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jeonstudios · 25 days ago

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anatomy of a vampire | 01

a young man returns to a small town he hasn't seen in years, and a house he hasn't lived in since before the last president was born, only to find that a stray cat has given birth to kittens in his closet.

pairing: vampire!jk x nerdy f veterinarian!reader (with a special interest in the science and biology aspect of the supernatural lol)

genre: sorta scifi-ish, fluff, minor angst, some smut later on

word count: 4.7k

warnings: none in this part (maybe anatomy talk/vet talk?), but there's gonna be like... inspection kink-stuff later on 🤪 more detailed warnings to come <3

rating: NC-17 – Adults Only

masterlist

part 1/?

You’re halfway through your lunch when Namjoon pokes his head into the break room, a stethoscope around his neck and thick-rimmed glasses low on his nose.

“Reception just got a call about a home visit.”

“Today?” you ask, your mouth full of chicken sandwich as you glance at your wristwatch. You and Namjoon are way too close for you to care about being ladylike.

“Mhm.”

You pause. Not many clinics in your small town offer home visits, and even fewer do it on short notice. For your clinic, it’s usually about an old dog being put to rest at home—incredibly sad, but not an emergency.

“Is it urgent?”

“Not on the minute, but needs done today.”

You glance at the patient chart on the table in front of you. “I think this’ll be quick. I’ll go after this one.”

“You sure?” Namjoon asks. “Technically, it’s my turn.”

“Yeah, it’s fine. You should see Oakley when he comes; he’s not very fond of me.”

Oakley, a returning patient with chronic stomach issues, has managed to spray paint you a yellowy brown on three different occasions. From both ends. It’s like he aims.

Namjoon snorts. He hasn’t been hit once.

Checking your watch again, you push the last bite of your sandwich into your mouth, chewing it while you grab the chart. Namjoon is already on his way to greet another patient and their owner, and you take a second to swallow and wipe any crumbs off your scrubs before you follow his lead, heading into the waiting area.

“Millie?” you call, smiling when a young woman rises from a chair, her red dachshund's nose practically glued to the clinic floor.

It’s two-thirty when you pull out of the clinic parking lot, the clinic’s old station wagon rattling faintly as you steer onto the main road. The address in the confirmation email is farther out than you expected but still technically within the town limits, and you watch the short apartment buildings give way to larger, more spaced-out houses as you drive.

You don’t often find yourself in this part of town these days, although you’re very familiar with at least one house here. Many Halloweens were spent here back in the day, kids dressed up as various creatures daring each other to fight through the overgrown lawn and peek inside the dark windows. Countless stories were told about the abandoned house, each one slightly more insane than the last. Of course, you were like… eight, and a large, seemingly empty white house with a big, black gable was doomed to be haunted.

Still, you’re very surprised when you stop at the red pin on your phone’s screen, and it’s outside that very house. Momo, who works the reception, must’ve forgotten to fill out the pet owner’s name on the confirmation form she sent you, so all you have is this address and a brief line of patient info.

Even though the sky is gray—fittingly enough threatening September rain—it’s not as scary as you remember. Probably because it’s not a dark Halloween night, and you’re not a kid anymore. It also doesn’t actually seem to be abandoned. To be fair, it was never really run-down aside from the lawn, but now there’s a big black SUV parked outside.

Getting out of the car, you grab the rectangular veterinary kit bag, accidentally shutting the trunk a little too hard. The sound echoes down the quiet street, letting anyone who wasn’t already aware know of your arrival. A chilly breeze has you pulling your softshell jacket tighter over your light blue scrubs as you lock the car. When you turn back to the house, you pause to take it in once more. It’s a pretty house—two-story, painted white probably a long time ago but still holding up surprisingly well. Black shutters frame the dark windows, and the tall, black gabled roof reaches impressively toward the gray sky. The lawn has either been trimmed within the last few years, or your childhood imagination really exaggerated it because you can clearly recall it looking more like a thicket with tall grass than just… an overgrown lawn. You distinctly remember more... shrubs.

Climbing the shallow steps, you stop in front of the black-painted door and raise your hand to knock. As you wait, you tilt your head back, once again letting your gaze linger on the house. Who exactly are you here to meet? Maybe it’s some introverted old woman who rarely leaves her house? Or a grumpy old man? But then again, the SUV looked awfully modern. Maybe the ancient resident has a grandchild visiting?

A short moment later, the door opens with a slight creak.

It’s not an old lady; it’s a young man. A tall young man—probably the most attractive one you’ve ever seen—looking down at you. He’s broad-shouldered and lean, visibly fit even despite the thick, black hoodie and baggy jeans he wears. You try not to stare at the shadow created in the fabric between his pecs, or the way the oversized hoodie still somehow manages to cling to the top of his bicep as he keeps one hand on the door handle. His black, relatively straight hair doesn’t look styled, just like it naturally falls into its part, the sides of it a little shorter than the top. Everything about him screams effortless, like he just wakes up looking like that.

One thing’s for sure: he wasn’t who you expected to open the door.

“Uh, hi,” you introduce yourself, telling him your name, “Did you… call for a vet?”

For some reason, he looks almost as surprised as you. “Hey. I did, yeah. I’m Jeongguk.”

Though he smiles politely, he doesn’t offer his hand for you to shake. It’s not something you dwell on. Quite a few of the pet owners you meet prefer not to shake hands.

“Come in.”

You nod and step inside, having to almost squeeze past him in the narrow hallway as he shuts the door behind you. Like always when you enter a strange man’s home alone, you say a little prayer in your head. If it came to it, you’ve got a bunch of pointy things in your bag, but you’d still prefer it if he wasn’t crazy to begin with.

As you move past him, you’re almost surprised that you don’t… smell him. Men—at least in this town—are very fond of their colognes and sprays, but you don’t catch even the slightest whiff of him. You wouldn’t say that you particularly enjoy the strong… scents, but the total lack of one from a hunk like this is almost disappointing.

When you go to slip your shoes off, he stops you.

“Keep them on,” he says, voice kept low due to the distance. Or rather, the lack thereof. “It’s… not very clean.”

There’s something in the casual smile he gives you besides an attractiveness you’ve never seen before. Maybe it’s a tad of… sheepishness? It doesn’t matter; your skin still heats under his gaze

“Oh, okay,” you say, trying to remain unbothered and professional while waiting for him to take the lead. Luckily, you don’t think he notices.

Even with the heads-up, you’re not sure what surprises you more as you follow him into the house—the layers and layers of dust, or the Edwardian, neoclassical interior design. The faded, beige walls are paneled, and as he leads you toward a staircase, you catch a glimpse of what appears to be the living room through an open archway. In it, you spot a pale green velvet sofa and two upholstered armchairs, fitting right in. There’s also a rectangular fireplace, a gold-framed mirror above it, and what catches your interest the most: a chandelier. Its size is impressive, and so is the fact that it looks like it was made for real, live candles. The same goes for the brass wall sconces placed on either side of the fireplace. You’ve only ever seen those in movies.

“They’re up here,” he says, and you nod, reaching for the wooden railing as you follow him up the stairs.

The steps creak loudly beneath your weight—another reminder of just how old this house probably is. At the landing, he turns, leading you to a bedroom. It’s surprisingly small for a house this size, but it’s cozy and warm in a way you weren’t expecting. You guess the clouds outside have eased up a little because the smallest ray of sunlight filters through the practically sheer beige curtains and highlights the dust particles floating in the air.

The four-poster bed is made from dark wood, its canopy rails bare and the headboard curled softly. Like most things, the white sheets appear pretty much untouched, and the only real signs of life are the footsteps disturbing the dust on the floor. You've followed a path all the way from the door, and when you look closer, you see paw prints venturing outside it.

Noticing your lingering gaze, Jeongguk scratches the back of his neck.

“I haven’t been here in a while.”

You figured. It doesn’t look like anyone’s been here since… the late 1800s. Although it’s certainly a stylistic choice—and one you wouldn’t have expected from someone so young and otherwise modern-looking—it has its charm. Even if you’re not sure there’s even electricity or running water.

“I arrived earlier today and found them here,” Jeongguk continues, approaching a standalone wooden wardrobe placed against the wall. One door is already slightly ajar, but when he carefully opens it wider, you see them. The cat with kittens. “I read that you’re not supposed to move them.”

The mother cat, who looks to be all black, has made a little nest on top of a crisp white shirt that’s fallen from its hanger above.

“Oh,” you breathe, crouching slowly to get a better look. “They’re brand new.”

“Yeah. And I think one is smaller than the others.”

Your eyes travel over the small beings, each with varying patches of white to go with the black. None of them, from what you can tell, have even opened their eyes yet. The mother cat stops licking one of the kittens to give you a warning hiss. You listen, rising to your feet and turning away, a plan already in mind.

“Okay, I brought some food that might help lure her out,” you say, setting the bag down on the floor and crouching to reach into it. “This stuff’s usually pretty irresistible…”

But when you look back at the man—a jar gripped in your hand—he’s already holding the mother cat. Just straight around her middle, as if he’s never held a cat before. She doesn’t seem to mind very much, just hangs there, looking around.

Jeongguk looks at you, a little surprised too.

“Oh, okay. She seems to like you better,” you smile. You can’t help but think that he looks… sweet. A big, clearly very muscular and attractive man who’s liked by animals? It’s definitely both a green flag and a personal weakness for you.

The food goes back into the bag, and you reach for the equipment you’ll need instead. With a stethoscope around your neck, a small kitchen scale, and a thermometer, you kneel in front of the wardrobe. In the meantime, Jeongguk sits down on the bed, the cat perched on his lap. He keeps his large hands around her, gently keeping her in place in case she changes her mind.

Very gently, you reach for the smallest kitten first. It squirms in your hands, mouth open and paws sticking out in a silent protest.

“Sex is notoriously tricky to tell on kittens, especially this small, so I’m not even gonna try,” you say with a smile, giving the kitten a general once-over before focusing on its face. It’s a sweet little thing, crying a little as you inspect it. This one is mostly black but with two white front paws.

“Well, I’d definitely say they’re only a day or two old. This one has a suckle reflex but hasn’t opened its eyes yet. That usually happens between day five and fourteen. The umbilical stump is still attached too, and that usually falls off around day two to four.”

“So that’s… good?” Jeongguk asks, and when you look at him, the mother cat is bumping her head against his abdomen. He peers down at her on his lap, extending his veiny hand in a wordless offer. She accepts it, rubbing her head against his palm and letting him pet her.

“Yeah. That’s normal.”

You return your focus to the little being in your hands, carefully looking into its mouth again to check its gums and palate.

“Pink gums and no cleft. That’s good, too.”

With one hand, you grab the stethoscope from your neck, putting the earpieces in place. Getting a clear heart or lung reading on kittens this tiny isn’t easy. Their heart rate is fast, making it easy to miss abnormalities, and their small, wriggling bodies make it hard to even position the chestpiece properly in the first place.

Focusing, you hold the kitten still, placing the stethoscope on the left side of its chest just behind the elbow. Then you listen closely, trying to ignore the soft purring from the adult cat.

It sounds… good. Alright, at least. Shifting the stethoscope slightly, you first listen to one lung and then the other. You don’t notice anything abnormal there, either.

“Heart and lungs sound okay,” you declare, slipping the stethoscope back around your neck.

“What’s next?”

“Temperature,” you answer, reaching for the digital thermometer.

“What should their temperature be?”

“Somewhere between thirty-six and thirty-six point five degrees Celsius.”

“Isn’t that a little low? I mean, compared to a human?”

“Adult cats are more similar to humans, but kittens generally run a little colder,” you explain, focusing on getting the reading right. “They don’t have the ability to regulate their body temperature properly for the first couple of weeks.”

The thermometer beeps.

“Thirty-six point two,” you mumble. “So that’s within the range. A little low, but not necessarily dangerous.”

With one hand, you reach for the kitchen scale, setting it on the floor in front of you. It powers on, and once it’s ready, you place the kitten on it, keeping your hand floating above in case the little animal tries to wiggle off the tray.

The number settles, and you read it out loud. “Eighty-one grams.”

“Too small?” Jeongguk wonders.

“On the lower side, but not dangerously so. At least not yet.”

You take the kitten and carefully place it back in the makeshift nest for the moment. Before reaching for another kitten to examine in the same way, you grab a small notebook in your bag, quickly jotting down the numbers so you don’t forget them.

Jeongguk looks on as you inspect the rest of the four kittens, occasionally asking another question. It’s not unusual for pet owners to ask questions, but considering these aren’t even his cats—and from what you gathered, he only found them today—it makes your chest warm. Not everyone would go to such lengths for stray cats. It also doesn’t help your growing soft spot that you get to talk about animals and their anatomy to someone who seems to want to listen. After all, you’re a bit of a nerd, and this is your number one fascination.

One by one, the kittens get their clean bill of health and are placed back on the shirt, and then you shift your focus to their mother. She’s standing on Jeongguk’s lap, still headbutting his chest. While she’s preoccupied, you quietly reach into your bag for the microchip scanner, but the moment you try to get close, she notices and hisses.

“Give it a try, please?” You hold the scanner out to Jeongguk, keeping as much distance as you can. “Press this button and move the scanner over her, focusing on her neck and back.”

