in. Worn floors. Faint smell of sawdust and coffee. You stood in the doorway, suddenly unsure.

Joel passed by you, dropped his keys on the counter. “You can take the bed. I’ll crash on the couch.”

You stared at him.

“Why?” you asked quietly.

Joel didn’t look at you when he said it.

“‘Cause someone should’ve taken you in a long time ago.”

And damn it — that was the first time you didn’t have something smart to say back.

***

The house was quiet except for the soft sound of a pan sizzling on the stove.

You sat at his kitchen table, legs tucked under his oversized T-shirt, Joel’s flannel jacket wrapped around your shoulders like a blanket. Your hair was damp from the shower, skin still warm, and everything felt a little too good for how wrecked you should’ve felt.

Joel stood at the stove in just a T-shirt and jeans, barefoot, turning something in the skillet with the kind of focused silence that came from a man used to doing things alone.

You watched him work.

He was steady. Unbothered. Like cooking for you — letting you into his space — wasn’t anything new. Like it didn’t matter that you were some girl he picked up on the road in too-small shorts with no plan beyond get out.

He glanced back. “You eat pasta?”

You smirked. “You offering or interrogating?”

“I’m cookin’. You’re eatin’,” he muttered, turning back to the pan. “That’s the deal.”

You grinned, sipping from the glass of water he’d handed you earlier. “Wow. You’re basically a wife.”

He let out a low chuckle. “Only if you’re doin’ the dishes.”

He plated the pasta and set it in front of you — steaming, simple, but somehow the best damn thing you’d smelled in weeks. You didn’t even hesitate. Fork in hand. First bite was heaven.

Joel sat across from you with his own plate, quiet again for a while.

And then:

“I talked to my foreman.”

You looked up, mid-bite.

He didn’t meet your eyes. Just pushed pasta around his plate like it wasn’t important.

“We’ve got an opening at the office. Secretary work. Phones. Paperwork. Light stuff.”

You blinked. “You… offering me a job?”

He shrugged. “It’s not glamorous. But it’s steady. Safe.”

You studied him for a second — the way his jaw flexed like he was bracing for you to laugh it off.

Instead, you set your fork down.

“Joel Miller,” you said slowly, “are you trying to give me a life?”

He looked up now — finally — and said, simple as anything:

“Figured you deserved the chance to have one.”

And you just stared at him, warm under his jacket, full from his food, something deep and aching twisting behind your ribs.

And for once… you didn’t need a joke to fill the silence.

You just sat there.

And let yourself believe him.

[sodapopkiss6]

Sylus uses sunglasses even at night cause his eyes give away his thoughts. His body could be relaxed, but one glance at his eyes, and you can see his true feelings. So sunglasses are ideal, especially since his eyes occasionally roll back when the vibrator rubs against his prostate.

I'll lay out a setting.

Giving up the hunter life you married and moved in with Sylus. But of course, you missed the action, the thrill of missions. So you end up ruling the N109 Zone with Sylus. The two of you go together everywhere, auctions, meetings, clean ups. It's exciting for you, and Sylus loves your company.

That being said, being married and being together more often leads to the two of you exploring bedroom activities, some leaving it. Which makes this situation happen.

You're in the middle of a big meeting. Honestly, you weren't even paying attention, something about lands, you suppose. And you can't even ask Sylus to fill you in as he usually would when you get bored during these long meetings. One glance to the side giving you a perfect view of his eyes behind the sunglasses tells you he's not paying attention either.

Squeezed shut and twitching, his eyes give away his restlessness. Your eyes move down to observe the rest of his body. Unsatisfied by the lack of reaction, you increase the vibrations.

You study his body, the way his hips buck, his eyes open widen, and the whimper he desperately swallows down.

"...Mr. Sylus?"

Clearing his throat, Sylus crosses his arms. "Do you plan to keep wasting my wife's time?"

"N-no, Mr. Sylus, we-"

"Then I suggest you all come up with a decision within the next five minutes"

"Yes, u-um,"

While the other men in the room nervously argue, Sylus lets out a quiet, shaky breath. Your smile widens. Oh, how you love this, turning him into a mess anytime, anywhere.

As the conversation continues, Sylus feels himself getting close. The voices in the room drown out. He's too lost on the torturous feel of the toy filling him up so well, teasing his most sensitive spot with increasing vibrations.

Sensing his peak, you suddenly turn the level all the way up. He tries to cover up his climax. Eyes squeezed shut, biting into his hand, which he played off as lost in thought. He squirms, crossing his legs, fighting the urge to arch his back.

"Mr. Sylus, surely you understand how this isn't beneficial to us?"

Sylus blinks and looks at you through the side of his sunglasses. You hold back a coo at his adorable face. Eyes glassy and dazed, his lower lip quivering against his hand, silently begging you to answer. Feeling nice you give into his request.

"All your mindless chattering makes it impossible for an agreement to be made. You will all write proposals Instead, the most interesting one will be chosen. You may leave now"

Cutting and straight to the point, the men nervously agree and say their goodbyes, quickly leaving the room until only the two of you are left.

Seeing them gone, Sylus slumps on the table, gasping. "Mm-sweetie, please mn-no more"

Rubbing circles on his back, you turn the levels down all the way until it stops.

"You did so well for me Sy." You lean over to kiss his head. "How did it feel? Did you like it?"

"It was...an experience"

You smile at his response. "Does that mean you want to do it again?"

Sylus looks up to you, sunglasses removed.

"I'm not opposed to it,"

You roll your eyes and playfully push him away. "Just say yes or no"

"Mm, but I have a feeling you know what I want," he smirks.

"I still need confirmation, though." You pat his head. "I won't do anything without your consent"

Sylus smiles, something flashing in his eyes. He presses a chaste kiss on your lips but stays close, his nose rubbing against yours. "I know"

"Mm, we should head home now." Sylus looks down at his pants, eyes squinting.

Laughing, you drag him up from the chair, "Yeah, we need to get you out of those pants"

"What a bold kitten"

"You know what I mean!"

Now laughing too, Sylus follows you closely. "I wouldn't not like the idea of round two"

"Oh my god, you're annoying"

"Mm, but you love me," he smirks.

Kissing his cheek, you smile at him. "I won't deny the likely possibility that I do"

Yea smth like that, like imagine all the possibilities

[gojover]

[2:56 a.m.] ⋆ gojo satoru knows you have a thing for his fingers.

he’s not subtle about it, either. never has been. not when he catches you staring during movie nights, drumming those absurdly long digits against the bowl of popcorn like he’s trying to be annoying (and succeeding). not when he tilts your chin up with just two knuckles, smug because he knows it drives you insane. 

and definitely not now—when it’s nearly three in the morning and you’re both in the kitchen, half-awake, standing barefoot on the cold tile while he brandishes a can of whipped cream.

you squint at him. “are you seriously doing this again?”

“what, indulging in life’s simple pleasures?” he says, lifting the can with his head cocked to a side.

you watch him spray a generous swirl of whipped cream directly onto the pad of his index finger and then stick it in his mouth with exaggerated bliss.

“jesus,” you mutter.

he grins around it, withdrawing his finger with an audible pop. “you say that, but your eyes are glued to my hand.”

“yeah, ‘cause that’s disgusting,” you say.

“disgustingly hot, you mean.”

you toss a dish towel at his face. he catches it with one hand, twirling it around his wrist. 

“you’re unbearable,” you tell him primly, turning to the fridge to mask the way your cheeks burn. “and you’ve had, what, three hours of sleep in two days? maybe less?”

“whipped cream is basically therapy at this point,” satoru says. “i’ve got everything i need to feel better. sugar, company, and the deeply gratifying knowledge that you are, in fact, thinking about my fingers.”

“i’m thinking of breaking them.”

“still thinking of them.”

you grab a carton of milk and turn back around. satoru reaches behind you for the cupboard—purposefully too close, arm brushing against yours—and grabs a mug. you don’t move, though you really should. your body’s too warm, and your brain’s too slow, and he’s too… him.

“you’re lying,” he says, bringing his arm back down. “you could’ve broken my fingers just then.”

you let out a disbelieving laugh. “i’m this close to pouring this milk over your head.”

“this close?” he asks, holding up his thumb and pointer finger with a sliver of space between them.

you swat at his hand without thinking. he catches your wrist mid-air, self-satisfied as always, but instead of letting go, his fingers curl around your pulse point.

“satoru—” 

“yeah?”

“you’re right,” you whisper. “i do like your fingers a lot.”

his grin returns. “hah! see, i knew—”

you elbow him in the stomach before he can finish his sentence. he wheezes in pain, but follows you back to the bedroom anyway.

[hischiershoe]

Hiii could you write 'zipping or buttoning their jacket for them' from the prompt list with quinn h please?? Maybe combined with "wear a jacket, it's cold out" if possible 💗

tysm for sending in, bestie!! hopefully you like it <3

Vancouver might be one of the warmer cities in Canada, but it still got damn cold in the winter. It didn’t help that it was raining outside, either. You swear you could feel the wind even from the inside of your shared apartment, and it was making you shiver. Or maybe that was your lame excuse to convince Quinn to turn the heat up, who knows?

You were sorting through laundry on the couch when Quinn finally came out of the bedroom, his hair messy and eyes tired from not sleeping much the night before. (Oops). He was wearing team branded sweatpants and a plain hoodie, which you swear was primarily what his wardrobe consisted of, but you still thought he looked good. You always thought he did.

“Practice should be over by noon,” He yawns as he steadies himself on the wall while tying his shoes, “We can go to the store after that, yeah?”

You rise to your feet as you let out a quiet hum of agreement, sock covered feet padding across the floor until you’re standing right in front of him.

“Yeah, that sounds good,” You nod, careful eyes watching as he grabs his keys from the bowl next to the door, “You’re going in just that?”

Quinn passes for a moment, eyes catching yours as he lets out a hesitant, “…No?”

“You should wear a jacket, too,” You chuckle, reaching around him to grab the coat he’d stolen from Jack off the hook, “It’s cold out, and it’s raining. Your hoodie won’t do enough.”

Without protest, he drops the keys back on the table and grasps the cuffs of his hoodie in his hands, letting you slide the sleeves up his arms. He doesn’t say anything as you make sure it’s comfortable on his shoulders before you move down to pull at the zipper until it reaches where the strings of his hoodie are. The whole time he watches you with a soft smile on his face, wordlessly allowing you to secure the coat around him even though he didn’t really need it. He was only going to spend a maximum of five minutes actually outside, but he didn’t want you to worry. He’d do anything to keep you calm and happy.

“M’kay, you’re all set,” You pat his chest as you smile at him, “Can’t have you freezing on my watch.”