Jeongguk takes the scanner from your outreached hand, doing as you instructed and pressing the button. It beeps, and he begins to move it over her.

“Like this?” he asks, his eyebrows furrowed almost angrily as he focuses.

You nod encouragingly. “Yeah.”

“Is it to see if she has an owner?”

“Yes. But sometimes, even if they are microchipped, there's not a registered owner. But we can hope.”

He continues to search for a chip, but when nothing happens, he looks at you with those dark eyes, silently asking what to do.

“Try her belly and even her legs. Sometimes, they migrate.”

Adjusting his grip on the scanner, he moves it lower.

“Doesn’t seem like it,” he says a moment later, handing the scanner back to you.

“Yeah,” you sigh, taking it to put it back in the bag. Although disappointed, you’re not surprised. “Would you mind helping me check her out? She seems to really like you. A whole lot better than she likes me, at least.”

He matches the soft smile you give him. “Sure.”

“Okay, well, she seems to be in okay condition, but I need to rule out any birth-related injuries.

“What do I do?” he asks, scooting closer to the edge of the bed, the cat still happy to receive his attention.

“Just… hold her like that… Yes, exactly. And with your other hand, move her tail away for me?”

A little awkwardly, he follows your instructions again, and while you don’t think the cat particularly enjoys it, she doesn’t fight it. You move closer, trying to get a better look while doing your best not to stare at his veiny hands instead. In any other setting, they’d be way too much of a distraction, but knowing that this cat depends on you to evaluate her health, you divert your gaze.

“Alright… I don’t see anything... unusual, no swelling, no blood, no discharge. If she were injured, you’d usually spot it, but she’s not thrilled with me, so I won’t push it,” you chuckle, leaning back.

Having animals dislike you is unfortunately part of the job. Sometimes, it hurts your heart a little, but when you remember that it’s easy for an animal to associate the scrubs or equipment with something unpleasant and maybe even painful, it makes more sense. Briefly, you wonder if this cat has ever been to a vet or if her dislike for you stems from something else. It’s definitely normal for new mothers to have a bit of an attitude, but you’d think that would include every human in the room. Or maybe she doesn’t dislike you in particular; maybe she just really likes Jeongguk. Which... you know, fair.

Almost as if sensing that the examination is over, the black cat jumps down from Jeongguk’s lap, leaping past you to get to her babies.

“Alright,” you say, wiping your hands on your pants before you stand up. “It’s important not to disturb them too much, but they’ll still need some supervision—especially the small one—just to make sure they continue to eat and grow. And they’ll need a better place to nest, somewhere a little warmer, softer, and less… dusty. No offense.”

Jeongguk chuckles, standing up as well and brushing some cat hairs from his hoodie. “None taken.”

“So, if you want me to, I can take them with me. We have a foster program and a few great volunteers.”

Jeongguk looks down at you, his brows furrowed in confusion this time. “I thought they were too small to be moved?”

“Yeah,” you nod, bending down to quickly gather the rest of the used equipment and put it back in the bag. “Ideally, they wouldn’t need to be. But I understand if you can’t or don't want to look after a stray cat and her kittens.”

“No, it’s… uh… It’s fine,” he says, appearing to land in a decision and sticking by it, his eyes traveling to the little bodies nestled into the white shirt. “It’s not that hard, right? Just keep an eye on them? If you think I can do it, of course. I already have a litter box.”

You blink, a little surprised. “You just happened to have a litter box?”

“No, I asked some neighbors after I called you. I figured you'd have some tips about the other stuff. Like food and such.”

Your smile grows as you watch him. He is… oddly endearing. “Yeah. Of course,” you say, your voice softening. The fewer cats and kitten taking up the very limited space at the volunteers', the better. “Okay.”

You begin drafting an email to send to him. It includes everything you've talked about plus cat food recommendations for the mother cat and a link to a cat bed that’s cheap but comfortable enough for a nursing litter. While you write, you talk him through everything again, like what to watch for, when to weigh them, and what to do if anything seems off.

He asks a few questions, making it very clear—if it wasn’t already—that he doesn’t really have any experience with animals. While he’s never appeared scared or nervous during your visit, you can tell that he’s not quite sure what to do. He moves slowly, almost a little awkwardly around the cats, but it’s more like he doesn’t want to scare them.

“You really like animals,” he points out, watching you tuck your notebook back into the bag.

You glance up at him. His tone isn’t mocking but more... curious. Still, you nod, a little self-conscious of how nerdy you can be.

“Yeah, animals are incredible. Not only because they’re such good companions—some of them at least—but, they’re so fascinating? How they function and how they’ve evolved.”

But there’s something else in his curious gaze that you finally pick up on, and it dawns on you.

“You think I’m a freak too, don’t you?” you say with a smile, pulling the stethoscope you’d forgotten to pack from around your neck and tucking it into the bag as well.

“No, no,” he shakes his head.

You lift an eyebrow. “But you know about it? My paper?”

His eyes are so dark. “Yeah…”

You look away, trying not to let it affect your professionalism. Speaking about it brings up memories you’d rather not be reminded of. “I thought you said you hadn’t been here in forever?”

It’s weird, right? If he doesn’t live here and hasn’t been around in a long time, how would he know the gossip?

“Town called a few years ago. About the electrical wiring needing to be upgraded. So I came here to fix it.”

Oh. That makes sense, you guess. A few years ago was when it first happened. That’s probably also why the yard looked different from what you remembered.

“And you heard about it?”

He smiles apologetically. “Yeah. It’s a small town, I guess.”

“It’s not like I think Ariel is real. Or that dragons roam the sky or that Dracula lives in a dark castle somewhere, wearing a black cape over a white, frilly shirt,” you defend, slinging the bag over your shoulder. “I just wrote about how much we don’t actually know about the living organisms around us and how some of the 'supernatural' traits aren't really that crazy, anatomically speaking.”

“No, I get that,” he assures, sounding like he genuinely didn’t mean to upset you. “I found it very interesting.”

“So is that why you looked so surprised to see me? Because you recognized me?”

“No. Or… well, yeah. I spoke to the receptionist, and she told me a man’s name—Namjoon, I think—would come.”

“Oh.”

“But I did also vaguely recognize you, I think. From the image.”

Lifting your wrist, you glance at the watch. “I should start to head back. Lock the clinic up.”

“I didn’t mean to offend you,” Jeongguk says, and when you meet his dark eyes again, he looks genuine. “I don’t think you’re a freak, I promise.”

“It’s alright,” you say, offering him a quick smile. “I’m not supposed to be out this long anyway. I have to get back and finish up the bill. I’ll email it to you along with the advice, is that okay?”

He nods, clearly accepting that he did in fact upset you to some degree. “Okay. Thank you for the help.”

You smile again, relaxing your shoulders and taking a deep breath. Maybe you should cut him some slack. Technically, he wasn’t even the one to bring your paper up; that was all you. And besides very, very handsome, you haven’t once thought of him as anything other than sweet.

"No problem."

The drive back to the clinic is quiet. You don’t even turn the prehistoric radio on. It doesn’t matter because your thoughts are loud enough anyway, circling back to one thing. One thing and one person.

The paper you wrote in vet school was a mistake. Not that it was bad per se—it was a perfectly science-based paper, focused on the more unusual biological traits found in the animal kingdom.

Unfortunately, you made the grave mistake of connecting some of those traits to various mythical creatures and their ‘unbelievable’ biology. Some of your peers—predominantly men—found it absolutely ridiculous and teased you for it. The more you tried to defend yourself, the funnier they thought it was.

You’d think it at least would’ve stayed within whatever small circle vet med is, but when your small town happens to be known specifically for the vet med program, a surprisingly large chunk of the population has some connection to it. You’re lucky that not many wish to stay in town after graduating, or you would’ve been last on the list to get a job. You still remember your current boss’s inspecting eyes as she interviewed you, trying to make sure you weren’t actually batshit crazy. That was maybe five or so years ago, and you haven’t really had to think about the paper in probably at least a year.

Until today. Again, it wasn’t Jeongguk’s fault, you don’t think he even meant for it to be brought up. It still caught you off guard, though, because even if you don’t know him, he didn’t give off the same vibe as the people who laughed at you. And now, you can’t stop thinking about him. About his build, and how the oversized clothes hung off his strong, muscular body. Or his large, veiny hands as he gently pet the mother cat. His dark eyes, sharp jaw, and strong eyebrows. Even his nose—with its straight bridge and softly rounded tip, creating such a striking, masculine profile—had a way of completely mesmerizing you.

Not only is he probably the most attractive man you’ve seen in a long time—maybe ever, but he seemed… warm. You wouldn’t expect a man like him to care for a stray cat and her newborn kittens, much less call a vet out to help, but he did.

Back at the clinic, you take a seat in front of the desktop computer, typing your notes into the chart and updating the bill. Besides the obviously tragic parts of dealing with sick and injured animals, the worst part is probably billing the owners. You need money to live just like everyone else, but you’ll always feel wrong charging worried owners to care for their family members. Even now, as you’re adding the services to… Jeon Jeongguk’s bill, you think about how the cats don’t even belong to him.

The cursor hovers over his name. Who is he? How did he come to be the owner of that house, and why own it if he’s not living there or at least visiting regularly? Why bother even fixing the electrical wiring if it’s just gonna stay empty? And just how long had it been empty?

The questions whirl in your head. Though it’s not really any of your business why he returned, maybe you could’ve at least asked him where he’s from? It would’ve been acceptable small talk, right? Could you also have asked why he felt the need to take care of the cats, even when you offered to take them off his hands, or would that have been rude?

Realizing that you’re not getting anywhere, you bill him for a standard home visit of half an hour—even though you stayed closer to one—and for the gas just so you don’t lose money on the visit. You don’t add the same day fee or charge him for the used materials.

author's note: i hope you liked it and are excited for the rest because i think it's gonna be good!!! i also had some moodboard pics of the house made so let me know if you'd like to see them <3

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nikovraskol · 6 months ago

Text

crack baby ; one

wc ; 3063 masterlist after dying, you expected to be greeted with the open arms of the void swallowing your body, mind and soul. what you didn't anticipate is waking up sixteen once more with a chance to change your fate -- but something strange is happening, why are the locks changing and why are all eyes suddenly on you ? tw ; brief mentions of death, neglect, abuse, curse words

prologue, one, two, three, tbc..

The walls feel different, you’re unsure why or how but they seem almost suffocating, each crevice and crack threatening to suck you up, to consume you and hold you between its atoms until you can’t breathe, until you’re stuck in eternal darkness between the Manor’s walls, ordained to watch your family thrive without you.

Though, that may very well be because of Bruce flipping Wayne walking besides you, an awkward silence stretching between the two of you, his stature large and intimidating, covered in scars from adventures you wouldn’t dare to even dream about.

As the vigilante Batman, you held an undetermined amount of respect for the man. He is Batman, after all. He protects Gotham, and by proxy, he protects you. But as Bruce Wayne, you feel little to nothing for the man.

Sure, the actual sixteen-year-old (Name) would’ve jumped for joy at a chance to even see her father, let alone walk the halls with him, at eighteen there was a period of time where you loathed the man, where you would curse yourself for sharing DNA with him. But you’re technically twenty-one, and twenty-one year old you was grateful to him for housing and feeding her, but resentful for the neglect they faced.

These conflicting emotions inside you mixed together to create a cocktail of complete and utter apathy towards the man.

“Alfred mentioned you didn’t come down for breakfast, you’re growing, you should eat a sufficient amount of food everyday.” His voice broke through the deafening silence, the Manor feeling bigger for some reason as you send him a confused expression, your brows furrowing as you take in your father in earnest.

There wasn’t a time where you had a chance to take him in fully. Aside from when you first came to the manor, but that time was behind you and you made an effort to push anything about that to the back of your mind.

He looked cold, as untouchable as he did on TV, he felt far away despite the fact that he was right beside you. For a moment, you were transported back in time, back to when you’d sit on the floor, knees to your chest as you stared at the old, laggy TV before you.

“You look like him.” Your mother hummed from behind you, she was sat on the old beat-up couch where she slept each night, brushing your hair with the utmost of care as she avoided the man on TV, Bruce Wayne, your alleged father. A smile dawned your face as the flickering of the TV casted an almost eerie glow into your living room, a premonition for what’s to come, evident by the way your mother’s movements grow more rough, by the way her hand curls in your hair, forcing you to look away from the man. You didn’t protest, you knew better.

You look like him? You wouldn’t say so, when you picture yourself you picture your mother – though that may be your bias talking, you’ll always prefer your mother, despite the ache in your heart whenever you think of her.

“Right..” You mumble, not sure how to reply to him. This was uncharted territory! How do you converse with a father who you’ve never spoken to before despite living under the same roof for ten years, despite sharing blood, despite sharing a last name.

You’ve always felt like a black sheep, uninterested in the nitty-gritty of being a vigilante. You had nothing to contribute, in a family where transactions formed bonds, you had nothing to give. You were nothing, not Batman, not Robin, not anyone. Just (Name), like a piece of cheap plastic glued into a small crack on a pristine, porcelain vase. You didn’t belong, you cheapened them all, it’d be better to peel you off.

It’s why they never looked back at you, no matter how much you cried, begged, It’s why Dick would send you a half-hearted grin and a promise of ‘’I’ll take you somewhere later’ to placate your begging, to make you shut up. It’s why Jason would push past you in the hallways, why Tim would blatantly ignore you, and why Damian would sneer whenever he’d see you.

You weren’t able to migrate to Cass or Steph, and by the time Duke had joined, you had already given up on the prospect of forming any meaningful relationship in this Manor and it’s looming walls.

Then suddenly, a thought hits you, a rush of something – this was your perfect chance, you likely wouldn’t see your father again so it’s okay for you to ask now, right? There will be no other chances.

“Can you.. lend me some money?” You ask suddenly, cringing on how that sounds. That isn’t really the best thing to ask the father who you haven’t interacted with for fuck knows how long – he was probably picturing you as some money-hungry leech. Which is fine, his opinion of you meant nothing to you anymore, he can imagine you as whatever he likes.

But you need money if you’re going to live in a half-decent area of Gotham, getting a job and saving money for a house would take too long on a minimum wage salary, and your piggy bank was completely empty, and you couldn’t move cities. Not at sixteen.

“What do you need it for?” Bruce asks, his eyes sliding over to you cooly. A pang of something hitting his gut like a physical blow, his hands clenching as he struggled to look at you for too long. You looked like him.

When Alfred came into his office, sighing about how he was worried for his second-youngest child, Bruce was confused. Tim was fine, he hadn’t gotten hurt on patrol, and he wasn’t sick – at least, to Bruce’s knowledge.

“I’m not talking about Master Tim, I’m speaking of Master (Name), they’re acting in an unusual manner.” Alfred sighs, his gaze narrowing at Bruce – the judgement clouding his gaze heavy as he stares down his master.

“(Name)?” Bruce mumbled, his brow raising – he remembers you. Maybe. He remembers the concept of you, the product of a one-night-stand he had, a child he was forced to take in because of the death of your mother. He remembers the look in your eyes as you stared up at him, and he distinctly remembers the way you had clutched onto his hand, tears pooling your eyes as you sniffled, scared of the world, seeking comfort from the man everyone called your father.

But after that, nothing. His mind drew a blank when it came to picturing you – his first born blood related child, the thought made his stomach churn with guilt. His hand clenching as he avoids Alfred’s disdainful stare.

He tried to read the documents before him once more, his loyal butler’s scornful gaze burning into his back as the guilt in his stomach dug it’s claws into his lungs, squeezing until it became unbearable.

He’ll check on you, he decides. He’ll make an image of your face, that’ll settle the all-too familiar guilt inside him. Or at least, that’s what he told himself as Alfred led him down the familiar halls of his Manor, until he hit the other side – a side untouched ever since Bruce was a child, an area of the Manor he didn’t bother with.

Why were you here? The guilt in his stomach intensified, clawing it’s way up his throat as he reached your door. His hand hovering over the handle. This wouldn’t do. His guilt was increasing, weighing heavy on his back. The silence was unnerving, on the other side of the Manor, where everyone else resided – there was always some sort of background noise.

The silence surrounding your room was sickening, threatening to encase his form. This really wouldn’t do, he’d create an image of your face and move your room, somewhere close to his. Somewhere where he can occasionally drop by, he’ll sedate his guilt surrounding you, cutting off the bud of the problem before it can grow into something deeper, he didn’t have time for any of that as Batman.

And with that, he opened your door.

“I need it to buy a house.” You shrug, feeling a little awkward talking about this with your father. Did he even care? You didn’t think so. Oh goodness, the silence was so stifling you wish you could be shot all over again and–

You stop when you notice he isn’t walking beside you anymore, turning your gaze behind you to take in his expression and– why the fuck does he look shocked?! Your expression scrunches up as you take in thee Bruce Wayne, thee Batman looking at you, completely caught off guard.

It’s an expression you’ll never forget until the day you die.

“Buy a house? Why?” He asks, his lips tugging into a tight line as he stares at you with that same calculating expression, the one that made your nerves stand on end – the one that made each cell in your body burn with the urge to curl into yourself, to appear as small as possible and and plead for mercy. You hate it (It reminds you of her).

“I’m– moving out..” You say, your voice smaller than you had intended. The walls are slowly crushing you, you’re sure. This all feels like a cruel dream, a twist of fate you don’t want to accept. Oh, please, you don’t want that look, you want him to look at you with another expression (with the expression he gives others, the expression of a father),

Bruce paused, his body going rigid as he exhales through his nose – the guilt simmering in his body, each muscle threatening to snap, he hates this feeling. He wants to know you, he wants to know his child, the child tucked into the corner of the Manor. How cruel is fate, to threaten to rip you away, to pluck you from his garden the moment he took notice of your pretty petals.

“Do you have any in mind?” Bruce asks, his head tilting as he scans you from head to toe, his voice growing lower, colder. A familiar rush runs through you, the rush you felt when you were in that piss-soaked alley. The undertone of danger clear – what was his problem?

“I’m not sure yet, but– I saw a nice apartment by Gotham Harbour..” You mutter, your hands wringing behind your back nervously. This was strange, scary, unnerving, anxiety-inducing – pick your damn description! “I’ll.. see about sending you some.” He says gruffly, before nodding and walking away without another word. Instantly, you let out a deep sigh, your hand clutching your heart as you mumble curses, stumbling back to your room. That was–..

If you were actually the sixteen-year-old (Name), you’d probably be on your way to get a tattoo saying ‘my father spoke to me!’, but as you walk down the long, foreboding hallways all you can muster is fear. You don’t know why, but that exchange felt like a catalyst for something big, the future has changed. You’re swallowed by the realization that whatever power you had is slipping away, the future has changed almost comically fast and you’re left standing alone in an abyss of uncertainty.

Something’s going to happen, you just hope you’re not a part of it.

Meanwhile, on the other, brighter side of the sullen Manor, Bruce is brooding in his office, the tick-tocking of the grandfather clock matching the pace of his heartbeat. His dear (Name), his child, moving out? At sixteen? Blasphemous. He ran a hand through his hair, sighing deeply once more, ignoring the pointed look from his youngest son standing before him.

“Father, I believe it’s time to start training. I surmise you haven’t forgotten your promise?” Damian asks, taking in his father’s disgruntled appearance. Strange. It’s certainly not unheard of for Bruce to be in a disheveled state, what with him protecting Gotham every night. But last night was quiet, there wasn’t anything big going on so they were able to take it easy. He should be relaxed, or at least put together.

“Damian, I haven’t the time, Dick is staying in the Manor today, ask him.” Bruce says, standing up from his chair as he walks towards the door – ignoring Damian’s rattled expression, his young son following his footsteps with a huff.

“If I had wanted to train with Richard, I would’ve asked him.” Damian retorts, following his father around with his arms crossed around his chest – miffed by the turn of events. What on earth was keeping his father from training with him? He had been looking forward to this! He continued to protest as they ascended down the stairs, past the living room where Dick was lounging all the way to the kitchen where Alfred was already preparing a feast, the butler diligently working with practised ease.

“Master Bruce, Master Damian.” Alfred greeted, the smell of his cooking wafting through the air as he took in the sight of Bruce’s frown and Damian’s pout, they looked alike, it was almost comical, not that the butler would voice that out loud.

While the old man may seem relaxed, his hands were clenched a little too tightly to pass off as natural. He was waiting with baited breath to see if his plan had borne fruit, if Bruce had managed to find out the reason for your odd behaviour. Of course, Alfred could’ve asked you himself, but you had never been one to open up.

No matter how much the old butler tried, he wasn’t able to break through the walls of defence you had built around yourself during your stay in the Manor, hopefully the man you craved affection from would be enough to crack that impenetrable shield.

“Did you know that (Name) is planning to move out?” Bruce asks suddenly, his blunt words cutting through the mouth-watering aroma of the carefully seasoned chicken in the oven. Bruce’s eyes remain trained on Alfred, watching as his mouth drops slightly. So he didn’t know. He ignores Damian’s aghast expression and Dick who had sauntered in moments ago.

“No.. I wasn’t aware.” That was unexpected, of all the things Bruce could’ve said, Alfred wasn’t prepared for that. You? Move out? You were merely sixteen, a child! You weren’t even the age to earn a livable wage and you wanted to move out? Unbelievable! “What– What did you just say?” Dick stammers, his eyes flickering from Bruce to Alfred as the tension in the room silently grows, weighing on the room like a guillotine, an unspoken threat looming above each of their heads. Dick couldn’t believe what he was hearing. You wanted to move out? His precious baby sibling? The sweet child who would follow him around shyly, who would light up at the smallest hint of affection, the child who couldn’t ride a bike or do their times tables or–.. No, that was years ago, right? Or, at least he thinks so.

To be honest, when Bruce had said your name, he was initially confused. (Name) was unfamiliar to him – but that feeling went away when he pictured the small child hiding behind the corners of the Manor. His precious sibling! So, it doesn’t matter, right? He forgot about you but he remembered you just as quickly. He’s your older brother, he couldn’t have forgotten you. No, not when he’s everyone’s reliable older brother, that’s impossible! Disgraceful! Deplorable!

How old are you now? He wonders bitterly, a heavy, unsettling feeling forcing it’s claws in his throat as he feels a dull ache stretch through his body, his heart pounding through his ears. You? Move out? That’s insane, you can’t move out. He still needs to take you out to that restaurant he promised you (all those years ago), he needs to help with your math homework, he–..

He feels like he might throw up, he takes a tentative step back, ignoring the expression on Damian’s face. He needs to see you, to grab you and demand answers, he can’t believe such a thing to be true. Sure, maybe he hasn’t interacted with you at all, and maybe he can’t picture your face, or your personality in his mind aside from the small, lingering child who would follow him around – but you can’t leave! Not before he takes you out to that restaurant, like he promised. What kind of big brother doesn’t follow up on his promises?

“This is a ploy for attention.” Damian huffs, glowering at the mention of you. So, you’re what’s driven his father away from training with him. Figures. You’re jealous and weak, it’s natural you’d make empty threats to scavenge for attention like the filthy leech you are. Pathetic.

So why? Why was father making such an expression? Why was Dick so pale, as though he’s about to hurl? Even Alfred looks caught off-guard. What’s going on with these buffoons? Can they not see the foolishness in the idea of you moving out?

But, there’s a feeling in the air, masking Alfred’s cooking that tells him you’re serious. You’re planning on moving out. What a stupid notion – he should go to your room and smack you for even suggesting it, that you would survive outside of the Manor, in Gotham no less.

“What will you do, Master Bruce?” Alfred asks after a beat of thoughtful silence, the air in the room crackling with the weight of everyone’s ideals, his eyes narrowed at Bruce’s tightened expression.

“They’re.. too young to live alone.” Bruce’s tone is even, the same voice he uses when going over a mission plan and such, but the message in it is clear. You can’t go, and they all understand it, they understand it well.

Alfred watches the three part ways, each of them with a newfound goal in mind, and he can’t help the relief that washes over him. This is great, he had been worried that they would let you go – that they wouldn’t care to keep you, Alfred would have to do all the work himself then, and he’s much too old for that.

Yes, this is much easier. The cogs of fate are turning, the strings on your limbs tightening with each passing second. You’ve inadvertently set your role in an inescapable performance – maybe next time, go downstairs for dinner – no matter how shaken up you are.

yall i was gonna post this later.. but everyone is so nice omg. i feel so scared to post PLEASEUHH constructive critisicm is appreciated <3 :3 also thank u for being so kind on the prologue :p

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vintagecandy · 24 days ago

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1920s Edward Nygma, A.K.A -- The Riddler! ( I will try to make this one slightly more brief lmao ) ☆ ETSY // COMMISSIONS

So when it comes to the Riddler, ordinarily, I always struggle with him aesthetically, because he doesn't have as much obvious themeing as "southern halloween" or "the entirety of alice in wonderland", and so I knew I wanted to take advantage of how severely I am rearranging all the rogue's aesthetics to give the Riddler something specific and time period appropriate to visually do, yknow?

In my mind, when I think of the Riddler I think of... technically winnable but highly tilted competitions of wit. Almost like a rigged game. That, combined with a very cocky "wise ass" personality. So! I knew pretty early on I wanted him to be a carnival barker! ( Puzzles and riddles and things of that nature were more common as a pass-time back then ) I considered giving him a straw boater instead of his usual bowler hat... but the bowler hat is so iconic to him and time period appropriate, so I left it. I think it still gives carnival owner, tbh, just a little more greasy than cute. Which fits, frankly. Yes, so although carnival imagery is associated with the Joker, the Joker is, of course, a silent film comedian ( in loving homage to his origin ), thus freeing up the funhouse for Edward. Although, he's no clown, he's more the one making a fool out of you.

Edward Nygma, as an orphan immigrant of Irish descent, came to America with nothing but the clothes on his back and his eyes on that shining city on the hill, the beacon of opportunity, and above all-- the land of meritocracy. Of course, however, reality set in after he stepped foot off the boat. It also didn't help the city he set foot in was Gotham. Despite being an engineering prodigy befit the rapidly industrializing city of the future, he ran into bad luck after bad luck, constantly seeming to stumble on his way up the ladder as opportunities slipped away and seemed to be given to-- in his mind-- less deserving men. With his frustration mounting, and a compulsive mind that never seems to let him let any insults to his pride go, it all comes to a breaking point when one of Gotham's biggest corporations scams him out of the patent for one of his innovations. Its only then does he finally realize what the "land of opportunity" really means.