“No, ma’am, we can not,” He shakes his head, reaching out to grab you by the hips and pull you into his hold, “I’ll see you in a few hours, okay? Try and stay warm while I’m gone.”

You stand on your toes to place a delicate kiss to his lips before you’re pulling back, “I plan to. Gonna steal your grey hoodie and lay on your side of the bed.”

“Good,” He mumbles, chasing after your lips with his own again. This time, it shifts into something with a little more fervor when your hands slide behind his neck to pull him even closer.

“Mm, maybe I can tell coach I got caught in a flood, or something.”

[rafesstar]

ａｉｒｐｌａｎｅ

“babe, i swear if you unzip my bag again just to check for the snacks you already packed —”

“i just want the twizzlers. you said you packed them and now i don’t trust you.”

“they’re in the front pocket. under the gum. you always do this right before takeoff — get nervous and start stress-snacking like we’re not flying for one hour.”

“it’s not nerves, it’s habit. your bag smells like mint and fake strawberry and it’s comforting. let me live.”

“you’re disgusting.”

“and you love it.”

you do. you love the way he’s already halfway bent over your carry-on, his hat low on his forehead and sweatshirt sleeves shoved up to his elbows. he’s not subtle about it either—pulling the zipper all the way back and digging through the mess of cables and lip balm and a loose tampon until he finds the plastic pack of candy and holds it up like it’s gold. he grins at you, teeth showing, and it’s the same grin you saw the first night you ever touched him, wild and stupid and hungry.

“you had it all along,” he accuses, sitting back beside you with the bag crinkling in his lap. “and you let me suffer.”

“you’re the most dramatic man i’ve ever dated.”

“i hope i’m the last one, too.”

he says it quiet, not looking right at you, fingers fidgeting with the corner of the wrapper, like he doesn’t know how easy it is to break you open with shit like that. you nudge his knee with yours and he presses back, soft and sure, like you’re syncing without needing to think. the plane hasn’t moved yet. you’re still on the tarmac, lights low, the noise of idle engines buzzing underfoot. he’s warm beside you, thighs wide open, one elbow over the armrest, chewing on the end of a piece of candy while looking out the window.

“you think they’ll like me?”

his head turns fast, expression unreadable for a second before it shifts into something slower, more open. “what? my parents?”

you nod, trying not to let your voice wobble. “yeah. i mean, they know i’m coming, right? it’s not like i’m showing up uninvited?”

“babe.” he drops the candy back into the bag and turns to you fully. “i told my mom about you before we even had a label. they’re gonna love you. my dad already follows your account, and my mom’s planning meals based on the stuff she thinks you might not be allergic to.”

“i’m not allergic to anything.”

“she still worries. she asked me if you had any clothing sensitivities. i didn’t even know what the fuck that meant.”

you laugh, snorting, and his face lights up in the dim glow of the reading light above you. he reaches over, touches the edge of your jaw, thumb grazing your cheekbone like it’s instinct, like it’s nothing.

you lean into it. let him kiss you, slow and easy, the kind of kiss you’ve been stealing from him every day since the first time he let you under his clothes. it’s soft at first—bare lips, breathy exhale, just the brush of his tongue over yours—but then he deepens it.

he tilts his head, hand sliding into your hair, the other pushing the armrest up so there’s nothing between you, and your body shifts closer, knees brushing, chest pressed to his side. your fingers curl around the front of his hoodie, holding him there, letting him kiss you like the plane isn’t about to take off and some stranger across the aisle hasn’t just pulled out her phone and started recording you through a discreet angle of her sunglasses.

his hand slides under your hoodie, fingers dragging up your side beneath the cotton, skin to skin, and you shiver, pulse jumping under his touch.

“don’t start,” you warn, breath hot against his mouth. “we’re in public.”

“you started.”

“you kissed me.”

“you looked like you needed it.”

you bite his lip, just a little, and he groans low in his throat.

his hand moves up, brushes under your bra, fingers circling your nipple until it tightens. you flinch and look around, but there’s no one in your row. aisle’s quiet. the woman who was sitting in 14C left during boarding and never came back.

“fuck,” you breathe.

“take it off,” he murmurs, thumb flicking over your nipple again. “i’ll keep the blanket over us.”

“you’re gonna finger me on a fucking plane?”

“only if you let me.”

you shift, slow, tugging your hoodie up just enough to let him pull your bra down. he lifts the scratchy airline blanket over both your laps, draping it casually across your thighs, and you spread your knees, your back pressing into the window wall. he leans forward, like he’s resting, and kisses your neck, mouthing at your collarbone while his fingers slip into the waistband of your leggings.

you suck in a breath when he finds you wet—bare, no panties, heat soaked through already. he kisses you again and slips one finger inside.

“so fucking wet. holy—”

you roll your hips, desperate for more pressure, but his pace is slow, torturous, stroking deep while his thumb circles just shy of where you need it.

you clutch his sweatshirt, press your face into his neck. he’s whispering to you now, filthy shit right in your ear, voice low and smug and shaking.

“you’re so needy for it. you get off on knowing people could see, huh? can’t believe you’re letting me do this.”

“shut up and make me come,” you whisper back. “or i swear i’ll grind on your thigh until i ruin your jeans.”

he groans, bites your earlobe, and pushes a second finger in. you tense, thighs tightening, his thumb pressing harder now, working circles over your clit while he pumps his fingers fast and deep.

your stomach pulls tight, muscles twitching, heat building low and sharp. you dig your nails into his shoulder, try to keep still, but it’s too much. you’re grinding against his hand now, thighs trembling, breath hitching.

you come hard, face buried in his hoodie, biting the fabric to stay quiet.

he doesn’t stop. not until you jerk away, too sensitive, and even then he licks his fingers clean right in front of you, eyes burning.

“next time we take the red-eye,” he says, lips wet. “so we can sit in the back and i can eat you in the dark.”

you pull the blanket over your face to hide the smile.

you don’t even notice the girl across the aisle tucking her phone back into her pocket, grinning to herself.

not until hours later—when you’re holding drew’s hand, walking through his parents’ front door, and your phone pings with a hundred tags under a blurry shot of you curled in his lap mid-orgasm, captioned with: “drew starkey and mystery girl getting very cozy on their flight home 👀”

you freeze and he sees it too. he leans down, kisses your shoulder, and mutters against your skin: “worth it.”

[bewitched-hours]

OH MY BLUHHHHHHHHH THAT WAS PHENOMENAL i love how you wrote reader.... INSANE... 😮😮😮😮 ;pos NOT FORCINGRDF but id loove to see noli try to 'rizz ' computer!reader with movements AND words like just imagine noli slaugjhtering people but still holding that damn computer .. putting them in his lap (APPARENTLY to warm himself up...he know he a loverboy with excuses) ......... apathetic sentient AI reader knows NOTHING about love but soon adapts to this feeling. also a slow burn LOL -- likee 1x is ?? :" why the fuck do you have that damn computer monitor with you all the time " theres an angst way where reader gets slashed byshedletsky (or shot by chance - either goes for any sentinel) and noli is devistated LL LOSER /nsrs /aff - if whatnot can i be declared as computer anon ..

LMFAO YOU'RE A GENIUS- I genuinely had to laugh over this request because it was just perfect. I love the mental image of Noli trying to rizz a computer and 1x just absolutely irritated because Noli is so fucking obvious about it and still somehow trying to cover his tracks (๑˃̵ᴗ˂̵)و And you will be computer anon from now on~

The reader's pronouns will once again be they/them~

You were a ruthless AI.

Apathetic, sadistic, the whole deal.

And you just happened to catch the attention of none other than your fellow killer, Noli.

If you were any less apathetic, you'd feel bad with how badly he was trying to impress you in the very rare rounds where you'd be thrown in.

Because you were still a robot/computer, you couldn't be thrown into a round by yourself because stuns affected you for longer. Your system would need support occasionally.

And by the Spectre, Noli loved it when he was the one chosen to assist you. He could watch you dismantle the survivors all day and any paradox sentence they used to stop you only offered him another chance to talk to you. Even if it was just to reset your thoughts and get you back on track.

And he would even try to make sure you were nearby to watch him when he killed another survivor. But you best believe he leaves the LMS for you. He just couldn't get enough of that murderous on your robotic face as you'd either bite off the survivor's flesh or decapitated them using a built-in claw he managed to add into your body.

You always reveled in the looks you'd get. The attention would be addictive if your system wasn't making sure to keep you pathetically neutral to it.

Even the other killers couldn't help but laugh or side-eye Noli whenever he was trying to 'rizz' you up back at the killer's cabin. Unlike the survivor cabin, this had rooms for everyone instead of individual cabins.

Probably to keep all the killers tense and ready to let their frustrations out on the survivors. The Spectre thrived on the misery of it all anyways.

And this time was no different. With your head laying in Noli's lap.

He always claimed it was because your body was always so warm and apparently the killer cabin got cold quickly but not even you believed him.

No, you knew he was doing it in hopes of having you feel something. And to presumably 'lay claim' upon you, if you can even call it that.

1x1 seemed even a little amused at the misery of the whole situation despite your indifference to it.

You had no clue about love but you knew a little about animal behaviour because you'd notice your fellow killers sometimes acting strangely and somehow you had a directory in your system for animal behaviours.

This led you to associate everyone at your cabin with an animal.

1x1 was obviously a wolf, John behaved more like a cat to you, and so on.

And Noli? His behaviour might be more bunny-like. Or maybe a fox?

You weren't entirely sure with his recent switch ups.

But you were starting to take notes. And you were starting to learn.

... Much to 1x1's disappointment when you began reciprocating Noli's feelings in your own way.

You were still acting apathetic but let the mask slip every once in a while to show him affection. And you best believe he's ecstatic on the inside whenever you do.

It's never much. Slightly leaning against him sometimes, giving him a kiss on the cheek to congratulate him and acting reserved to avoid your situation with Noli turning into a big deal.

Unfortunately for you, Noli took this as a sign of your reciprocation and began getting a little more clingy. You didn't exactly mind it but had to tell him more than once that you need personal space too, even if you technically can't breath or have any regular needs.

Really, your biggest threat was the survivors using paradox sentences or your body not getting oiled regularly. But Noli was more than happy to help with both situations.

Resetting your thoughts as earlier stated or helping with reaching the joints in your mechanical body that you have trouble with.

Sometimes he even tried to dress you up differently but that made c00lkidd think you were playing and he wanted to be included.

You didn't even mind. Your systems recognized the child as 'cute' despite his current form and you found yourself treating him as such.

You'd even overhear him talking about you as his 'partner' and it took a while to register he meant it in a romantic context which made your systems overheat just a little.

At first it confused you but he explained it to you and you made sure to register it as part of love as an emotion.

All that to say he was devastated during one round when Shedletsky's sword hit your metallic body.