Giving up on the "honest man" approach, Edward resorts to cheap cons, eventually building enough success to open a carnival of games, mysteries, snake oil, and of course, riddles-- Taking on the performer name "The Riddler" as a face for the event. A big, shiny bauble to lure in the dumb masses to willingly fork up their money to him. After all, if they were stupid enough to fall for it, they deserve whatever happens to them. However, this was all a front for the far grander scheme he constructs to take down the company who wronged him all that time ago. Because who would ever suspect a two-bit carnie could be capable of such a thing?

But, careful as he was, stirring trouble that big was enough to bring the attention of the Bat, eventually-- of course-- leading to the reveal that the Riddler anticipated their arrival and turned his carnival into a puzzle laden death trap. Even though Batman wins, because of course, he does incidentally ( or perhaps on purpose ) reveal to the public that the Ed is the real genius behind his stolen tech, thus leaving Mr. Nygma laughing all the way to the mad house. Even if he still doesn't get to own the patent.

Edward has a more... modern and subtle mental illness, being his OCD and other symptoms, and I feel a corrupt 1920s mad house that only vaguely cares to cure its patients would struggle to even understand exactly what the source of his more erratic behavior is coming from. He's constantly tense, speaks a mile a minute and for long periods, and is prone to sudden and aggressive outbursts of anger. They will likely acknowledge he seems obsessive, hyperactive, and prone to grandiose thinking but consider him a less hopeless case compared to say, Jervis Tetch.

However, his alignment lands him squarely in the anti-society section, thus aligning him with his soon to be sometimes-partners in crime, Jonathan and Jervis.

#( I struggle with the color green.... its my least favorite color.... so you have to #tell me if his color palette is looking good because i physically just can't tell lmao )#fanart #batman #gotham rogues #batman villains #Edward Nygma #The Riddler #Batman Scarecrow #batman Mad Hatter #Jervis Tetch #Jonathan Crane

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uriwonu · 11 days ago

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everything's in the air . jww

preview

You're not his sugar baby, and you're definitely not his girlfriend. But you're something to him and maybe that's enough.

✶ ceo!wonwoo x college student!reader ✶ w.c: 20k (as of now 🙂‍↕️) ✶ genre: porn with plot. minors dni ✶ warnings: explicit content 🔞. age gap (reader is implied early-mid 20s, wonwoo late 30s), college/university au (reader is a grad student), brief reader x chan (blink & you miss), sugar baby au?? kind of. reader wears glasses. please let me know if there is anything else you think i should include! ✶ date coming : -- ✶ notes: aaaa i promise this is coming soon ive just been both busy & this is way longer than i was expecting it to be. thank you for being patient with me and thank you for all the support and love on my first fic!! hope you will like this one just as much. 🤍

“He's not my sugar daddy.”

Your best friend scoffs, “What else do you call the very rich man that's paying all your bills?” And then, because she thinks better of it, “Fine, your boyfriend then.”

“I’m not dating him.” You roll your eyes, “And I call him Wonwoo, you know, his name.”

She gives you a look that could curdle milk, “You’re fucking him. He’s paying your rent, hell, he bought you a car because you showed up to his apartment late once. That’s way more than I get from the people I do date.”

You grin around your straw. “Maybe you just need to have higher standards.”

“Maybe you need to figure out what this is before he decides it for you.”

That sobers you just a little. Because it’s true. Wonwoo calls the shots—always has. He decides when, where, how. He decides what gets touched, what gets taken off first, how long you stay, how hard you fall. And you? You let him. You let him because when he’s there, when he’s in it, he makes you feel like you’re the only thing in the world that can pull him away from the weight of everything else he carries.

But when he’s gone, he’s gone. Silent. Distant. Untouchable. Like nothing happened. Like he didn’t have you trembling under him, whispering your name like a secret too dangerous to say out loud.

You pick at the edge of your nail, suddenly needing something to ground you. “It’s not like that,” you murmur.

Soomin watches you carefully now. No more teasing, no more smirking. Just quiet understanding, the way only a best friend can deliver. “Yeah,” she says finally. “But maybe that’s the problem.”

You don’t respond. What could you even say?

Your phone buzzes again—another message. Not from him this time. A class group chat reminding you of tomorrow’s midterm. You ignore it, but the glow of the screen is enough to pull you back to the ticking clock. 10:42 PM. You should get going soon if you’re going to be on time.

You rise from your chair and stretch, grabbing your tote bag and slipping your notes inside, careful not to fold the pages you’ve marked up.

Soomin raises an eyebrow. “So that’s it? You’re going?”

“I said I’d be there by midnight.”

“Did you say it, or did he?”

You sling the bag over your shoulder. “Does it matter?”

She gives you a tight-lipped smile. “You tell me.”

There’s nothing else to say, really. She’s said her piece. You’ve deflected, like always. The rhythm of it is familiar, almost comforting in how dysfunctional it is.

“I’ll text you when I get back,” you offer.

You grab your phone, pull up your messages, and finally open the unread one. Be here by midnight. No “please,” no emoji, no warmth. Just an instruction. Just like him.

But he didn’t need warmth to get under your skin. He never did.

You tuck the phone into your bag and head for the door.

And behind you, Soomin calls out one last thing, low and sharp and not entirely joking:

“Just don’t fall in love with him.”

You don’t answer.

Because that’s the one thing you can’t promise.

🍸

Two Years Ago

You weren’t supposed to be there. Technically speaking.

The email invite to the closed-door roundtable for "Private Influence in Public Governance" was meant for graduate students and faculty only. But your professor, jaded and permanently exhausted, owed you a favor after you ghost-wrote half his lecture slides last semester. One word from him and you were slipped onto the guest list with a name tag and a lanyard you hadn't earned.

You didn’t care about etiquette. You cared about proximity.

You were majoring in political science, with a minor in journalism. And this event? It was like a live autopsy of everything corrupt and powerful that textbooks liked to talk around. Wealthy donors, private equity reps, CEOs disguised as “policy contributors.” You had your eye on all of them.

But you hadn’t expected him.

Jeon Wonwoo.

He wasn’t listed in the program. No name tag, no title placard. Just a tailored black suit, a heavy watch, and a face you recognized from articles about mergers, lobbying scandals, and two separate exposés that mysteriously disappeared from the internet after a week. He sat at the end of the table, silent, his attention divided between the room and something on his phone.

He looked like someone who didn’t need to speak to be heard.

You didn’t realize you were staring until he looked up. Eyes locking on yours across the room like he'd felt it. A pause—maybe a second, maybe longer. You looked away first.

But he didn’t.

When the session ended and everyone flooded toward the catered wine and networking corner, you ducked into the adjacent exhibit hall to grab your notes and recalibrate. Alone, for five seconds, until you weren’t.

“Undergrad?” a voice said behind you—smooth, low, and close enough that you turned like you’d been caught doing something you shouldn’t.

He was standing just inside the doorway. No name badge, no reason to be here except for the fact that the entire world seemed to rearrange itself when he entered a room.

You swallowed. “And here I thought you were going to ask for my number first.”

He smiled—not with his mouth, but with the kind of glint in his eyes that made you feel like prey he was deciding not to eat just yet. “That depends,” he said. “Do you always make a habit of sneaking into closed-door policy sessions?”

You tilted your head. “Do you always stalk college students into side rooms?”

A beat.

Then he walked closer.

Not menacing, not hurried—just enough to make your pulse skip. His steps were silent, deliberate, like he’d long since learned how to take up space without ever seeming to fight for it.

“I’m Jeon Wonwoo,” he said, like it was supposed to mean something.

And it did. But you didn’t give him the satisfaction.

“Congratulations.”

He chuckled, low in his chest. “You’re brave.”

You didn’t move. “You’re old.”

He smiled again—this time, amused. “Do you flirt with all the men who could buy your university?”

You leaned against the table behind you and smiled back. “Only the ones who look like they know they’re going to hell.”

That made him pause.

Not because he was offended.

Because he liked it.

“I don’t believe in hell,” he said.

You tilted your head. “Of course you don’t. You’re already in charge of it.”

He exhaled a soft laugh, studying you now like a new acquisition. Like someone had left something sharp and pretty on his desk, and he wasn’t sure if it was a weapon or a gift.

“Name?” he asked.

You hesitated just long enough to make him work for it. Then: “Why? You going to blacklist me from the next event?”

“No,” he said. “I want to remember it.”

#wonwoo x reader #wonwoo smut #svt teaser

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baocean · 1 month ago

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i tried to be good, am i no good?

pairing ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ criminal!jj x sheriffsdaughter!reader

synopsis ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ you were supposed to be safe, quiet, clean. sheriff’s daughter, sweet southern manners, reputation stitched into the hem of every dress. but jj maybank was all cigarette smoke and hands cuffed behind his back, and you’ve been wanting him since seventeen. he didn't look at you back then, not like he does now. and you pretend nothing’s happening, you still say your grace and keep the front door locked. but the window stays open. and his bruises look better when they're yours.

warnings ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ smut (minors stay away get out), choking, very brief mention of slapping, jj lowk being mean during smut, kinddd of almost getting caught, mentions of christianity and reader being minorly religious, afab!reader, swearing

notes ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ word count - 6kish words! inspired by 'crush' & 'strangers' by ethel cain. (edit: my admiration and credit belongs to @princessbrunette! they wrote a fic inspired by crush first, it is amazing and wonderful pls go read it! thanks anon)

you hadn't planned to stay long. just long enough to drop off the sandwich, the salad, the sweet tea in a mason jar to your dad, because he'd forgotten his lunch at home again.

it's hot out today and you shiver when you step inside the kildare county sheriff's office from the ac blowing. its quiet- no one is behind the front desk, there's no drunken yells coming from the holding cells. there's a radio humming 60's country music on low, but that's it.

it smells like floor wax and old coffee. you cross the lobby slow, careful not to make too much noise, keys still hooked around your finger.

you're headed to your dad's office, mentally preparing for the lecture you'll probably recieve for wearing a skirt this short, when the slam of a metal door against wall makes you jolt.

the first thing you see is your dad- kildare's sheriff, locally loved and adolescently dispised. he's got that look on his face that can only mean someone's managed to piss him off in the hour and twenty minutes he's been working, or he already knows about the length of your skirt.

it's the first one. your dad’s dragging someone in by the elbow. shirt stained, hair a mess, hands cuffed behind his back, and grinning.

your stomach drops. jj maybank.

you recognize him immediately. how could you not? his file lives in your dad’s top drawer. his name was muttered like a curse word at the dinner table. this is his second time this week getting brought in. something about a fight, something about resisting.

he's the kid who’s been in and out of this station so many times, he probably knows the code to the back door. he's the boy your mother didn’t even bother warning you about. she assumed you had enough sense to know better.

but maybe she should have taken the thirty seconds it does to ward you off him. because the crush you have on jj maybank? it's not the cute kind, it's not the kind you say out loud. it's sickening and a little humilating.

you feel kind of bad for it. you're the sweetest girl in town, getting straight a's in college, you can’t even say the word sex without getting red in the face. but still, you want him to press your face to the mattress and say 'so polite for everyone else, huh? let’s see how polite you are for me'.

sickening.

you didn’t know him, not really, but you knew of him. everyone did. that’s just how it works on a place like this, the island’s too small to hide anyone, especially not someone like jj.

he was a year older than you. he graduated, barely, from the public school on the island, got into fights, spent half his week in this here police station. while you had been kildare acadamy trained, clean reputation, polite. raised on yes sir, no ma’am, and don’t ever go near that maybank boy.

you've only spoken once, technically, if you want to count the time he held the door for you. lip split, blonde craze curling out from under his hat, he didn’t even look up at first.

you stepped past him, said 'thank you', real quiet, polite, like you were supposed to. he glanced up just long enough to say 'no problem, sweetheart' and then he was gone.

and that was it. so oviously, you've convinced yourself that you're a creep.

jj is still getting dragged across the lobby by your father.

“you’re really startin’ to make this a habit, sheriff,” he says. “you miss me or somethin’?”

your dad grits his teeth, but doesn’t answer. he looks over at you, huffing out a smile. "hey, kid."

jj looks up, and then he sees you. he actually stops walking for half a second, forces your dad yank him forward again. but his eyes stay locked on you, his head tilts like he’s trying to remember if you’ve ever spoken.

his eyes drag over you, slow and curious, like you don’t match the picture in his head.

then, he smiles. "afternoon, sweetheart."

you wondered if he had somehow, magically remembered what he had called you the first and only time you interacted with him, or if he just called every girl that.

he turns to your dad. “you ever get nervous lettin’ her walk around like that?”

your father tightens his grip on the cuffs. “watch your mouth, maybank.”

jj grins wider, eyes never leaving you. “just sayin’. you're braver than i thought."

“that’s my daughter."

jj’s eyebrows lift. “lucky man." his lips fall into a line, nodding his head. "she looks just like her mama."

you hide a jaw drop. his head tilts, then shakes it with approval.

they make it to the other end of the lobby, before your dad stops and yanks jj with him. he turns, giving you that look you're sure jj put on his face earlier.

"that thing's real short, kid."