Mind you, this would go away after the round.

But to Noli? Oh, he was acting dramatic about it...

And somehow... That was adorable-

Admittedly, I got a little carried away again~

Anything you'd like to request/ask? Check out my pinned post first and I'll be happy to write up whatever you want!

[flofaiiry]

‘show me how much you need me’ with sammy? or jack if you aren’t writing for sammy?

yesss i can do sammy!!! (sorry if this ooc i've only seen like 4 episodes :P)

---

sammy knew the house was too quiet when he walked in. normally the tv's on or you've got some music playing or you're on the phone with someone, but today - nothing. and no response when he opened the door either. interesting. to be fair, he was home late, like he had been for most of this week, a big case taking up all his time and causing him to spend long hours at work. so he makes his way over to your bedroom expecting to hear your quiet snoring on the other side of the door, but instead he's met with breathy, quiet moans. he can't help but smirk, the edges of his lips turning up as he opens the door slowly. the sight of you sends what feels like all the blood in his body rushing between his legs. when he first walks in, you've got your legs spread wide, one hand rubbing circles around your clit, the other gripping at the pillow under your head- all while wearing one of sammy's old t-shirts. the second you're caught off guard when you see him walk in, not having heard the door open a few minutes earlier, "holy shit!" you yelp, quickly closing your legs and taking your hand out from between them. he walking over to where you lie, "havin' fun, baby?" he asks, shit-eating grin painted across his face. "i didn't think you'd be home this early, you've been so late this week i thought-" he shakes his head, "i'm not mad," he clarifies moving to sit down on the bed next to you. you raise an eyebrow, "really? thought you didn't like it when i touched myself." he shrugs, "normally no, but... i haven't been around, like, at all this past week," he takes his hand to your bare leg, and traces the tips of his fingers up and down your thigh, "and you deserve to feel good too." you frown, "yeah, but it doesn't feel as good as when you touch me." there's that smirk again, "no?" he asks, cocking his head to the side. "no," you repeat, "need you to do it." the look in his eye changes, flicking to something darker. "yeah? show me how much you need me, hm?" you take a shaky breath in before slowly spreading your legs apart again. sammy groans when he looks at you already dripping for him. he brings a finger to your core and drags it up and down your slit, swirling little circles around your clit when he reaches the sensitive bud. "my poor baby," he drawls, "so wet n' needy for me, hm?" he slides a finger inside you, loving the way your breath hitches when he does, "sitting here all pretty waitin' for me to get home and take care of you," he adds a second finger, you nod, hand gripping at the pillow again as he starts to pump his fingers inside of you, curling them perfectly against your walls. "sammy," you whimper, arching your back and tilting your hips so he reaches deeper inside you. "i know, baby, i know," he brings his thumb to your clit, pressing down and rubbing harsh little circles around it. "fuck, 'm close sammy," you breathe, eyes clamping shut as you clench down around his fingers. "yeah?" he asks, keeping his rhythm steady inside you. you nod profusely, "yeah- fuck, gonna cum," just as you feel your orgasm start to approach, he pulls his fingers out of you and hand away from your core. you whimper at the sudden loss of contact, your climax retreating back and your breathing ragged, he smirks at you. "sammyyy," you whine. he just laughs, quiet and under his breath, then stands up and moves to the end of the bed. he brings his hands to his belt and starts to undo it. "don't worry, baby, i'll make you feel good," he slides the leather out from the loops then shoves his pants & boxers down, "just be patient, hm?"

---

im incapable of making these short im so sorry it's the plot lover in me.

[cillianmurphysdimples]

Requested - WE GOT ISSUES ficlet.

"Cillian (and of course YN) and life at home in the first days after bringing Clee home." - Anonymous request.

I'm going to cheat on my original format and do it entirely 3rd person for it to focus on Cillian's perspective.

Cillian stepped off the bottom step, his socked feet silent on the laminate floor, and into the front room. Immediately, exhausted though he was, he smiled. Y/N immediately held her finger to her lips but smiled a she lowered her hand. After a very unsettled night, wherein Clíodhna had slept in short twenty-minutes-at-most bursts, she was now fast asleep on the small padded nesting cushion in the corner of the sofa with Y/N sitting right beside her. Y/N had ventured down the stairs a little before six am, begging Cillian to get some sleep for a little while - promising she'd come to bed when he had rested.

Cillian glanced at his watch - eight am - and slowly walked further into the room. He bent down and lightly kissed Y/N's forehead. "Go on up to bed." He said quietly as he straightened up again. "We'll be grand now, the two of us." He smiled.

Nodding sleepily, Y/N smiled back. "There are three expressed bottles in the fridge, but there's more in the freezer. Offer the four ounces, but she'll take whatever she wants. Can't measure what she gets out of me so don't focus on it too much." She fussed.

Cillian nodded his head, but his eyes were focused on Clíodhna's slowly bobbing chin as she sucked against her tongue in her sleep. "I know," he said softly, then looked back at his fiancée. "We're grand," he raised his eyebrows. "Go up to bed - I don't want to see you for at least a couple of hours, missus, you hear me?!" He said with a faux serious tone.

Y/N got to her feet awkwardly and kissed Cillian's cheek as she stretched herself out. "But shout me if she's really upset or something, okay?"

"Go to bed!" Cillian laughed lightly, tapping his hand against Y/N's side. "I've done this before - and me and this wee girl are already well acquainted!" He smirked. "I'm serious, get up the stairs, will ya! We're fine." He watched as Y/N eyed him comically before she slowly matched her tired body from the room and up the stairs to the bedroom.

Alone with his daughter, Cillian sat down onto the sofa beside the nesting pillow and got comfortable, sitting on his left leg whilst dangling the right over it and off the edge of the sofa. He turned on the TV, keeping the volume low, and flicked through Prime until he found a film he was happy to half-watch as background noise, then declined against the back cushions of the sofa. He reached his right hand into the nest and gently laid his hand against Clíodhna's onesie-clad left foot. He swiped his thumb back and forth against the sole of her tiny foot - it barely fit the sleep suit, with the toe of the garment hanging loosely at the end. She looked smaller now she was home - a tiny dot anyway, somehow she looked little in their house that had, until now, only house fully grown adults and the occasional teenager.

He watched her chest rising rhythmically, and her eyelids flutter occasionally. Her little cheeks had filled out more in the last couple of days and it made her full lips look even poutier, somehow. It was taking all his strength not to reach in and lift her up, to bring her to his chest and snuggle her close, but he knew she needed the unbroken sleep just as much as they did. Later on today, Aran and Malachy were going to visit, along with Yvonne, and whilst he was excited for them all to meet her properly now that she was at home, where she belonged, he was also a little nervous too. He wasn't entirely sure why.

He'd felt upset for her during the night - he wasn't sure why over that, either. He'd felt helpless when she'd refused the bottles he'd offered and would only settle on the breast; he'd felt useless when nothing he or Y/N tried would clam her little sobs, and he'd felt out of his depth when her impossible small windows of sleep came two hours apart and lasted mere minutes. But....he loved that he was hearing her cry, hearing her voice and her sound. He found himself, rather sentimentally, remembering the Frank McCourt quote - sing your song, dance your dance, tell your tale - at how wonderful it felt, aside from the fact that she was upset, to actually hear her voice. It still lived in him, a fear of losing her and all the ways in which that could occur, but he kept the anxieties as low as he could with the firm and wonderful knowledge that she was here, and she was well.

He stilled his slow-moving thumb as Clíodhna stirred, her little hands balled by her face opening out in unison as she screwed up her face. He braced for her cry but it didn't come. Her pouty lips parted with a tiny kissing sound and her little tongue poked out briefly, before she resettled - calm and smooth-fsced - and her fingers curled back into little, loose fists.

"Ah, Clíodhna..." He whispered softly. "You break my heart, girl." He smiled, his eyes fixed on her perfect face. "Tá tú chomh hálainn, a leanbh beag." He began moving his thumb again. "You are, you're so beautiful. Hey, leanbh? Daddy's wee girl." He sighed softly, wondering if - besides with his sons - being this tired had ever felt so worth it, so fueled with happiness. "You'll see your brothers later, and your Auntie Yvonne. Jays, you'll be spoiled with the love. You will." He smiled, huffing a soft and breathy laugh through his nose. "Sure you can't hear a word I'm saying, and if you could it probably means nothing to you anyway." He teased himself. "I got texts and calls from your aunts and uncle, and friends who are lining up to be honourary aunts and uncles!" He smiled, keeping his thumb padding back and forth across the sole of her foot. "I don't know if there's another little one on this planet with as many people filled with love for them. You're so fucking loved, leanbh, and you don't even know it."

He rested his head back against the sofa cushions and kept his eyes fixed on his daughter. His heart felt like it might burst, so full of joy and contentment. He couldn't wait for the people in their world to meet her, for her to start feeling all of that love for herself. He simultaneously didn't want to share her and couldn't wait to parade her around and show her off. He knew he'd come full circle on her existence - and felt some guilt about his earlier feelings - and knew for certain that his life was complete for her being in it.

.

[nvrngl]

˚ · .˚ ༘ 𝒎𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓

synopsis. payback has soldier boy shinning on stage--but offstage, you're the only thing keeping him from falling apart... or becoming the monster everyone fears.

pairing. the boys ﹢ soldier boy x reader ﹢ angst

wordcount. 829

warnings. possessive behavior, emotional manipulation, ptsd mentions, co-dependency, fame-related pressure, cursing, implied emotional neglect, a very messy, toxic relationship.

˖ ݁♬⋆.˚𝄞. heavily inspired by the song monster by shawn mendes n justin bieber

The crowd’s still screaming when you leave the stage.

Their roars echo through the concrete halls of the venue like some twisted lullaby made of ego and adrenaline. You can still hear them chanting his name—Soldier Boy, Soldier Boy, like he’s the second coming of Christ in a bulletproof cape. You know that look in his eye when he bathes in it, soaked in adoration like it’s a drug. He’s high on it, again.

And just like every other time, he left you standing in the wings. Smile painted on. Invisible.

You storm down the corridor, heels pounding against the floor, fingers trembling as you yank open the greenroom door. The scent of cigar smoke and cologne smacks you in the face—him. Always him.

The mirror lights flicker overhead. You cross your arms and wait.

“You done playing the national treasure out there,” you say coldly, “or should I come back when the applause dies down?”

Ben strolls in behind you like he didn’t just kiss a senator’s wife on the hand for the cameras while you stood offstage like a damn accessory. He peels off his gloves slowly, theatrically, like it’s foreplay.

He doesn’t answer. Just smirks.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you bite. “You think I’m pissed about the kiss? It’s not the kiss, Ben.”

“Oh, this’ll be good,” he drawls, tossing the gloves on the couch. “Go on, then.”

You spin to face him, fury boiling under your skin. “It’s the fact that once the spotlight’s on, I disappear. You hold my hand in private and drop it the second there’s a crowd.”

“It’s not personal. It’s PR.”

“No, it’s cowardice.”

He blinks.

And there it is—that flicker of something behind his eyes. The part of him that’s never really grown up. Still 20-something and drowning in medals and expectations, still that golden boy who never learned how to love without performance.

“You put me on a pedestal,” you say, voice shaking. “Told me I was different. Made me feel like I mattered. And then you tear it all down the second it threatens your image.”

His jaw flexes, but he says nothing. You’re not done.

“I spill my guts, and you act like I’m the one being unreasonable. You rearrange me, Ben. Break me into pieces just so I’ll fit into your perfect soldier-boy narrative.”

“You done?”

“No. Not even close.”

You stalk closer, the air between you electric, suffocating.

“You say it’s pressure, the fans, the job—yeah, I get it. But what happens when you fall, huh? What if you trip? What if the crowd turns? Are you still the hero then? Or are you the monster they always warned us about?”

His voice drops, dark and low. “Then I guess I’m the fucking monster.”

You flinch. Not at the words—but at how easily he says them.

Like he’s rehearsed it.

Like maybe, deep down, he’s always believed it.

“You want to be worshipped for your strength,” you whisper. “But you can’t handle being seen for your weakness.”

He moves before you can react, caging you between him and the mirror, his arms on either side of you. Not touching, not yet, but it’s a threat. A plea. A desperate need to still be close, even while everything crumbles between you.

“You’re not just some fling,” he says, voice cracking like ice. “You’re the only person who knows who I really am.”

“And that should scare you,” you murmur. “Because I’m starting to wish I didn’t.”

Something flickers in him then—something real, raw and wounded and angry. “You think I want this? You think I wanted to be the country’s weapon, some overhyped mascot who can’t even go to sleep without hearing screams in his head?”

His breath is shallow, panicked.

“I came in with good intentions,” he whispers. “I swear to God, I tried.”

You believe him.

That’s the worst part.

Because Ben’s a walking contradiction. A bleeding heart wrapped in titanium armor. He wants to be good, but he doesn’t know how to get there without leaving a trail of collateral damage.

“I won’t let you ruin me,” you say, quieter now. “I won’t bleed myself dry just to keep you from falling apart.”

A beat passes.

And then, quietly:

“Don’t let me fall.”

Your eyes close. Because he always says it like a prayer, like he still thinks you can save him.

You turn slowly, facing him, the warmth of his chest almost brushing yours. Your fingers find the hem of his jacket, gripping it just enough to keep from walking away.

“You’re not the monster,” you whisper, voice trembling. “But you keep acting like one.”

He exhales like you punched the breath out of him. His forehead falls to yours, touch tender where his words never are.

“I’m trying,” he murmurs.

And god help you, part of you still hopes he means it.

But another part? The smarter part?

It’s already bracing for the next time he lets go.

𓂃˖ ࣪⊹ navigation : all works ; guidelines ; let's be friends .ᐟ

[gremlinmodetweeker]

Deviltown by Cavetown

I know I haven't posted this AU in a while, but I figured I'd finally release the next chapter. Time for another month to go by before I release the next one.

Here's more of the sci-fi slavery a/b/o universe. This time, we meet a new character!

Tws: slavery, a/b/o, abusive father, forced marriage discussion, sexual language (derogatory), serious self hate, self harm

Wordcount: 8.3K

Art from This Post

Rest of the Story Below the Cut

Deviltown by Cavetown

You were surprised to find that you didn’t mind König’s shadow trailing behind you in the cafe. In fact, it felt quite relaxing to have someone else there, especially someone who was supposed to keep you safe. It was only two in the afternoon and already you’d  had König deal with at least two obnoxious alphas and one persistent beta. You’d dealt with another handful of people telling you to call them during your next heat. You just smiled when handing them their coffees and tried not to break down when they left. If nothing else, you took a small bit of pleasure in knowing that you hadn’t even had your first heat, so the odds of it happening any time soon were next to nil. You distracted yourself by mixing drinks and arranging plates of soups and salads, but soon the rush soon came to an end and you were left alone in the cafe with König, who sat patiently on the only stool you had in a far corner behind the counter. He seemed to watch you intently, tracking your every frantic move as you handled all the different customers. You felt like a little sparrow, twittering and flapping about under the watch of some great menacing hawk.

You didn’t exactly enjoy being watched so much, but you did enjoy the little lulls in the steady rush of work. They gave you the time you needed to just relax and recalibrate. It was an easy predictable pattern. In the morning there would be a rush, then followed by a little bit of quiet. The cafe would spike up to a frenzy at lunch hour, then dwindle down to a murmur in the late afternoon. It would pick up to give a feeble kick around supper time before trailing off to a quiet closing. It was an easy routine. Some days were worse than others, but that didn’t really bother you too much. Not anymore. You didn’t complain anymore.

The bell above the door chimed. You looked around, surprised by the sound when you locked eyes with your old friend.

“Man the weather’s rough out there,” your friend shuddered as he brought his coat to his sides.

“That bad?” you asked.

“Like you wouldn’t believe. It’s like walking through a wind tunnel,” Kyle sighed before turning to face the counter. He glanced between you and the elephant sitting in the back corner of the room.

He hurried over to the counter and leaned in to conspiratorially whisper, “Who’s that?”

You jabbed a thumb over your shoulder to point at, “Who’s that? That’s König.”

Kyle raised an eyebrow at you, “König?”

You nodded your head over to the back corner where König sat on a chair, where he was steadily analyzing you and this possibly hostile newcomer. 

“That’s König, my grandma’s slave. Or, well, he’s mine now, I guess,” you said and scratched the back of your head.

“You have a slave?” Kyle asked again.

“I have a slave. Yes,” you sighed.

Kyle glanced between you and König for a moment.

“I… I don’t have the money to buy his freedom yet,” you admitted, “and even if I did, where would he live? He wouldn’t have a job either. The SDH would just drag him back to the warehouse the moment he stepped out the front door.”

Kyle closed his eyes and sighed, “If you say so. I just think it’s a bit weird.”

You shrugged, “I didn’t ask to inherit him.”

Kyle dusted off his clothes, “If you say so. But look, he’s not causing any trouble, is he?”

“Who, König?” you chuckled, “no he’s been great. He’s been helping me around all day.”

“So you didn’t want a slave, but you’ve got him acting like a slave,” Kyle crossed his arms over his chest with a frown.

“Well what else am I supposed to do?” you asked, “my grandma died and it said in her will that König and his papers would be transferred to me. If he’s with me, he might as well do something useful.”

“So you’re saying you own him,” Kyle snorted as he leaned against the counter.

“I’m saying…” you hissed, “well, technically? I don’t like thinking of it that way though.”

“But that’s what it is,” Kyle said softly..

“Well what else am I supposed to do?” you countered.

Kyle stared into your eyes silently. He finally looked away to look at König. He squinted and shook his head, muttering something under his breath. That was enough.

“Look, I’m paying him part of my pay,” you sighed, “he’s getting ten dollars an hour. It’s not much, but it adds up.”

Kyle ran his hand through the back of his short curly hair reluctantly, “I mean, you’re only forced to give them a dollar per hour. So, if you’re paying him ten from your paycheck, he gets more than you do.”

“It’s worth it,” you smiled, “I want to make sure König has a better life.”

“With you and your dad?” Kyle frowned.

You drummed your fingers on the counter quietly. You glanced back at König. He barely raised his eyes to meet yours.

“I’m trying to keep them separate,” you sighed.

“You can’t save König forever,” Kyle reminded you softly, “he might be your slave but you’re up against your own dad.”

“I can try though,” you smiled bitterly.

“You can try, but not for too long.” Kyle looked up at the board and clucked his tongue, “Can you grab me a chai?”

“Sure can,” you chirped and turned to the machines. A few buttons here, a sprinkle of this there, and the machine was bubbling to life.

“Does that thing still need to be replaced?” Kyle asked from behind you.

“Something’s always broken around here,” you called back over the din, “this guy just broke down a couple days ago.”

“Shitty timing,” Kyle hummed.

“You have no idea,” you groaned, “I already had an alpha come in here and try to fix it for me, ‘show the omega how much they need me’ type of shit. Thankfully I got König to get them out of here with a broom.”

In the corner, König twirled said straw broom smugly. 

“Already got the big guy acting as your bodyguard?” Kyle chuffed, “that an order from your dad or…?”

“Well, my dad told him to do it,” you shrugged as you poured water into a mug, “but I like it. It’s nice to have someone here that can look out for me.”

Kyle took the tea as he gave König a onceover. He raised his cup and said, “Here’s to not getting beat up by the big guy.”

“Cheers,” you laughed as you watched König shift his weight on the stool.

“You can come over if you want,” you offered hopefully.

You both waited expectantly. You were slightly offended that he didn’t even so much as shake his head to decline your offer. He just sat still, staring ahead blankly.

“Can’t say I blame him,” Kyle shrugged, “hey, you know my best mate, Johnny? You heard of him?”

“I think we ran into each other once or twice,” you leaned your elbows on the counter.

“Yeah, well, the guy’s got some sort of wild plan. It’s a bit out there, but I think you’d find it interesting. You wanna hear about it?”

“What sort of plan?” you asked.

“A crazy one. I don’t know if he can actually pull it off,” Kyle shook his head, “he thinks he can ‘change the system’ or whatever.”

“Change the system?” you baulked, “but how?”

“I don’t really know,” Kyle shrugged, “but I know he wants to make a difference. Ever since he came over to Northland a couple years ago he’s been trying his best to get other people to take slave rights seriously.”

“Slave rights!?” you scoffed, “what does he think he’s gonna do about that?”

“Well…” Kyle grimaced, “he has it in his head that with the right push, people would actually push to amend the economic slavery bill.”

“But that’s been untouched since, like, ever,” you clucked your tongue, “things like that never get changed.”

“But he seems to think that with the right push, something might change.”

You looked into Kyle’s eyes. A tiny, so small it was almost dying, miniscule spark of hope flickered in his warm brown eyes.

You closed your mouth and swallowed heavily. This was no insignificant spark. This had one had a bite and ardor melted into its core.

“How does he think he’s gonna change it?” you asked tentatively.

Kyle shrugged, “He thinks there’s some weird underground thing. Like, this place where slaves fight to the death. Like human dog-fights, or something.”

“Like in the glad rings?” you asked.

“No not really,” Kyle explained, “more like… Well yeah the glad rings. Two or more slaves are put in a ring with weapons or animals or bots or whatever they think would be cool and have them fight each other ‘till the bitter end. Last one standing lives. You know the drill. But apparently, there’s some that aren’t like the ones on the screens.