"yeah, completely makes up for gettin' arrested, though. actually, i think i'll even thank you for this one, michael."

your father shoves him foward so hard jj stumbles, shoulder hitting the frame. he probably would've fallen if not for the hostile grip your dad had on the cuffs. but jj’s still smiling.

they pass through the doorway, the door slams behind them. and you’re left standing in a silence that buzzes.

you see him again five days later.

you're in the gas station, picking through the cold drinks while you wait for the gas pump to fill your car.

"look who it is."

you turn, and there he is, standing with just enough distance that it makes you kind of fidgety. his arms are crossed and he's already smirking like he won't end up in holding tonight.

you force your face into something neutral, pleasant, indifferent. like your heart isn’t already racing just from the sound of his voice.

“jj." you say carefully.

“you remember my name. i’m touched.”

you roll your eyes and walk toward the counter. he follows, slow.

“cute dress,” he says, like it’s nothing. like he didn’t just burn that image into his brain, “real sweet."

"thank you. you done?"

“not tryin' to cause a scene, sweetheart. just surprised, is all. figured you were only allowed out with a badge escort.”

“funny,” you say flatly, plucking a pack of gum from the display and tossing it next to your drink. “you been working on your material?”

he doesn’t answer right away, just watches you with that same unreadable look. the one that makes your stomach coil even when you tell yourself it shouldn’t.

“how fast do'ya think your dad would put a bullet in me if i kissed you?”

you go still. not in that flustered, overdramatic kind of way, but in that real kind of still. like your brain forgot how to move your mouth.

he doesn’t even look at you when he says it. just taps the cap of the soda bottle against the counter, head tilted slightly like he’s already picturing it.

the cashier hands you your change, not without a look of concern, and you walk out into the sun, hoping it'll hide your reaction to him.

jj doesn’t let more than two seconds pass before he pushes through the door behind you.

"okay, that was a joke. not really, but kind of."

you glance back at him, quick. he's a few steps behind, already squinting from the north carolina sun.

"it was a bad one."

"you got somewhere to be?"

you don't look back at him. your hand’s tight around your keys, your other fidgeting with the edge of your drink. “…no.”

“then come for a drive.”

your head snaps up, brows raised. “with you?”

he nods like it's simple, like it was obvious.

"why would i do that?" you ask, eyes flicking between the gas pump and him.

“beats standin’ here tryin’ to pretend we’re not both thinkin’ about it.”

you swear your whole body locks up, again. he didn't know...did he? no, he couldn't possibly know about the way you think of him at night. but the way he talks like he does makes a silent shiver run down your spine.

you take a deep breath a shake your head. "you aren't funny."

the gas pump clicks as jj laughs, you pull it out and replace it with the gas cap.

“wasn’t tryin’ to be. you comin’?”

you stand there, looking at him. he's smiling, like always, his shirt is stained with something black and is cut at the sleeves.

you hear your dad's voice in your head after the event at the station five days ago, comments made after arresting jj and then coming home and pointing a fork at you during dinner. “next time he looks at you like that, you walk away.”

you should walk away. you should politely decline and then run for the hills like he's chasing you.

“…you gonna bring me back?”

he grins, slow and tooth-biting. "promise."

the passenger side door creaks when he pulls it open for you. the seat’s hot, the truck smells like sun warmed leather and gas station gum and something darker, sweat and smoke and boy.

he drives with one hand on the wheel, arm lazy out the window. the breeze messes up your hair, but you don't try and fix it.

the road’s all winding road down by the lighthouse, no one on the road, no reason to feel this tense except for the boy driving like he’s got all the time in the world and none of it’s clean.

you’re hyperaware of the way his arm brushes the console between you, the way his knee shifts when he laughs. the way you keep crossing and uncrossing your legs, trying to shake the warmth climbing up your body.

he’s talking about something dumb, some fight on the beach, some busted cooler and a stolen fishing pole, and then he stops mid-sentence.

“hold up,” he says, low and casual, like it’s nothing. “you got somethin’ right there.”

before you can ask, his hand’s already in your space. his fingers brush over your shoulder, then up, slow and careful, until they find a little piece of something caught in your hair. maybe a leaf, maybe thread, maybe nothing at all.

he pulls it free but doesn't drop his hand. just twirls the same lock of your hair around his finger. once, twice.

you're staring at him with your lips parted, his eyes out onto the road as if he doesn't have you wrapped around his finger, figuratively and literally.

your breath hiccups. he doesn’t look at you, doesn’t smile, just keeps twirling, like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

and then he tugs. gentle, light, barely a pull.

he lets go like it’s nothing, but it doesn't stop you from gasping, only loud enough for jj to grin.

he flicks the piece of fuzz out the window, and leans back into his seat. “should see your face right now.”

you roll your eyes, uncross and recross your legs. you can't help the pink that appears on your cheeks as you stare out the winow.

jj looks you over again. looks at your hair, your jaw, your hands placed politely in your lap, your thighs.

he breathes out a shaky breath, almost like he's in awe he's got a girl like you here with him.

“your dad’s gonna kill me." he says after a beat. he says it with a little humor behind it, but even jj knows it's no joke.

"guess you better make it worth it, then."

the ballroom smells like citrus polish and catered chicken. everyone’s dressed in their best, firefighters in borrowed jackets, town councilmen in suits that haven’t fit right in a decade. your dad sits tall at your side, name printed on a place card in the center of the table. your mom keeps adjusting the silverware.

you’re in a long, light blue dress with a low neckline and bare shoulders, earrings your aunt lent you, and heels that look really good, but don't feel good.

and of course, jj has magically managed to weasel his way into this event as a waiter.

he's dressed in black slacks and a crisp white shirt, sleeves cuffed to the elbows. hair combed but already falling out of place. there's a bruise shadows the left side of his jaw. he looks so out of place he might as well be glowing.

he's next to you before you know it. a hand appears at your side, steadying your glass. a second later, the sound of ice water pouring, slow and quiet.

you glance down. his sleeve brushes your arm. “miss.” he says.

he leans in just a little closer, not enough for anyone to take a second glance, but enough. “you look real sweet tonight.”

you tuck away a smile, a subtle hand reaching out to give a harsh tug at his belt, like that'll silence him.

he just lets out a breathy laugh, wandering over to the next table without giving anyone at yours a second thought.

the speeches start twenty minutes later, and you find a decent excuse to sneak outside before you're stuck in there listening to your dad's deputy talk about community.

you lean back against the stone railing, chin tilted up toward the stars you can barely see past the glow of streetlamps and floodlights. your heart’s still beating a little fast. too fast for someone who just needed air.

"knew i'd find you hidin' out here."

you turn, but you're not surprised. you were hoping he would follow you. hoping he would have some slimy, annoying thing to mutter under his breath.

jj’s already halfway to you, hands in his pockets, sleeves rolled, shirt slightly untucked like he’s been messing with it all night.

“how long’d you wait before following me?” you ask, leaning back against the railing.

“waited long enough to make it seem like i didn’t.”

you sigh. jj steps up beside you, quiet for a moment. he smells like smoke and heat and cologne he probably stole. the bruise on his cheek looks worse under the glow of the patio lights.

you smile a little despite yourself. “you’re not even supposed to be here.”

“yeah, well,” he says, inching even closer, “lucky for you, i’m real good at bein’ in places i shouldn’t.”

you laugh, eyes flicking over him, bruised knuckles, undone top button, the way his hand brushes the edge of the railing next to yours like he knows he’s already too close.

“you never shut up, do you?”

he gasps, loudly. “woah. little miss raised-to-be-polite tellin’ me to shut my mouth?”

you glare. “jj-”

“no, no,” he says, all mock-offended. “what would your mama think?”

you shove his shoulder, failing to hide your grin. “don’t bring my mother into this, jerk.”

he grins, not wide, but slow, lazy.

“mhm.” he tilts his head. “you always this mouthy when you wanna kiss someone?”

your breath stutters. you blink at him and say his name all stern like.

“what?” he says, voice low now, soft at the edges. he holds his hands up like it's absolutely not his fault you're in this situation. “you told me to shut up. i’m just sayin’...there’s better ways.”

you don’t answer, you just step forward and kiss him.

you don’t warn him. don’t ask for the first time in your life. just grab his shirt in your fist and pull him down to meet you.

and for half a second, jj freezes like he wasn’t expecting you to actually do it. but he's moving again after a millisecond.

his hands find your hips, not soft, not questioning, and he pulls. drags you in until your chest hits his, until there’s no air left between you. his fingers flex against the fabric of your dress, not like he’s holding you, like he’s molding you into the shape he wants.

his mouth is hot, moving over yours like he’s got something to prove, as if he needs to show you exactly what you’ve been missing.

it's like a dream. this is probably what taking drugs feels like. you can't feel your limbs all the way, and you feel like you're floating.

then, you think you hear something. a laugh, a door, a creak maybe. maybe you're just so paranoid from kissing the kid who has his own personal cell at the station.

you try to pull back, just an inch. jj doesn’t let you. he's already finding his way back to you, muttering something like 'don't' as his lips crash into yours again.

it's rougher this time, messier, like he’s trying to drown whatever part of you was second-guessing. like he needs you distracted, breathless, his just a little longer.

and when he finally steps away from you, quickly checking over his shoulder to make sure someone wasn't running to go tell on you two. jj turns back to you, lips parted. then that grin returns, bigger than before.

he's breathless, pupils blown, lips pink from kissing you too long and too hard.

you look up at him, he’s beautiful in this light. ruined and smug and golden. an absolute wet dream that you'll be replaying in your head tonight.

“don’t follow me in,” you say, soft, still smiling.

“’course not.” he grins. there's a beat of silence as you walk past him, letting your fingers graze across his stomach just because you could. over his shoulder he says, “see you in five.”

you took a little more time getting ready this morning, just a little. a little more mascara, a little smoother with the hair, a dress you wouldn’t normally reach for on a saturday. nothing dramatic, nothing obvious, just soft enough, just pretty enough.

jj maybank is outside.

he’s shirtless, slick with sweat, halfway disappeared under the hood of your dad’s truck. he showed up twenty minutes ago with a smile like he wasn’t late. your dad, clearly annoyed but cornered, muttered something about a deal- fix the alternator and maybe next time he gets caught trespassing, the cuffs stay in the glovebox.

your eyes damn near bugged out of your head when your father explained it over cereal this morning. you haven't seen jj since you kissed almost a week ago, it's been killing you. so yes, you sprinted up the stairs and then destroyed your closet getting ready.

you're trying to make yourself look as busy as possible in the kitchen when he walks in. he's wiping grease off his hands with a rag and wearing that smug, sun warmed smile.

“your dad’s still cussing at the alternator,” jj says, casually grabbing your glass of water off the counter and taking a sip. “figured i’d come see my favorite girl.”

"sure, help yourself." you try and sound annoyed as you point to your stolen glass, it does not come out the way you want.

he tips his head up with a smile as to say 'thank you', then steps closer to you.

you can’t breathe. jj's still very shirtless. he smells like sun and motor oil and whatever trouble’s been festering between you since friday night.

“you haven’t called.” you say, voice smaller than you meant it to be.

“you haven’t either.”

that stops you. you open your mouth, then close it again.

jj watches you, gaze dragging over your face like he’s memorizing it, like he missed it more than he wants to admit.

“miss me?”

you tuck your lips and shake your head no, even though you're smiling, even though you're leaning against the counter like you're willing to do all the work for him.

he leans in a little, and you think maybe he's finally gonna kiss you again, before he glances toward the hallway and goes, “wait. which room’s yours?”

you freeze. “jj-”

he doesn’t even wait for permission. just tosses the rag on the counter and starts walking.

“jj, no-”

he opens the bathroom door, mutters 'not that one', and then continues. you close the bathroom door while you're trailing behind him.

you’re still whispering like it’ll help, like your mom won’t hear if you keep your voice at a hiss while chasing a shirtless felon down the hall. he ignores you completely.

he opens the last door on the left and stops in the doorway. he lets out a low chuckle and you freeze behind him. but he’s already stepping inside before you can stop him.

your bedroom is small, soft. quiet pinks and warm creams. throw blankets and stacked books and a half-open window letting in the breeze. a few dried flowers in a jar on your nightstand, a line of perfume bottles on the dresser, little sea-glass trinkets from the beach, half your closet is still sitting on your bed.

jj takes all of one second to look around before letting out a low whistle.

“you know,” he murmurs, stepping away slowly, “i thought about this. you, what your room would look like.”

“yeah?”

“mhm. oh, totally knew you'd have a diary.” he grabs it from your nightstand, flipping through it without asking, humming.

you tear it from his hands, hoping he didn't see one of the thousands of times you've written his name in there, and toss it on the bed. “you’re such a jerk.”

he grins. his eyes land on your mirror, the cluttered edge of it, where a few photos are tucked into the frame, polaroids, memories. one in particular, slightly off-center, corners curling just the tiniest bit. jj steps closer.

“don’t even think about it.” your voice is laced with attitude, and you're already moving forward.

he ignores you again, plucking the photo from the mirror like it was his to take.

“jj.”

he doesn’t even look at you, just turns the polaroid over in his fingers to show you the photo, head tilted, a faint smirk tugging at his mouth.

it's the one of you at the beach, wearing some bikini the preacher at your church would force you into confessional for. you're laughing, your hair is all over the place, blowing in the wind.