“Apparently, and this is just based on what my friend Johnny has to say, in the glad rings on the streets, the slaves actually die. The ones we see are always staged to some point. I mean, the biggest rule of the official leagues is that slaves only fight until a knock out. Once everybody else is down or too badly injured to keep going, there’s a winner.

“But the thing is, the slaves don’t actually die in the organized rings. Some of those slaves get some pretty bad injuries and end up retiring early, but the thing is that those slaves don’t die. It’s like, I don’t know, a part of their code of honor or something. Slaves are always given the best medical care and they’re always loved. Everybody knows it's all for fun. But Johnny has this theory that that’s not how it always goes.”

You scoffed, “Are you telling me there’s some secret league of people that fight slaves to the death?”

“Bingo,” Kyle grinned, “and that’s exactly what my friend is trying to make public. If people saw how badly slaves get treated all the time, then they’re bound to get a basic set of rights.”

“But what rights?” you asked.

“Johnny has a whole list of them but the big ones are: promise of food, clean water and shelter; promise of respect, decency and dignity; promise of age of consent. Those are the big ones, but I’m fairly sure there’s a few others.”

“But that’s insane,” you shook your head, “nobody ever treats their slave like that. I know that things are bad, but nobody would willingly kill their slaves. That’s just…” you shuddered.

“It’s evil,” Kyle nodded, “but my friend says it’s true. People actually do these things to slaves. He says that it’s way worse than what anyone’s actually letting on.”

“But that’s impossible. If slaves were actually being killed or tortured, everybody would know,” you shook your head dismissively, “slaves are like family members. People love their slaves, don’t they?”

“Most people do,” Kyle admitted, “but there’s still some sick fucks. You know, like…” Kyle nodded upstairs.

“My dad’s just my dad,” you sighed, “I don’t think it matters if my mother was a slave or not. He’s just… I love him, but I think there’s something wrong with him.”

“So you agree not all slaves are treated well,” Kyle pressed.

“But most are,” you countered, “and nobody would be crazy enough to make some sort of underground glad ring. That’s just… That’s sick. I don’t know how else to describe it.”

“Well, there’s a lot of horrible things going on in this world,” Kyle said solemnly.

You shook your head, “I don’t want to think about it.”

“Are you sure?” Kyle frowned, “not even if it helped out a friend?”

You paused.

“What do you mean?”

“This saturday my friend is holding a rally in town square,” Kyle explained, “I know it might not mean much to you, but he’s trying to get the word out to everyone he knows. If you could come…”

You grit your teeth and hissed, “I don’t know. I mean, I don’t even know the time-”

“Two o’clock on Saturday,” Kyle cut in. His eyes softened as he took your hand in his, “Please come. I know it would mean so much to him. He’s really passionate about this.”

You looked down at his hand, like a black swan encircling a white dove. You squeezed tight and nodded, “I’ll come.”

“Do you need a drive?” Kyle asked, “the shitmobile has room for one more.”

“Only one more?” you asked, “how many people are you driving?”

“Just you honestly.”

“So it won’t get hotboxed?” you checked.

“I promise it won’t get hotboxed this time,” he assured you, “that was only because of Gary. Don’t forget that.”

“I love him, but I hate him so much,” you grumbled.

“Yeah… Sorry about all that,” Kyle winced, “I promise next time will be better.”

“There better not be a next time.”

“There will be!” Kyle laughed as he took a final sip of his tea and dropped it into the trash. He pointed a finger at you seriously, “Remember! Two o’clock! Saturday!”

“I’ll remember,” you assured him as he slipped out the door with a twinkle.

You turned back to König and sighed.

“Well, that was Kyle,” you sighed, “he’s… He’s a lot. But he’s also probably the best friend I’ve got,” you sighed, “him or Gary. Gary’s really cool too. Both of those guys really looked out for me in high school.”

König nodded along, slowly standing up and stretching so that his fingertips brushed against the dusty ceiling. You got a look at the long muscles rippling along his arms before you tore your eyes away. You had other things to focus on.

“Let’s focus on cleaning up,” you said.

König nodded and followed behind.

You slung your apron off your body and hung it on the dingy green wall. You stepped aside to let König do the same and let him through the door. Once he was back in the front room you flicked off the lights and followed behind him.

The cafe was pristine. Not just clean, but sparkling. With two pairs of hands, cleaning the cafe was a cakewalk. You actually felt like you could breathe. Today had been the best day you’d had in ages. König had been exactly what you needed to be able to relax and do your job properly. Every time your father checked on you, he only seemed more and more pleased by the progress. You were just happy to let him stay in the kitchen and work by the ovens. You were free to manage to front as you pleased now. Any issues with customers were swiftly dealt with by König. Sometimes even just calling him to stand behind you was enough to ward off any potential problems. A part of you felt insulted that people felt free to try and press on you when you were a lonely omega, but the perks of having an alpha in the room were nothing to sniff at.

Speaking of sniffing, you’d been around König long enough to get a good idea of his natural smell. Musky, piney, a bit of moss too. He smelled like a pine forest, or a mossy grove. It was a subtle smell, not painfully prominent but a nice subtle tone that rounded out the cafe. It gave the room a bit of extra depth you never knew it needed before. You had to admit you liked it.

With the cafe cleaned and ready, you only had one place to go now. You felt a pit of dread in your stomach, but you could only avoid it for so long. You’d have to deal with it eventually.

You turned to König with a small frown.

“Um, König?” you asked the tall man.

He looked down at you blankly.

“I have to go talk to my dad now. I just need to give him a rundown of today and everything,” you explained, “can you go back to my room and wait for me there?”

König’s eyes narrowed briefly. You were about to ask him again when he gave you a curt nod.

“Thanks König,” you smiled, “you’re the best. Really.”

König turned away to walk up the stairs. You followed behind to the top floor and then watched König slowly make his way down the hall to your room. He paused briefly to glance at you, then slipped through the doorway. You wished he was still by his side.

You took a deep breath and walked up to the first door on the left. You looked at the door, pockmarked by divots and holes that had been poorly filled. You steadied yourself before raising your hand and weakly knocking on the door.

You heard a pair of heavy footsteps trudge to the door before it was carefully cracked open. Your father glanced at you, then behind him, then back to you.

“Um, Dad?” you shifted from foot to foot, “is it an okay time to give you an update?”

Your father sighed, but he stepped aside to let the door open for you.

You stepped in to see your mother sitting in her reading chair, sleeping with an open book on her lap. Your father sat across from her in a whicker chair that groaned with his weight. Your father leaned back and kicked up his feet on the trunk at the end of the bed.

“So?” your father held up his hands.

“It was great,” you smiled hopefully, “König was amazing. I barely had to teach him how to do anything. He’s a natural.”

Your father rolled his eyes, “Not about that. I wanna know about how it was with those animals out there.”

“The-” you cut yourself off with a nod, “König was able to get rid of the customers. If anyone had a problem I just got König to come over and they left.”

“Can’t blame ‘em,” your father grunted, “wouldn’t wanna deal with that bullshit myself. A big true alpha like that? Off its suppressants? Nah, wouldn’t wanna touch that with a ten foot pole.”

“I wouldn’t either,” you chuckled nervously.

“And just to check, it’s still off his suppressants?” your father raised an eyebrow.

You frowned.

“You’re not giving him rut suppressants?” you asked nervously.

Your father raised an eyebrow incredulously, “What? Why?”

“Well, aren’t you worried about-”

“That’s exactly what I’m banking on, idiot,” your father rolled his eyes, “I can’t get anyone to marry an omega O that hasn’t even had her first heat. Can’t have you fucking around of course, but you need to show that you’re at least fertile.”

“But I don’t want-”

“Does it look like I have time to care about what you want?” your father dragged a meaty hand over his sweaty face, “I have a business to run. I can’t be looking after you all the time. You need to go out and make the family some money. If that means getting married off to one of those alphas, then that’s what it takes to get by! You don’t want to marry whoever and end up on the streets, right?”

You looked down at your feet quietly.

“You just marry whoever and then what happens? You marry a bum who can’t even pay for his own ass, and then you both lose your home and you’re out on the streets. Next things next, you’re getting crowded into the back of an SDH van and being sent to the department!” you father’s voice steadily rose, “do you have any idea how that would look for our business? This coffee business has been in the family for decades. If you can’t give me a son to inherit this place to, all of this falls apart! We need this business to survive!”

“I know,” you sniffed, “I know. I’ll try and do my best.”

“Try!? You’ll do!” your father snapped, “you’re getting married and giving me a goddamn son! You try giving me a daughter and I’ll wring your fucking neck!”

“But I can’t-”

“Control it?” your father cackled, “sure you can! Just keep trying ‘till you get it right! It’s easy! Just spread your legs and you’ll be fine!”

You shuddered and curled into yourself.

“I’ll do my best,” you sniffled, “I promise. I’ll make you proud.”

“You’d better!” your father snorted, “do you have any idea how much fucking money I’ve wasted on you? It’s about time I got something out of this.”

“I know,” you took a deep breath, “I trust you’ll find a good alpha for me. I know you will.”

Your father took a deep breath and blew out of his smokestick slowly, blue smoke encircling him like a fat caterpillar in a cocoon. Once you could barely make him out through the haze when he put the metal pod away and huffed.

“So is that it?” he asked.

You nodded.

“Then König’s doing his job. You keep sharing a bed with him too. I need to know you’re worth something,” your father grumbled, waving a hand and effectively sending you from the room.

You stepped out and shuddered. You loved your father. Of course you loved your father. He was your father, wasn’t he? He knew what was best for you. He only wanted to make sure you were okay. He didn’t want to hurt you.

You took a deep breath and plastered on a smile. You’d be fine. Your father would make sure of that.

If nothing else, you had the weekend to relax. It was just coming around the corner. Your father was happy to manage the cafe on his own on weekends for you. You’d have plenty of time to see your friends.

With the promise of seeing Kyle and his friends again soon, you found the energy to make your way to the kitchen. You stepped inside and sighed. You needed to make something to eat. You looked around the room and jumped back.

König stood in the back corner of the living room. You scowled and waved him over.

“I thought I told you to stay in my room,” you hissed.

König stared down at you coldly.

“What if my dad came out and saw you?”

He shrugged.

“Aren’t you worried about what would’ve happened?”

König narrowed his eyes to reptilian slits. You tried to match his glare, but you soon found yourself backing down and retreating to the kitchen, muttering about how unfair it was as you did.

You stopped in front of the refrigerator to pick out ingredients for tonight’s dinner. It was slim pickings, but you were able to fish out the ingredients for a basic spaghetti and tomato sauce.