“yeah,” he says. “this is coming with me.”

your jaw drops. “no, it's not.”

he shrugs. "sure about that?"

you snatch for it, but he's learned his lesson from the diary, and he lifts it higher. the smirk widening, like he lives to make you reach for things you shouldn’t want.

“what are you even gonna do with it?” you snap, crossing your arms, trying to cover the way your cheeks are burning.

he just stares at it, nodding like he's figuring it out in his head. then, he grins.

“gonna keep it under my pillow,” he says, voice low and warm, “until i fuck you in this exact bikini.”

you go completely still. heat explodes across your face, down your neck, in your fingertips. your jaw goes slack, your brain empties, your attitude? gone, totally gone.

"then i'll frame it." he nods one last time, shoving the picture into his pocket.

jj leans back just slightly, satisfied. his hand brushes your waist as he passes, slow and deliberate.

he presses a kiss to your cheek like it’s a favor, light, cocky, devastating. “thanks for the photo, sweetheart.”

and then he’s gone. screen door creaking, footsteps thudding down the porch steps, headed back toward the driveway like he didn’t just blow your entire soul out of your body.

and you stay there, flushed and speechless in the middle of your bedroom, already knowing exactly what he’s gonna do the next time he gets you alone.

it comes much sooner than you expect it. the same night, actually.

you haven’t moved in an hour. just lying there, tucked beneath soft sheets and fairy light shadows, staring at the ceiling and thinking about him.

about the polaroid in his back pocket. about what he said he’d do with it. about the way your breath stopped, and hasn’t really come back since.

it’s late, too late. the house is dead quiet, your parents asleep down the hall, the fan humming low in the corner, the sheets cool against your bare legs.

you sit up fast when your window creaks.

and there he is. blond hair a mess, wearing some dirty, old shirt, carefully tossing himself through your window and landing on the floor with a soft thump.

“jj, are you insane?” you whisper, scrambling to your feet. “you shouldn't be here."

he shrugs, "shouldn't do a lotta things."

he's already crossing the room toward you, eyes dark as they drop down the length of your legs and don’t come back up.

you're in white. thin cotton, lace trim, a little bow at the chest and straps falling off your shoulder like they’re tired of pretending you're not hoping for it.

jj blinks once. then again, and then drags a hand down his face like maybe that’ll stop the blood from rushing straight to his dick.

“jesus fucking christ.” he breathes.

you shush him, but can't help the blush that's creeping on your face.

“honestly jj,” you whisper harshly, “what are you doing?”

“missed you." he says simply, like that’s reason enough to sneak into your bedroom at nearly one in the morning.

“you’re gonna get murdered. my dad is right down the hall.”

he just shrugs.

"no, i'm serious. he's got a loaded gun in the closet i'm sure he's been dying to use on you." you say, breathless, pulling him away from the window anyway, like if he’s going down, you don't mind going with him.

“well then, you better keep quiet.”

you don’t even realize you’ve backed into the room until your legs hit the edge of the bed.

the window is still cracked, your fingers are still fisted in his shirt.

and then he’s kissing you, like he’s making up for every second he didn’t. like he’s not stopping unless someone physically drags him off of you.

he’s already pushing the straps of your nightgown off your shoulders like they’re in his way. you shudder when his tongue traces along the edge of lace.

you gasp into the air when his lips trail down your neck, slow and open mouthed and intentional. you whisper his name, almost a warning, already shaky.

he hums against your collarbone like you didn’t say anything at all.

“you said be quiet.” you breathe, barely able to form the words. like it's his fault you just made that sound, because it is.

“i did,” he murmurs, kissing lower, teeth brushing just enough to make you gasp. “you’re the one moanin’ about it.”

your hand fists in his hair and he smiles into your skin. his hands are on your thighs now, pushing the fabric up inch by inch. his palms are hot, steady, grounding and wrecking all at once.

you try to stay still, you try to be quiet. but then he pulls your night dress down to your ribs and pulls your nipple into his mouth, sucking. just a little, just enough to make you forget who's down the hall.

his grin is immediate.

"damn,” he hums, not even looking up. “you were doin’ so good too.”

“jj, please-”

“please what?” his mouth is right above your nipple now, lips brushing it every time he talks.

you look down at him, and let out some sort of twisted version of a sigh and a moan. and it only makes him bolder.

he kisses his way down your stomach, slow and open-mouthed, and when he reaches your hips, he pushes the nightgown up completely.

he pauses, sits back on his knees, and just stares.

you’re panting, red-faced, hands twitching by your sides, and he looks like he’s been punched in the throat.

“holy shit.” he says it like it slipped out, like he didn’t mean to say it out loud.

you would try to cover yourself if it wasn't jj maybank sitting it front of you, already coming back to reach for you again.

he's lower now. jj drags his hands up the outside of your thighs, slow, thumbs pressing into soft skin, and leans back down, mouth kissing the inside of your knee first, and then higher.

his fingers peel your underwear to the side, his breath making you jump.

you’re shaking already, and then his mouth is on you. warm and perfect and so slow you nearly cry from it.

his hands keep your hips pinned. his tongue moves in maddening circles, and when you choke out a quiet “jj-” he groans into you, like he needs to hear it.

your back arches, he pulls you down by the hips, harder, his grip is bruising, his mouth is relentless.

he mutters something, then slides a finger in, and your jaw drops.

his mouth is back on you, eyes flicking down to where you're connected then back up to your face, over and over again.

he slips the second finger in slow, and when you gasp, hips jerking, thighs trembling around his wrist, jj just smirks and mutters, “jesus, tight little pussy. she’s not used to this, huh?”

his fingers are so deep it makes your vision blur.

you’ve touched yourself thinking about this before. jj between your legs. jj with his hands on your thighs. jj saying your name like he is now.

you’ve thought about it a hundred different ways, slow, soft, angry, teasing, but none of it, none of it, have even touched what this is.

you moan, high, wrecked, and slap your hand over your mouth like it might help.

you can’t look at him, not really. not when your thighs are shaking, not when you’re so wet you can hear it, not when your brain is fogged over with warmth and want.

this is so much worse than you imagined. so much better. jj talking shit between your legs, curling his fingers up into you while your back arches off the bed? this is everything, and he knows it.

you’re so close it feels like your whole body is about to snap. jj’s mouth is locked between your thighs, warm, open, sure, tongue dragging slow and deep, and his free hand is keeping you right there while he finishes what he started.

“fuckin’ unreal.” he mutters, only pulling back enough to get half of it out before he's back on you.

you’ve never been touched like this. never had someone lick into you like it’s for them, not you.

your legs start to shake and he feels it, tightens his hold on your thighs like he know you're gonna try to run.

“that’s it,” he mutters, low and steady. “just like that.”

you clench around his fingers, your eyes roll back, your mouth parts on a silent moan. and jj just stays there, mouth firm, tongue working in slow circles, sucking just right, until your whole body stiffins.

he lets you cum like that, quiet and wrecked and barely breathing, and doesn’t move until you’ve given him everything.

your legs are still twitching, your eyes won’t focus. you’re wrecked, flushed and messy and so far gone you couldn’t speak even if you tried.

jj just watches you. his hands are still on your thighs. his chest is rising and falling like he’s the one who came.

“gonna be thinking about that for the rest of my fuckin’ life.” he leans into you, kissing you once. “you want more?”

you don't think you've ever nodded that fast in your entire life. you can't feel your fingers, but they're already grabbing to get rid of his clothes.

“easy,” he mumbles, voice low, amused. “i’ll give it to you. don’t gotta tear my fuckin’ clothes off.”

you don’t say anything. just look at him, flushed, breathing hard, mouth parted, and tug him down into another kiss.

he groans into it, grabbing your leg and hooking it over his hip. his hand finds your thigh, squeezes it once, and then he leans back on his knees, reaching blindly for his wallet.

you’re still catching your breath when he tears the foil open with his teeth, eyes never leaving you.

“should’ve done this a long time ago.”

he says it like it’s nothing, like it’s just a thought that slipped out as he rolled the condom on. but it lands like a punch to the chest. your breath catches, your whole body stills.

he strokes himself once, slow, and leans forward again, gaze flicking to your face.

“are you sure?” he asks.

your hand finds his wrist, you nod. “jj please-”

“yeah, baby,” he says with the biggest, shit eating grin you've ever seen, lining himself up. “i got you.”

he pushes in, steady but deep, splitting you open in one long, perfect stretch that has your fingers clawing at his shoulders and your legs tightening around his waist.

he’s fucking you deep, slow, deliberate, one hand gripping your waist, the other curled into your soft, pink sheets.

the headboard’s silent, the sheets barely rustle, he’s keeping it controlled, keeping it just quiet enough to survive this.

but you? you're gone. your mind is hazy, half lost, like you're dreaming. like you're still floating somewhere between his mouth and his dick and the way he sounds when he moans into your skin.

your hands scramble for something, his arms, his shoulders, the sheets. and then you find his wrist, and you don’t even think.

you wrap your fingers around his forearm and pull, dragging his hand from beside your head and guiding it to your throat like it’s just where he belongs.

his hips still. his chest rises hard against yours. for a second, the only sound in the room is your breathing, high and shaky, like you don’t even know what you just did.

he stares at you. then down at his hand, his fingers twitch against your neck. you blink up at him, still panting, still trembling, still clenching around him like you want him to ruin you. and jj just grins.

“knew it.” he mutters, hand tightening slowly, just enough to feel your breath catch under his palm. “you’re not as sweet as you act, huh?”

he starts to move again, deeper now, heavier, his free hand digging into your hip to keep you still, to make you feel every inch.

“could’ve just asked.” he places a kiss to your jaw, your heart flutters.

his hips snap forward again and your body jolts, breath catching sharp in your throat, and it hits you. not the thrust, not the sweat-slick sound of skin on skin, the thought, the truth of it.

years of being good. years of doing exactly what was expected- chin up, shirt tucked, hands folded in your lap. never talked back, never crossed the line. of doing everything right because it was easier to be perfect than to be noticed.

and now you’re on your back, spread, mouth open, letting jj maybank fuck you like he's waited his whole life to.

years of being the girl people trusted, respected, relied on. and all it took was jj maybank looking at you the wrong way.

he groans something low and filthy against your shoulder and your whole body clenches like it wants to be worse for him, like it wants to see how far down you’ll go.

you feel sick, almost. because you should feel ashamed, you should feel guilty for this.

for how easy it was. for how badly you want it. for how much you don’t want to stop. but you don’t feel guilty, not even a little. and somehow, that feels worse.

jj slides out, slow, and wraps his fingers around your underwear, pulling down. before you can even question it, he’s got a hand on your hip, flipping you onto your stomach like it’s effortless.

you gasp into the pillow, dizzy from the movement, from the emptiness, from the cold that rushes over your skin, until he’s there again, behind you, covering you, pulling you up.

his arm wraps tight around your middle, dragging your back flush to his chest, his cock sliding back in deep and slow.

he’s so deep it knocks the air out of you. you can feel every inch, every grind of his hips. his hand comes up, slow and sure, fingers curling under your jaw, thumb pressing beneath your chin, and then he wraps his hand around your throat again.

“y' know,” he pants, voice thick with it, lips brushing the back of your neck, “i always knew you had a thing for me.”

you choke and whip your head as far as he's allowing to look at him. “what?”

he laughs. moans, really, thrusts again just to make you stutter.

“your little crush on me,” he says, smug and panting. “you thought you were subtle?”

it doesn’t register at first. but then it hits- like cold water, like fire in your veins. he knew. he knew.

“no, shut up-”

you want to bury your face in the pillow, you try to move down away from him, but he's got you locked.

“nah,” he huffs, grinning against your skin. “shit was adorable. made me wanna be good to you. made me wanna be so fuckin’ mean to you.”

his words, the angle, the way you're finally fucking jj maybank after two full years of pretending you didn't want to makes you moan a noise so loud it shocks you, too.

he pulls out halfway and thrusts back in. his hand slips from your throat to your mouth in one fast, practiced motion, palm pressed firm over your lips, fingers stretching up your cheek, holding you there.

“quiet,” he murmurs, lips brushing your ear. “i mean it.”

you try to get a ''m sorry' out from against his palm, wide-eyed and already trembling.

“you want me to stop?”

you shake your head fast, desperate, pleading into his hand.