You turned around to König and looked him up and down. Carefully, you placed a cutting board on the counter in front of him and handed him a small knife, “I’m gonna trust you to dice some onions, okay? I think you used to cook for Grandma, so I think you know what to do, right?”

König didn’t respond, but he did look at the knife as though he was appraising it at an auction. Seemingly satisfied, you took out a larger, longer blade (in case König got any ideas) and tossed König an onion carelessly. You tossed the onion to König carelessly and cursed yourself for being so clumsy and thoughtless. Without looking up from the cutting board, König grabbed the, and in the blink of an eye it was diced to tiny pieces. Evidently, König had cooked for Grandma.

You gulped and tried to avoid thinking about how quickly König could make quick work of your neck and instead focussed on chopping up some of your fine herbs. You backed up to the stovetop, not taking your eyes off König as you poured some oil in the pan and turned on the fire. König didn’t say anything, but he did cock an eyebrow at your skittish nature. You decidedly avoided acknowledging his judgment and instead focussed on trying to figure out how to transfer the onions and garlic away from König and into the frying pan.

As you quickly scooped the onions and garlic into a bowl, you couldn’t help but notice König’s exaggerated eye roll when he turned his back. You dumped the veggies in a pan and leaped back as the oil sizzled brightly. You cautiously poked at the frying pan contents with the end of a long spatula. You furrowed your brows and clumsily puttered over the stove. As much as you were a good baker, the stovetop fires had always made you feel ill at ease. You always had to defer to your father for caramels and sauces for baked goods. You thought it looked a bit silly for you to be so awkward in a kitchen, but you’d never been incredibly confident in this area. There were just so many hazards to watch out for. Fires, sharp blades, wet surfaces… It was all too much.

You stumbled under a sudden weight on your shoulder. You were grabbed and whirled around to face a cupboard as König plucked the spatula from your hand and oriented himself in front of the stove. 

You didn’t dare make a move as König easily took over the spaghetti. He rooted through the cabinets in search of… Salt, evidently. And pepper? Yes, lots of pepper. Indeed, it seemed that König was at home in the kitchen. Somehow he maneuvered his great body with such ease in the small space that you had to wonder if he was a swallow dancing. Despite looking a bit disproportionate to his surroundings, König seemed as though he was actually content for once. His chapped, thin lips had the ghost of a smile, and his cheeks had a rosy tint from the heat. His fingers danced along the countertop as they absentmindedly looked for the next ingredient to toss into the mix.

You sat back in a chair and watched König check if the spaghetti water was boiling, marvelling at the smell that swam around your head. Instead of it smelling like coal or something sickeningly sweet, it smelled like dinner was actually edible tonight. Ever since last month, you’d been trying to take over cooking for the family. It had variable results.

Either way, you were happy to have a break from cooking. It also gave you a chance to observe König. The taller man was evidently in his element for once. Set up with the right equipment, he seemed to finally be relaxed. It was curious to see how his shoulders slumped with comfort and his back relaxed. König rubbed his hand over his neck as he worked. It was by looking at his throat that it finally dawned on you that he hadn’t heard König speak, not once since coming here. He had been completely silent.

You marveled at the giant man, and continued to do so until König startled you by dropping a plate in front of you.

“Is this for me?” you asked König, who nodded solemnly. 

You looked back at the mound of spaghetti on his plate and shook your head.

“I’m giving this to my dad. I can’t eat this much.” you chuckled and stood up, turning to walk down the hall towards your dad’s office. You stopped though, and turned to look König in the eyes, “Thanks though, I’ll serve us both in just a sec.”

You walked down the hallways and rapped your knuckles against the oak door.

“What now?” your father snapped behind the door. 

“Dad, I have some dinner for you and mom,” he said.

Your father opened the door to stare down at you.

“It actually smells good this time,” your father said blankly.

“I… Er, König cooked it,” you admitted weakly.

“I see,” your father replied as he took the plate from you, “then it'll be more useful than I thought.”

You nodded and hurried back to the kitchen where König had made up another plate of spaghetti, this time a far more reasonable portion. You looked to the plate, then behind König’s shoulder to see the remaining sauce and pasta.

You looked at him, and smiled, “You know, if you want the rest, you can have it. I mean, you are part of the family now.”

König stared at you in bewilderment. Before König could properly comprehend what you said to him, you rushed beside him and served up the rest of the pasta onto his plate. You placed it on the table opposite to König and sat down in your own chair. You gestured for König to sit, and after a moment’s hesitation, he did so.

You smiled and began eating. You looked over at König, who followed suit, albeit much more… Messily? Maybe eagerly was the right word to use? Either way, it seemed that König was only inches above his plate, shovelling in as much food as he could with each bite. You watched in sheer awe as König polished off his meal at a breakneck pace. You couldn’t believe that the double-A alpha had polished off his meal so quickly. Was this how all alphas ate? You worried briefly for your grocery bill.

Once König was finished he sat back and relaxed into his chair, looking hungrily at your plate. You, who really weren’t all that hungry in the first place, gently leaned forward and scraped half of your meal onto König’s plate. You leaned back and returned to nibbling at your food.

König eyed the plate, then you again, then his food before once again devouring his share in mere moments. You figured that in any other situation, you probably would’ve found this entire situation hilarious. As it was, it just made you sad. What had this man experienced? You shuddered to think about why König was so defensive around food. 

As you finished, you stretched and walked over to the sink to rinse off your dishes. König loomed behind you, obviously judging your methods of cleaning with a critical eye. You huffed and continued, ignoring the obvious look of disgust König was sending your way. You determinedly continued what you were doing and set the dishes aside to dry on the metal rack.

Having set the final dish on the drying rack, you looked up to the clock on the microwave and yawned. It was getting late, and it seemed like there wasn’t much left to do for the day. Thus, you gestured for König to follow you back to your now shared room. You crept through the door quietly and stepped aside to let König undress to his boxers for the night. You rummaged through your dresser to find some good pyjamas and smiled as you came across a familiar pair.

König tilted his head in confusion as he watched you rummage about quietly.

You yawned and tucked your pyjamas under your arm, “I’m going to go change in the bathroom. Just put your old clothes on the dresser and I can figure out how we’re doing laundry later,” you said and walked to the bathroom. 

There, you quickly brushed your hair and teeth before undressing and folding up your clothes and laying them atop the toilet seat. You looked in the full length mirror on the back of the door and sighed.

You were an omega. And omega O, to be exact. If there was a God, why did He give you these omega features? Cursed from birth to be weaker, smaller, more submissive than the others. You were born a mistake. To be an omega was to be lesser. It didn’t matter how advanced society became, whether you were a free man or a slave, to be an omega was to be the lowest of the low. The customers at the cafe listened to König, a slave, before they listened to what a free omega had to say. König had been blessed to be an alpha. The heavens above could shatter and fall to the depths for all you cared. You were born cursed into a world of the blessed.

Omegas were always the lowest of the low. You were never given the respect you deserved. Instead, you could count on your victories being awarded to others who had only been tangentially associated with you. You were scolded for wrongs that weren’t your own. You were born to devour your tail until you were but nothing. You hated the taste of your own self loathing.

You were never meant to be born in the first place, your father made sure to remind you of that as often as he could. At this point, you didn’t care to try and deny the fact. The child of a free man and a slave, you were worthless.

If it hadn’t been for your father’s kindness, you would have been given away to the slave houses. You would’ve been sold to someone else. Someone crueller, someone more malicious. Someone who didn’t love you as much as your mother and father did. Your father told you about how you were so lucky, that most children like you were given away. In fact, most omega Os were sold at birth for a hefty chunk of change. Your father was truly a good man to take you into his home, grant you freedom and a chance at living a good life. You weren't so sure of that though. You were certain that if your father truly was a good man, he’d have smashed your head in the very moment you left your mother’s womb.

Of course, you never dared to say such a thing to your father. You didn’t want to appear ungrateful. You didn’t want to be married off to a cruel alpha out of spite. Of course, deep inside, you were ungrateful. Of course you were. You never wanted to live this rotten life. You never asked to be born. You never asked to be born an omega. You never wanted to present as an omega O. You never wanted to go to school and be bullied relentlessly by the other children, and you never asked to be worked like a slave when you came home. You cursed under your breath as you picked another pimple under your chin, digging into the flesh in search of more to come out. The blood bloomed and dripped down your neck like juice from a cherry. You let your eyes fall down to where a minuscule pool had formed in your collarbone.

You hissed and moved to pick at yet another pimple, ripping the flesh aside with your blunt nails and relishing in the pain that came forth. It was the feeling of pushing, pressure, and release that kept you picking at your skin. The feeling that you were finally getting rid of all the impurities. The feeling of being real, being human. Maybe getting rid of all the weakness in your body. You relished in the feeling that you were in control of your own body. Finally, it was yours. Not your father’s, not your betrothed, it was yours. The one thing that made you unique from everyone else. It was yours to use, yours to destroy.

You winced as another bead of blood dripped down your face. Beautiful cherry warpaint. This time, it came from the side of your nose, where yet another pimple had been ripped open by your plucking fingers. The mixing of whitish yellow and red oozed out and over your grimy fingertips, lingering just a moment longer than necessary. You used the same hand to wipe away a few tears that had formed under your tired eyes. You took in a breath as you looked at yourself. Bleeding. Perfect. You took a moment to just be quiet and pretend the scabs were from something else. It didn’t matter. Everyone knew you picked your skin. It was obvious from the little angry marks that littered your cheeks like freckles,  dusting over your chin and neck and arms before trailing down even to your chest. Hideous little pits that you had carved into your skin, only to be reopened on a daily basis whenever you had some time alone. This was your little victory. In these four walls where the only witness to your acts was your reflection, you were free to build up and destroy as you pleased.

You sniffed and pulled yourself up straight. You pulled on your clothes, being sure to pop the collar to cover up some of the marks. You dug into the first aid kit to pull out small round bandages and apply them to your face. Your hands lingered over the last one. You made a mental note to pick up more bandaids when you went out with Kyle.

Finally, finished with your evening routine, you left the bathroom and flicked off the lights to sneak down the hall and back to your room. You looked at the door across from yours and thumbed over the doorknob. You wondered if everything was still just as it was. At this point, you wondered if you were the only person that remembered this room. Did your mother? Did your father? You didn’t know. You hoped they remembered. You didn’t want to be the only one to bear the burden.

Shaking the thought from your head, you turned back around to your door and opened it. König sat on the bed, turned to face the window. Outside you could see a pair of headlights were slowing outside. You glanced down to see two men step out of the car and dust off their suits before looking up at you. One of them gave you a tight wave.

You thought for a moment, then snapped your fingers as things clicked into place. Of course, these must be the agents sent to drop off König’s belongings.