"then shut up."

his hips moving slow but heavy, each thrust dragging a sound out of you he doesn’t want anyone else to hear.

his voice is low, wrecked against your ear. “you like that?” another thrust. “quiet now, huh? just needed it deep, baby, that it?”

he’s so deep it doesn’t feel real anymore, jj’s hips are steady, slow, like he’s trying to ruin you inch by inch.

then, the phone rings, loud.

you hear it. so does jj. so does your dad.

jj freezes. one hand still over your mouth, one still braced around your stomach. you turn your head to look at him, his expression caught somewhere between amused and very much not supposed to be here.

there's shuffling outside your bedroom, and your dad picks up on the third ring. his voice is muffled but right there, and it sends a cold wave straight down your spine.

jj doesn’t move, not right away. his eyes are on yours, dark and gleaming, like he’s waiting for something, permission, panic, surrender. your lips tremble under his hand.

and then, he moves. just once. a single slow, deep thrust that pushes every inch of him deeper into you, and rips a sound from your chest so sharp you think your whole body might short-circuit against his hand.

jj’s mouth curves against your shoulder, all teeth. “mhm. yeah, there it is.”

you sob into his palm, he just shushes you like you're doing something wrong.

his hand disappears from your face. just long enough for his palm to return with a sharp, perfect slap to your cheek, quick and hot and shocking, not cruel, but enough to make your breath catch and your eyes go wide.

he laughs, breathless, smug. “you play the good girl act so well. almost had me fooled.”

you squeeze your eyes shut. you're fifty percent humilated, fifty percent hoping he'll do it again.

he’s close. you can feel it in the way his rhythm starts to falter, the way his grip tightens, the way his chest presses tight to your back.

your body locks up, your vision goes white, and you cum hard, your whole body seizing around him, sobbing and shaking against him.

jj groans, low and sharp. “fuck, baby, jesus- fuck-”

he thrusts once. twice. and then he’s spilling into you with a soft, broken curse, his head dropped to your shoulder, his arms holding you close like he can’t tell where he ends and you begin.

the phone clicks. the house falls into a silence again.

you’re trembling. both of you are slick with sweat, breath sticky in the still air. he pulls out carefully, slow and aching, like it hurts to leave you. and then, without a word, he shifts,tugging you gently with him. you follow- limp, pliant, quiet.

you roll into his chest. he pulls you into him like muscle memory.

you blink up at him, dazed and flushed, and he presses a kiss to your temple. one, then another, slower.

he’s quiet for a beat. then he mutters, voice rough and dry, “if your dad kills me, just…tell him i said it was worth it.”

your mouth tips up into a slow, sleepy smile. jj shrugs, barely, his thumb brushing over your hip. “seriously. i won’t even put up a fight.”

you laugh, low and warm, and bury your face in his chest. if this is the last good thing he gets, he’ll take it.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

#jj maybank #obx fanfiction #obx imagine #outer banks #outer banks imagine #obx season 3 #jj mayback imagine #obx jj #jj mayback x reader #jj outer banks #jj x you #jj x reader #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank smut #criminal!jj #sheriffsdaughter!reader

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cosmic-dust-poltergeist · 3 months ago

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Pt 3 of Danny the forever teen in the DC universe au, he gets a new hero identity and is introduced to superpowered kids.

[Pt 2 here]

The Titans and Young Justice don't interact as teams very much. Like, they see each other outside of teams fairly often, but it's only as individuals. The teams don't question the sudden combined meeting being called, though. Batman, Red Robin, and Robin were the ones to call it, and after a month of complete radio silence from the Robins, their teams are excited to see them again.

Red Robin cheerfully waves and Robin nods to their teams as they help Batman set up his briefing. It takes a minute, but the Robins flank Batman's sides once everything is ready. It's a detailed presentation of Ecto Entities and a short explanation on what exactly the JL and Bat clan has been working on.

"Any questions?" Silence. "Good. Now there is someone I would like you all to meet. He will be floating between your teams when he isn't helping the Justice League Dark and Justice League."

"Wha-? Are we getting a new babysitter??"

"Hn. In a manner of speaking."

"Nah, he's cool. He just needs to hang out with people his physical age that aren't just Bats." Red Robin waves away the babysitter allegation before looking to his left. "Don't you agree?"

A glowing young teen fades into visibility. He has white hair and green freckles dressed in black and white armor with neon green highlights and starry motifs that looks similar to Robin's, just without a cape. The black domino mask he has neon green lenses verses the usual white. "Oh! Um.. I guess so?"

The young heroes excitably shout before Batman cuts them off.

"Silence!" There's a couple mumbled apologizes as Batman waves the newcomer to stand in front of him. "Introduce yourself."

The kid makes a head movement that the Robins use to indicate they're rolling their eyes at you, even if you can't see it, while complying. "Hello, I'm Astrum. I'm the reason you just had to learn about ecto entities, as I am one. I both am and am not 14 years old."

"What do you mean?" Beast Boy asks, "About the age thing."

"Aw, well, there's 3 separate ages I can give." Astrum continues once the confused noises die down, "I'm physically 14, but I've been an ecto entity for 30, so I might count as 30, but chronologically, I'm 44. It's why I can't commit to only working with adults or children, I'm technically both and will need to interact with both to be emotionally healthy in the long run."

"That sounds confusing."

"Welcome to my life. A confusing painful disaster. I might explain more later, but unless you're about to dive into all your deepest traumas right here and now, I ain't explaining shit." Astrum grins at them, his teeth are a little too sharp for comfort.

"Language."

Astrum whips around to gape at Batman. "Langu-?? Seriously, B-man??"

"Don't bother. He still does that to 'Wing and Hood. There's no escape." Red Robin tells him. The poor guy flounders over the news.

"Hn. Meeting adjourned."

"Cool! Come meet the teams, Astrum!" Red Robin drags him towards the teens. He introduces each person with their full government name and hero identity, getting a lot of stuttering.

"Red! Why are you giving him out secret identities??" Wonder girl protests.

"Because he's Phantom! He can be trusted!" Impulse says, and Astrum jolts and starts trembling.

"Please.. please don't say that name.." Astrum looks so much smaller. "I.. there's too much trauma involving it now...."

The teens rush to reassure him they won't call him that again. If only because the Bat Clan members look a little too calculating. No one wants a pissed off Bat being petty towards them.

"Thanks... I have another name you can call me when we're hanging out outside of hero work." The teens perk up at that. "My name is Danny... just Danny."

"No lastname?" Artemis curiously frowns.

"My human lastname is irrelevant, I stopped associating with it after my birth parents vivisected me." That gets a lot of sputtering.

"We should move this to the lounge." Red Robin pipes up.

"Indeed. We plan to introduce Danny to the many movies he missed out on in the last 28 years." Robin adds. "He's more out of date than I was."

"WHAT?"

"I was being hunted. I didn't have the time or money to see movies" Astrum whines, letting himself be bodily dragged to the lounge.

"Be happy I had a PowerPoint of all the slang you needed to know to survive this." Red Robin teases.

And that's how Astrum, previously known as Danny Phantom, starts hanging out with teens and forcibly learning to be a modern teen himself. He doesn't go on many missions with them because he is too overpowered, and it can hurt the other teens' confidence. He hurts the adults who think he's a dumb kid's confidence when he goes on missions with them too, usually it's a daylight JL member. So he doesn't take it personally.

He loves working with the Flashes, Supers, Wonder Woman, and Zatana, but the Bats and John Constantine are his absolute favourites to work with. They understand how he works the best and can roll with the punches if he does something unexpected. He also lives in the Watchtower, the view of space feeding his obsession is excellent on his mental health as well. Everyone slowly adjusts to this semi-feral ghost child being under foot, doing his best to be helpful, and absolutely demolishing any supernatural threat with ease. No one realizes how powerful he actually is because he holds back and doesn't inform anyone he's the Ghost King.

#tim drake #batfam #batfam shenanigans #damian wayne #danny phantom #danny fenton #bruce wayne #teen titans #young justice #tw vivisection #tw child abuse #dpxdc #dc x dp

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bloodchapell · 4 months ago

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drunk n party - armin a.

brief summary: armin finally decides its time to introduce you to his friends, and the perfect occasion is the party eren invited him to. the party is the perfect occasion for other, far more important, matters.

what to expect: alt and very nerdy reader, equally nerdy armin, mutual pinning, physical touch, lots of tension, touching kissing, things escalating but not to THAT point

your sword's note: my princesses, it is now time 🙏🏻. all past and future parts of this au series available in my mistresslist, also sorry for the delay, life has been bizarre

As some kind of miracle, both you and Armin’s friends, independently of course, finally convinced him to introduce you to each other. He agreed to attend a party (shocker) and accepted passing on the invitation to you as his friends had always requested (bigger shocker).

“I don’t know what to wear!” You cried out going back and forth in your dorm, “They will think I am weird!!”

“I promise they won’t…”He said knowing that his friends would almost instantly love you. He was starting to regret the whole thing because he had a feeling that someone would tell you every detail about his feelings; he was biting down on his lip piercing like every time he was nervous now, he used to bite the skin off his lips but after getting his lip pierced he had acquired the new habit. “Anything you choose will be a good option, they are still impressed by insects so that is not a problem.”

You nodded and selected some pieces of clothing to then try them on, while Armin stood outside of course. When you were done, he walked back in and you applied some makeup and put some jewelry on, the makeup that you would practice, goth, vkei or straight up clown makeup was too much, so you decided to go for a simple look.

Finally you both walked out of your dorm, the contrast between you and Armin was impacting, though he already had gotten another pair of earlobe piercings and his vertical labret shined in his lips, he dressed the same as always, gray dress pants and a navy sweater over a white button up on comparison to your vintage bondage pants and corset jacket set.

“Are you sure I don’t look like an abomination? You look like Mr. Peabody if he was human and I am this...bizarre entity.”

“I don’t know if I should be honored or disgraced by that comparison.” He chuckled walking besides you to the house of the party. “It doesn’t really matter, the fashion student here is you, and apart of Mikasa, the rest of them dress relatively average.”

If there was something Armin loved about you, was your style and fashion sense, it was otherworldly for him, everything, your confidence and bravery to wear stuff that people normally don’t and that they judge, your ability to make any outfit work, that kin eye you had to elevate any look… he was a little envious of that ability since he started hanging out with you and diving into more alternative music and culture in general; he was still trying to build courage to ask you for help with renovating his closet.

“Your hand looks sad, let me just…” Taking of some of your rings off you mentioned before placing them in his fingers. He wore the silver ring you had given him on the day you two first hung out every single day, but apart from that he didn't wear any sort of necklaces or bracelets.

“I wish I had gotten the armor ring.” He joked knowing that it didn't fit him.

Walking into the party was a little awkward as Armin had insisted to arrive early, technically before it even started, so there was only a few people. When you two walked in everyone stayed silent and turned around almost breaking their necks to take a glance at the millenary event: Armin with a girl.

“Umm, hi.” You introduced yourself briefly and everyone waved.

“Well Hello!” Soon a tall guy jumped to greet both of you. “My name is Jean I am practically Armin’s twin, nice to finally meet you.”

“This… this is beautiful!” Connie said about the whole scene.

Soon faces started matching names, Armin gave a seriously scary look to everyone and he sat down quietly by Mikasa’s side so you sat besides him. You knew Mikasa was Mikasa because she matched the description Armin gave of her perfectly and you were soon complimenting her v-shaped bangs and she smiled and complimented you back; knowing that Mikasa wouldn’t say any unnecessary comments, Armin felt instantly calmer.

"The alc is here!” Eren celebrated walking into the house, showing two bottles, one in each hand as trophy’s.

“What if we actually got drunk?” You asked Armin knowing that neither of you had ever been genuinely drunk and he seemed hesitant for a second but ended up agreeing.

“I just hope I don’t do anything embarrassing.”

“He will for sure do sum embarrassing shit!” Eren laughed launching at the sofa. "Did you not invite Tiffany?"

"No she is busy studying..." You said turning to take a glance at Armin whose eyes were wide open.

Inevitably people started walking in and the real party started. Loud music and the so called alc that Eren and Sasha brought being passed around in clichey red cups.

“What is this again?” Armin asked yelling, pointing at his cup for a second.

“Malibu rum.” Eren answered.

You took a sip of the tasty liquor and stayed seating, there were some people dancing already but you and Armin just looked at each other laughing.

“How was your piercing been?” You asked seeing that he kept biting on it.

“It’s almost healed but I can’t stop playing with it.” He admitted defeated. “So what are we supposed to do here?”

“I would like to know… We are so smart and still can’t figure it out!” You exclaimed throwing your arm over his shoulder and pulling him a little closer to hug him sideways.

“I think I wanna dye my hair… I’ve been too corrupted. If me from a year ago saw me now, he’d have a heart attack.”

“For sure, from how cute you are.” You smiled and he looked away embarrassed. Since you both didn’t know what else to do, you started sipping slowly from the cup and since Eren made sure to fill it up every time he noticed, you two were already somewhat tipsy. “I will dye your hair, but not all of it.”

“Can I have a…uhm, vkei cut?” He asked and you nodded, “And some dye.”

“Do you think we are becoming stupid?” You asked out of nowhere and seeing him nodding lit your lips in laughter. Then, absorbed by the influence of the alcohol, you decided to stand up and extend your hand to ask him up too. He took a good while denying but eventually stood up lightly holding on to your hand, asking why you were making him stand up. “Let’s take a breath outside.”

You held his hand across the people jumping around and reached the door, there were some people smoking and chatting but you stood away from them and simply leaned on the wall.

“Have you read a fanfic about a party and wished you were there but now that we are in a party it’s kinda dumb?”

“What makes you think I read fan fiction?” Armin asked back to your question laughing; he was organizing his hair and his concentrated face made him look really attractive. “I really don’t mind it here if I can just be with you.”

“Oh really?” You tried to ask after the liquid in your mouth escaped to your throat making you cough for air, he nodded in a very serious manner.

“Let’s stay for a little and then leave… we can read… or watch a movie or have our own party.”

“You’re so unhinged when you’re drunk.” You laughed and he immediately argued that he wasn’t drunk.

Eventually you went back to the house, and after seating in the same spot and talking with Armin while Eren kept refilling your cups for a good while, you both agreed to leave and spend your time in a place you two felt more comfortable in.