You rushed downstairs to welcome in the two agents. These ones were different from before. Instead of the two men, it was now a blond woman and a bulky ochre-skinned man, who carried what looked like the bulk of the load.

“You are König’s new owner?,” the blond woman tucked a folder under her arm and held out a gloved hand.

You nodded as you cautiously shook her strong hand. 

Seemingly satisfied, the woman continued, “We’re sorry for your loss, but we would like to take the time to congratulate you for the acquisition of such a fine specimen.

“As pet contract details, we’d like to brief you again on the guidelines of keeping slaves. Would you have a moment to listen?”

You nodded before looking around outside. With a sigh, you stepped inside and waved for them to follow.

“Let’s do this inside,” you said and let the agents in. The agent with the briefcase checked his watch briefly as he stepped through the door. The blonde took the initiative to walk over to a table and sit.

“I’m agent Kate Laswell,” the blond explained, “and this is my partner Herb Mandulu. We have the remaining belongings of König here in this briefcase. Before we hand it over, we’d like to go over the legalities of owning slaves, as mandated by the Slave Department Headquarters, hereon referred to as the SDH, in 2120.”

You nodded quietly.

“First and foremost,” Kate began, “you must understand that a slave is defined as a national invalid, someone who is incapable of supporting themselves and their surroundings. However, as part of the incentive program, slaves are required a daily salary of at minimum five dollars per day. Are you able to afford this?”

“Yes,” you said quickly.

“And how do you plan to pay König?” Kate asked.

“I will give him a portion of my paycheck each week,” you explained.

“In cash or in a separate bank account?” Kate continued.

You stilled. You hadn’t actually thought this through.

“König is in possession of one bank account. This is his bank account as issued by SDH upon his purchasing. You can find details of it in this briefcase. As König’s owner, you do not have permission to touch his savings, as he must have the chance to buy back his freedom, as outlined in the clause 19.4 in the SDH bill of rights.”

You looked down at the black leather briefcase that had been laid out on the table.

“So again,” Kate’s eyebrow twitched, “how do you plan to pay König for his services?”

“I can send him a transfer to his account directly, can’t I?” you asked.

“Is this your plan of action?” Kate pressed.

You slowly nodded. Herb nodded approvingly.

Herb drummed his thick fingers on the case and continued, “We understand that when purchasing a slave, you are signing up to attend to his every need. You can serve these needs as you see fit. Because slaves are not classified as free persons or as animals, there are certain loopholes that can be used. However, for our system, how do you intend to use König?” Herb asked in a slow voice, “if you don’t have a set purpose, please explain why for our documentation process.”

“I… um…” you mulled over your options for a moment, “as security?”

“Does he have any other roles for you?” Herb pushed.

“I guess general labour? Maybe household service too?” you shrugged, “I don’t know. I just thought he was inherited with his existing titles.”

“When a slave is inherited, they’re given to their new owner as a blank slate,” Kate cut in, “though he retains previous belongings, his legal file is essentially wiped. You have the opportunity to set up your own framework.”

“I do?” you blinked stupidly.

“If you haven’t put much thought into it, we can go over those details at a later date,” Herb offered you.

“I…” you hissed, “I might have to take you up on that. I just thought he came here like he was before.”

Kate sighed as she adjusted her necklace, “We can arrange a later date at the end of this meeting. We have more to cover.

“Fundamentally, we understand we can’t control how you care for König. He is your legal property to do with as you please. However, there are limitations. König cannot be used to harm another individual without due cause and will be repossessed if found guilty of legal charges such as manslaughter, homicide, sexual assault, battery. These are not all the charges that can cause a slave to be repossessed. If you want to learn about all related charges, please look to our website to find more information.

“Additionally, any slave that is taken for repossession can be repurchased at half of market value after they have successfully been reprogrammed. However, if a master is found guilty of covering a slave’s charges, they are liable to one month of reprogramming alongside their slave. You understand the gravity of this?”

You shuddered as you nodded.

“Good,” Kate leaned back slightly.

Herb drummed his fingers on the briefcase, “Here we have König’s possessions. Please understand that even though König is a slave, your grandmother set aside parts of her will for König. We hope this doesn’t upset you.”

“Upset me?” you asked, “why would it upset me?”

The agents exchanged looks before turning back to you.

“Most people are upset that a slave is able to inherit in the first place,” Herb explained, “many feel cheated. But as it is, your grandmother set aside some of her savings for König. She has also given him an article of clothing, a painting and a bracelet.”

You looked down at the briefcase and back up at the agents.

“Is that all?” you asked.

“That’s all,” Kate nodded before pulling out a paper switch. She placed the metal bar on the table and clicked the button in the center to bring up a blue holopaper. She handed you a stylus and explained, “If you could please sign in the blue highlighted areas to indicate this meeting had taken place and you have understood the legalities discussed, that would be appreciated.”

Herb coughed and added, “If you do not believe legal issues were discussed in enough detail, feel free to set up an appointment at your local SDH to go over the paperwork more thoroughly.”

You looked at the briefcase. Black, sullen, a slight sheen on the pleather a contrast to the bright gleam of brass buckles. A warning.

Herb slowly turned the briefcase towards himself and scanned his thumb over the reader. With a click, the suitcase opened.

Another manilla folder slid your way. More documents about König evidently. You internally curled into a ball and shook at the thought of having to do any more reading. Next, Herb handed you a red bead bracelet. It had a strange eastern flair to it woven in the string. The cool beads were like fat pearls of amber in your hand, honeypot ants ready to burst under your heavy touch. You tucked it into your back pocket. After that, Herb handed you a square of cloth. Recognition washed over you immediately.

“I think König will want this back,” you muttered as you took the tattered black cotton from his hands.

“A ratty shirt?” Herb looked at you strangely.

“He liked to hide his face with this,” you explained as you rubbed your thumbs over the seams, “it made him feel safer.”

Herb glanced at Kate. She only shrugged at him and gestured for him to get on with it. He rolled his eyes and carefully took out the final article of your grandmother’s will.

“Apparently, this has great value,” Kate mused as Herb passed it to you.

You took the watercolour painting from his leathery hands and brought it up to the light to get a better look at it. You squinted and tilted it side to side, letting the light roll across the glass with each turn.

“Is it worth a lot?” you asked.

“The painting?” Kate scoffed, “nothing. It’s worth nothing. But,” she narrowed her eyes, “your grandmother put a lot of emphasis on giving it to König. I don’t know if that means anything to you, but you seem like the type to care about that.”

You lowered the painting to give her a look before glancing back down again.

It was just a simple watercolour. It looked almost like a sepia photograph, splashed lightly with blues and reds. It was a painting of a European robin on a branch. On the back, a note was scrawled in an indecipherable text. It was just a simple, small painting.

“This is the painting?” you asked.

“We think so,” Kate shrugged, “but we could be wrong.”

“I’ve never seen this painting before,” you muttered.

“Well, it’s what we have,” Kate replied curtly before turning to Herb, “are we done here?”

“We’re done,” Herb said flatly before extending a hand to you, “pleasure meeting you.”

“Pleasure,” you replied as you took his hand and shook it. You waited for Kate to do the same but she only stared at you blankly. You felt smaller than you did before.

“I’ll let you out then,” you said and got to your feet.

Within minutes, the agents were gone and you were left standing with the items on the table. The bracelet burned in your back pocket, bright and hot. You felt ill having it on your person. The painting on the table stared up at you with beady grey eyes. You wanted to smash the glass. These items whispered unintelligible stories into your ears, burning you with their wicked tongues.

You snapped up König’s belongings and went upstairs.

König didn’t move as you slunk through the door. You tossed the folder onto your desk and let it slap on top of the other one. After a moment, you sighed and relaxed before turning to look at König.

“So, I think I have something for you,” you said as you straightened up.

König glanced at the painting in your other hand.

“Um, first, before that, I have this,” you offered him his old mask.

König took the mask from you tenderly before turning it over in his hands. Twin stains of red bleached the black cloth under the eye holes. You swore you saw the barest hint of a smile on König’s lips. He held up the mask in front of him longingly.

“It’s yours, isn’t it?” you asked nervously.

Without another word, König slipped it over his head.

Another piece in the puzzle clicked into place. König looked up at you from behind the mask. Now that you’d seen him for so long without it, you could see all his emotions welled up in his eyes. It was like once the mask was on he didn’t have to worry about his emotions anymore. Life returned to his blue eyes once more.

“And this is yours too,” you handed König the painting.

He took it from you and gently stroked the back of the bird with one dirty finger. You watched as he flipped the painting and let his finger run over the pen script. He tapped the final word twice before setting the painting aside. He looked up at you, as if to ask if that was all.

“This is the final thing they gave me,” you took the bracelet from your back pocket and held it out towards König.

His eyes widened briefly before he deftly plucked it from your fingers. In an instant, the bracelet was back on his wrist and securely tied into place. He traced his fingers over the beads. You thought of how cool they felt in your hand, soothing almost.

“That’s all I got,” you shrugged, “aside from the folder, but yeah. That’s it.

Konig Dump

Konig Alternate Universes

Sci-Fi A/B/O

[porty]

for my starlight

little dark age (part 2)

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oliver looked at you and sighed softly, losing his grip on the steering wheel, “are you sure about this? you don't have to do this… we can go straight home.”

“well i just want this to be over with… i also want you to not deal with this anymore either…” you looked back at him, “you don't need this, oliver.”

“what?” oliver chuckled, almost like he was brushing you off. which didn’t make the situation any better for either of you.

“you don't need to be treated like this… we’re no—”

“yn just stop…” oliver sharply cut you off. which made you furrow your eyebrows. oliver had always been the one to hear you out, always wanting to talk things through. now, the one time you needed to speak and wanted to talk about your feelings, it felt like he was shutting you out. you turned away from him, looking straight ahead. “we’re not together,” you finished the statement quietly.

“that’s not the point…”

“it is. this person is out to get you because he thinks we’re in love or something… which we are not.” your tone was firm and low, “we are no—”

“i get it! how many times do you have to say it, we are not together. why are you continuously bringing this up all of a sudden?” oliver exclaimed, which made you side-eye him.

confusion was a nice way of expressing oliver’s feelings. he had always unspokenly cared for you, and you had always unspokenly cared for him. that had always been the relationship between the two of you. when you would see someone, oliver would keep his distance, trying his hardest to be happy for them. and the same went for you. jealousy wasn’t a thing with the two of you. because at the end of the day, you both cared for each other. if you guys could could, you both would.

you kept looking at him while he rubbed his eyes.

“yn, now is not the time to have this conversation…” he just wanted this to be over. he wanted you to tell him that you were happy being back in his place. his home. their home.

“and when will that time come, oliver?” you groaned.

oliver bit the inside of his cheek, “when we are not trying to face your stalker. after today is over and in some sort of privacy.”

you just nodded, “fine…”

“yeah, fine…” oliver leaned back and let out another heavy sigh. you turned away from him completely, just looking out the window.

minutes passed and not a word was shared between the two of you. this wasn't a comfortable silence either. no, no. this silence between the two of you was something new. both of you knew this ‘conversation’ was going to lead into an argument. oliver wanted you around… and… well, he didn’t know how you felt. and that was bothering him. he knew you was just going to keep bringing up that they were not together. but he was selfish. he fully accepts being a selfish man when it comes to you.

oliver’s chest hurt thinking about your words. he turned to you, and before he could say anything, you spoke first.

“i’m going to head in.”

he was speechless. he just nodded and leaned back, watching you get out of the car and walk away.

***

while walking to the market, you started picking at your fingers again. not really knowing what it was this time. was it oliver? was it going to the same place where they met him? or was it this plan? you being the decoy?

or was everything just jumbled up?

you couldn’t tell, but you did feel stupid for bringing that topic up with oliver before doing this. you wanted to get something off your chest, which was fair. there were things you wanted to talk to everyone about. but you just didn’t know how to. you thought talking to oliver first would possibly make it easier. but you didn’t expect him to react in that way. you didn’t know if you were being selfish.

i mean, they were your friends. and you cared for all of them. oliver had always done so much for you. you are each other’s rocks.

could you actually push away these good people?

while strolling through the aisle, picking up random things, you couldn’t help but let your mind drift elsewhere. how were you going to tell oliver? oh god, how would he react?

while picking up a loaf of bread, thoughts running rampant, you felt someone tapping your shoulder…

“hi yn, we meet again.”

you turned around to see the man with the blonde hair and blue tips. you looked down at his hand and saw that tattoo. it’s the guy…

you quickly tried to compose yourself and smiled softly. “oh hello… it’s nice to see you again.”

you and oliver had planned that he would come in five minutes after and pretend to look for you. you prayed to your lucky stars that he was around the corner.

“oh, you remember me?” he chuckled, “i typically don't leave an impression on people.”

“your hair kind of gave you away… plus this is your second time sneaking up on me.” you raised an eyebrow, which made him chuckle again. you wrapped your hands around the loaf of bread so your shaky hands wouldn’t be noticeable. one thing you loved about being an influencer, you knew how to fake it until you made it.

“sorry, i didn’t mean to do that again… you just seemed distracted. is everything alright?” you opened your mouth to speak, until he chimed in, “boyfriend troubles?”

you furrowed their eyebrows, “um no… no, definitely not that.” you brushed it off and quickly tried to change the subject, “so um…” you pointed to him, gesturing for him to tell you his name.

“oh, it’s michael.” he points to himself.

“would you like to take a picture, michael? you can now tell your friend you now have two pictures with me.”

he nodded and pulled out his phone. while getting closer to you, oliver just turned the corner and stood in front of the two of you.

“hey yn, did you get everything you needed?”

michael was in a daze, almost frozen with no reaction. just looking at oliver.

“um yeah… i’m just going to take a picture with michael here and we can check out.”

oliver nodded while looking down at his phone, waiting for the two of them. you looked up at michael, “sorry, whenever you’re ready.” you smiled…

“uh yeah…” he posed.

michael ended up taking a few photos before saying his goodbye. but you noticed the look he gave oliver. the death glare… the cold glare you give to someone you typically see as beneath them.

after a few minutes passed, you and oliver just stood in front of each other and both let out a breath of relief. but then everything sunk in the air and got thick again.

you walked to the checkout, buying the bread they had squeezed to all hell. not wanting to interact with oliver.

after buying the bread, they went to his car and waited for him to come out. luckily, did not take long.

“you didn’t use your phone. why?” oliver pointed out while getting into the car.

“just drive…” you said quietly, looking away.

he sighed, and the fifteen minutes to his home were quiet.

deadly quiet.

masterlist || Previous: little dark age (part 1) || Next: oh ana

AN: can yall tell i lowkey didn’t want to write 🫩. thank you dean for helping me with this chapter. please get back in the studio and give me an album. i didn’t make fun of you when you fell down all them stairs. idk if unspokenly is even a word. i also made the executive decision that i am no longer going to post on saturdays. because work has been killing me yall and saturdays be the worse days.

Taglist: @aionishoh || @inojinieeee || @rinniebinniebay || @twilightsumu || @dremerys || @thatmf-jay || @amvpk01 || @yxruxp || @risagichi

@porty || do not plagiarise or translate any of my work. I do not own any of the Blue Lock characters all rights goes to Muneyuki Kaneshiro and Yusuke Nomura.

[sylith]

SNOOZE⋆｡°✩ light cavalry crew and how it would be sleeping with them⋆｡°✩ (A/N : hey yall....no hyuk hunting you today...owen is) ⋆｡°✩⋆｡°✩⋆｡°✩⋆｡°✩⋆｡°✩⋆｡°✩⋆｡°✩⋆｡°✩⋆｡°✩⋆｡°✩⋆｡°✩⋆｡°✩⋆｡°✩

OWEN⋆｡°✩ -i love him bad omg -my princess does his skincare with you everynight, brushes his teeth with you every night. -he waits outside the door when you need to pee in the middle of the night.(he wanted to hold your hand while you took a shit but you kicked him out) -bedtime is 11:30 PM - 7:30 AM, yup i know cause i be with him all night. -likes to hear you debrief your day to him(not like he doesn't know already#stalkerowencreepy), and he talks about his day with you as well. -the big spoon loves holding you and kisses the top of your head everytime. -he either wears a fancy pajama or goes to bed shirtless, no in between. -you’d just finished debriefing about your day. You talked while he listened with his chin propped on his hand, occasionally gasping or rolling his eyes on your behalf like he was personally offended by your inconveniences. then he told you all about his day, dramatically, of course with complete with hand gestures, whispered gossip, and some light reenactments. by the time you both settled into the quiet, it was past 11:30. he adjusted the blankets, slid his arm around your waist, and tucked his face into the side of your neck. “i love you sweetheart, goodnight,” he murmured. “mhm. Goodnight,” you mumbled. silence. then— “…are you being for real right now?...you forgot something.” you didn’t even open your eyes. “Owen.” “i’m not sleeping until I hear it.” you sighed, already smiling. “Goodnight. I love you.” He exhaled like he’d just been revived. “There it is,” he whispered, immediately pressing soft kisses to your shoulder, your jaw, the curve of your neck—each one slower than the last. “this is why I keep you,” he murmured. “now sleep, my love. my heart can rest peacefully." and with that, he curled tighter around you, content and warm, as if your words had tucked him in better than the blanket ever could.

-will hide your phone before you go to bed, cause he wants your attention. -he does take pictures of your face when you sleep and keeps it in his secret folder with all the secret pictures of you...that's right...he's actually in your walls, watch out. -might as well keep yalls toes interlockes with how close he wants to be.

NOAH⋆｡°✩ -i lick my screen everytime she appears. -sleeps late, wakes up late. (2 AM - 11 AM) ...sleep early y'all -it is damn near impossible to wake her up, she could be in war and you couldnt wake her up. -watches you do your skincare routine first (like a cat) then waits for you to do hers cause she likes you touching up her face, and her in general. -she goes to sleep naked or half-naked. -similar to Owen, she does hide your phone before bed so all your attention is on her. -she rants about a person that as pissed her off or who she thinks sucks and shoulnt be hyped at all while you play with and braid her hair. -small spoon, she loves to feel loved. she would crawl into your skin if she could. -wants you to tell her a story before bed. doesn’t matter if it’s made up or real, she just wants to hear your voice. -sleeps with one leg fully across your body like a seatbelt. -you were halfway through braiding her hair when she went off. again. “i don’t care what the internet says, that dude has no edge control. he just got lucky with the wind.” you yawned. “you’ve said this three nights in a row now.” “because i’m right. they keep acting like he’s some prodigy, but have you seen his cornering?” you mumbled something noncommittal, focusing on the braid. she didn’t need encouragement—she was fully fired up on her own. “next time we race, i’m ending it in ten minutes. maybe five if i’m petty. which i am.” she sat up slowly, slid into your lap like gravity pulled her there, and buried her face into your neck. “phone off,” she mumbled. you blinked. “huh?” “phone. off. you looked at it twice.” you laughed, but set it aside. “yes, ma’am.” she hummed and immediately relaxed, sliding deeper into your arms like it was muscle memory. “goodnight. love you,” you whispered, kissing the top of her head. she scoffed but tightened her grip on your hand. “gross.... love you too.”

HARRY⋆｡°✩ -even luffy wouldn't be able to pull me off this man..he moves like he has boobs. -bedtime is 10:45PM - 8:00AM i know he takes his sleep seriously. -he yaps about what kind of chicken he wants to eat for breakfast. perhaps lemon pepper or teriyaki?all about chicken -i know i said sleep but....would yall be able to sleep with his loud ass snores? right right -does scratch your back for a bit but then instantly falls asleep. -big spoon. -his hands are usually crossed over his chest when he sleeps, but sometimes you lie on top of him, head buried in his chest. his heartbeat is your lullaby. -he acts like he doesnt wanna hear about your drama but he is very invested. with all that "wait are you talking about the one who slept with her bsfs ex" "tsk see thats messed up to do, cause if it was me..." -it’s late, way past your usual bedtime, but harry’s still awake, sitting at the edge of the bed with a glass of water in hand. he’s got that calm, almost bored look on his face like he’s waiting for you to wrap up whatever’s keeping you up so you can both go to sleep. you finally toss your phone aside and flop down next to him, eyes already heavy. “what’s for breakfast tomorrow?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper. his fingers tap the bed. “bbq chicken or maybe garlic butter. you decide.” you smile and scoot closer, letting your head fall onto his broad chest. he wraps an arm around you, fingers tracing lazy circles on your back. your eyelids flutter closed, but just before sleep pulls you under, harry’s loud snore surprises you—he’s already out cold. -sometimes hums quietly in his sleep, like a weird little habit that’s oddly soothing

⋆｡°✩⋆｡°✩⋆｡°✩⋆｡°✩⋆｡°✩⋆｡°✩⋆｡°✩⋆｡°✩⋆｡°✩⋆｡°✩⋆｡°✩⋆｡°✩⋆｡check your walls guys, dont let owen get you...

dedications: @wthphe1n @bfwooin @dzvelinaskebiyars @shintaru @hyukwwn @nixruniii @kuchisabishiiiii....they're coming for you

They’re gonna get you yall💔💔

[wildsaltair]

"he's a terrifying formidable killing machine" TO YOU. to me he's my precious honeybunch