“Mikasa said she left my jacket upstairs, I’ll go get it.” You said after coming back from talking with her, Armin said he’d go with you and you agreed. You immediately grabbed his hand to not get lost from each other and went upstairs. Mikasa had said she left the jacket in the last room of the corridor. People were doing a line to go to the bathroom and trying to get in a room, so when one of the doors opened someone ran to go in and pushed you. Luckily Armin was still holding your hand and prevented you from falling.

“Oh God I could’ve fallen…” You stayed still for a moment and in your intoxicated state decided that it was best to thank Armin by hugging him. “Thanks ‘Min.”

He was oddly not so shy to receive the hug and corresponded by hugging you back. He was so drunk and he felt oddly decided about life so all timidity had vanished from his nervous system.

“You don’t need to thank me, how am I going to let you fall right in front of me?” He mentioned still clinging to his cup in one hand while with the other one he held onto the entirety of your waist, whispering in your ear just to make sure that you could listen regardless of how loud the music was.

“Armin shut up…” You moved away shyly.

“So when I do hug you back you don’t like it?” He held somewhat firmly to you. “Do you not like me back?”

“What…?” Your heart dropped when hearing his words. “What do you mean?”

“Answer my question first.” He demanded, in a serious manner. His hair was sticking to his forehead and his cologne impregnating onto your clothes too, his eyebrows were furrowed over his eyes and his mouth still had the bittersweet taste of the rum. He was gone. “Why don’t you like me back?”

“Armin…” you felt slightly suffocated by his arm holding you, but his words reverberated in your brain. Since the moment you saw him in class you liked him, since he was shy to talk, since he met you in the library, since the beginning you had liked him. “I do like you.”

His eyes slowly opened when the realization hit, almost enough to sober him up for a whole second.

“What…?” It was him now asking, his heart about to kill him.

“I don’t know where you got that idea of me not liking you, but I do, I like you.”

He stayed silent for a good time, the grip of his arm on your waist softening up and his eyes locked in yours because if he looked away once he wouldn’t be able to look back at you.

“I’m sorry… I already ruined it.” He finally averted his gaze to look at the floor.

“Armin it’s okay, you didn’t ruin anything.” Though you tried to make him look back at you, he refused to, so you lifted your hands from his neck to his face to make him look at you. “I won’t stop liking you just because you get silly.”

He kept silent so you decided to give up everything and approach him softly to kiss him. A soft and quick peck.

“I’ve been liking you since I saw you.” You confessed, his lips remained slightly opened and his intense eyes went back to yours, “I’ve been about to kiss you many times before but I just wasn’t brave enough... but I really, really, like you."

The door of the room in the back suddenly opened and since you saw some girl walking to get in, you grabbed Armin's hand and ran towards the room. Once inside you closed the door and looked at him. “So like you back, you said?”

His overall mood seemed enhanced, but he was as embarrassed as he could be.

“I like you a lot… but thought I had no chance.”

“Sometimes you forget to charge your brain.” You close the distance by walking to him, he closes his eyes as to avoid looking at you so you hung your hands on his neck. “I had a feeling you liked me but didn’t know how to act with this situation… I should have confessed…”

“Do you really like me?” He asked opening his eyes and you softly squeezed his cheek.

“Really!? How could I not? You are the smartest person I know, you have a wonderful personality, you are insanely attractive and cute…” You held his face now and forced him to look at you. You let your fingers caress his soft skin, his eyes were focused on your face, all over, analyzing every feature of yours like he had done a million times before, memorizing the exact shape of your lips because he couldn’t look away from them… how had he felt them, how dare he, he had been blessed… but he already started to forget the feeling.

“You are just drunk.”

“I am drunk but that is unrelated.” You said serious. “Ask me tomorrow. Ask me any day. I don’t know why you’re doubting me.”

“I’m not doubting you… I just don’t get it.” Armin kept talking bout you were quick to shush him.

“I don’t wanna hear it.” You said firmly and he nodded almost obediently. “This is what will happen. I take my jacket and sit in the bed for a minute to catch my breath, if you want to continue denying that I like you, you can leave. If you accept that I like you without questioning my reasons, you can sit besides me and give me a kiss back.”

After hearing the options, it seemed clear that he had made his choice, yet it took him some long seconds of finding his balance standing up and then sitting besides you.

"There." He softly kissed your cheek, clearly too embarrassed to give you a real kiss and you cursed not having specified that the kiss should have been on the lips. "I can't yet bring myself to dare kiss you, I hope that suffices."

"You little mischievous leprechaun." You scolded him and he couldn't help but laugh at the odd wording of your insult. "It does not really suffice."

He looked at you clearly thinking of what to do but you were quick to grab his hand and kiss him again.

You had never talked about romantic stuff, both of you too embarrassed to ever bring it up, but from kissing him you noticed his relative lack of experience: he didn't move his lips much and simply held your hand.

"Am I hurting your lip baby?" You asked carefully brushing a strand of his hair behind his ear and he denied, shockwaves making him shiver at the way you called him; he sighed strongly as to calm down his nerves. He gently passed his tongue across his piercing as to move it back to the place he liked it. You went back to kissing him and now it seemed he had picked up what you had done before, his lips were gently sucking on your bottom lip and his free hand was placed gently on your cheek while the other one still held onto yours. Both of you seemed eager to finally kiss after months of suffering and hiding your feelings, the warm alcohol running through your veins turned you bold.

"You picked that up already?" You asked pulling away after finally noticing that he had learned from the short kiss you had given him before. He nodded.

"You kissed me like that and it felt good, so I replicated it."

"I should be scared of you." You laughed nervously.

"I may be inexperienced but I am not dumb." His statement sent shivers down your spine. You stopped for a moment to look at his eyes that were consumed in determination like you had never seen them.

"You can't possibly win..." You muttered and he laughed saying that it was not about winning but you gently pushed his back towards the mattress, his expression changing fast at the sudden movement. He blinked once and when he opened his eyes you had shifted from his side to his lap. He gave a simple look at his lap, your knees to each side of his hips and your weight resting on him. He looked up and saw your gaze, on him like a predator, his pupils expanded. He quite did not know you were this type of lover, it looked like it was not just because you were drunk.

"You are much of a fast learner," You complained tying up your hair as to take the long strands out of your face. "If I am not careful with you, soon you will have me subdued." You pointed at him and he bit your finger. You both erupted in laughter as you approached him to kiss again. His eyes expectant of your movements, so you gave him a loud kiss in the cheek before going back to his lips that were impatient to have yours again. He made sure to let you know that he had missed them, tangling his arms around your neck and interlocking his lips on yours in a wet kiss. After pulling away a few inches to breath, you switched to encage his bottom lip now and he corresponded with your upper, gently licking your lip before opening his eyes daring. You caught the glimpse of his gaze and reciprocated the daring look before opening your mouth and meeting his tongue with yours.

While he got lost in the moment, tasting your mouth and exploring cautiously, a thought creeped in the back of his head; he knew he was acting oddly and realized that he was in fact drunk. Something in him ought to decelerate the moment but he lost his determination when your lips gently moved from his lips to his neck and your hand started trailing down his jawline, to his chest and to the waistband of his pants.

The door then opened abruptly and though your first instinct was to yell that the room was occupied, when you and Armin turned to look at the door, you saw Mikasa and a disheveled Eren almost holding tears, both in shock at finding his friend finally getting some action.

Both you and Armin immediately sat straight and he moved you from his lap back to the bed.

"What happened?" You attempted to say.

"Eren has separation anxiety." Mikasa rolled her eyes as Eren clung to her. "He refused to go home without finding him first."

You looked at Armin, who seemed almost angry. You both got up as if you had agreed mentally and walked towards the door.

"I didn't know though," The look in Eren faced changed immediately from sorrowful to a malicious grin.

"Whatever." Armin pushed his friend out of the way.

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jungwnies · 6 months ago

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wreckage - charles leclerc (2/4)

୨ৎ : pairing : charles leclerc x wife!reader ୨ৎ : synopsis : after a devastating crash, you’re left to face the hardest decisions of your life as charles fights for his.

୨ৎ : genre : emotional fiction, very... very... emotional ୨ৎ : tws : car accident/injury, arguments/conflict, anxiety/panic, trauma, medical trauma. ୨ৎ : wc : 1448

part one | part two | part three | part four

They say you never know how strong you are until being strong is the only choice you have. But that doesn’t stop the crushing reality from setting in, from stealing the breath out of your lungs and leaving you with nothing but a pit in your stomach.

The adrenaline’s worn off now. The chaos of the crash—the sound of metal twisting, the screeching tires, the moment when everything went still—has settled into a steady, numbing dread. The pit in your stomach isn’t just from fear, it’s from the void where your thoughts should be. You don’t know what’s coming next. You’re not even sure if you’re prepared for it.

Charles isn’t here.

Charles isn’t in the room with you.

You glance at your phone again, eyes scanning for any update, any piece of news that tells you he’s okay. There’s nothing. Just the same cold silence. You dial his team again, and again, and again. But no one answers. His car was mangled—wrecked beyond recognition, but the worst part? The worst part is that no one can give you any real answers. No one can tell you if he’ll come back to you, or if that’s a question you should stop asking.

You feel like you're caught in a never-ending loop, the crash replaying over and over in your mind. Every time you hear his name on the news, every time you see another mention of the race, it stabs you like a fresh wound.

“Is there any word?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper, though you’ve asked the question a hundred times already.

One of the nurses glances at you, but it’s not the answer you need. They’re all running on autopilot, no one daring to face the gravity of what’s happening.

A few hours later, you get the call. It’s brief, clinical, distant. They’re transferring him to the hospital for further tests, and you need to come now. You don’t even bother with a response. You just grab your coat, your purse, and run.

When you get to the hospital, you’re not prepared for what you’re about to see. You’ve spent all this time worrying about him, and now that you’re here, you don’t know how to be ready for the reality.

They rush you through sterile hallways, and the air feels thick, suffocating. The nurses are too quiet, too busy to offer reassurance. You don’t need their words. You need him.

The surgery’s been a blur. A series of technical terms, each more frightening than the last. Internal injuries. Organ failure. The adrenaline that was keeping him stable starts to wear off. Everything’s urgent, but no one tells you what’s going to happen. No one tells you that he might not make it through.

His mother arrives as you’re sitting in the waiting area, your fingers anxiously twisting the hem of your sleeve. She doesn’t need to say anything. You can see it in her eyes. She’s feeling the same crushing weight of uncertainty that you are. You stand, not knowing what to say, not knowing if there’s anything to say.

“How is he?” she asks, her voice cracking before the words are even out.

“They’re still working on him,” you answer, though you don’t know much. You don’t know anything. “They said it’s critical. I... I don’t know if he’s going to make it through.”

Her face falls, and she takes a deep breath. You want to say something, anything to reassure her, but you can’t. You don’t know what to believe anymore. The fear inside of you keeps growing, pressing against your ribs like a weight you can’t lift.

The door to the surgery room opens, and the doctor steps out. His face is pale, his expression tight.

“Is he...?” you ask, your voice trembling before the question even forms. You can’t bring yourself to finish it.

“He’s stable for now, but his condition is still critical,” the doctor explains. “We’re doing everything we can, but the next few hours are going to be crucial. The adrenaline kept his body from fully going into shock. It’s buying us time, but there’s a chance that time won’t be enough.”

You feel the ground slip away beneath you as his words sink in. “What does that mean? Is he going to be okay?”

“We’ll know more in a few hours, but we’re monitoring his organs. There’s significant internal damage.” He pauses, searching for something to say. Something comforting. “He’s a fighter. We’ll keep doing everything we can.”

You nod, though the words don’t mean anything to you. Fighters don’t always win. You know that. The only thing you can do is wait. But it feels like the waiting is the hardest part.

His mother looks at you, her eyes pleading, her lips trembling. “What do we do now?” she asks, her voice barely above a whisper.

You’re not prepared to make these decisions. You’re his wife, but you never thought you’d be here, making these life-or-death calls. This isn’t supposed to be your responsibility. You want to ask his mother what to do, but you can’t. She doesn’t have the answers. She’s just as lost as you are.

“I don’t know,” you whisper back, feeling the weight of it all settling on your shoulders.

She looks at you with a deep sadness in her eyes. “You’re his wife. It’s your decision now.”

Those words hit you like a punch to the gut. You’re supposed to know. You’re supposed to know what he’d want, what the right choice is. But you don’t. How can you possibly know what to do when everything feels so out of control?

You want to run, want to disappear, but you can’t. Charles is still fighting. He’s still here, and that’s all you have. You can’t walk away from that.

As the hours drag on, you’re taken to see him. The room is sterile, cold. It’s not the hospital room you imagined. It’s nothing like that. It’s a place of quiet chaos, where everything hangs in the balance.

Charles is unconscious, tubes and wires running everywhere. His skin is pale, his face bruised. The doctors said he was conscious for a moment, but he’s out again, too weak to keep his eyes open.

You sit by his side, taking his hand gently, trying to feel his warmth through the coldness of the hospital room. You whisper his name, but there’s no response.

“He’s in there,” you tell yourself. You have to believe that. You can’t let go. Not yet.

Minutes pass, and still, nothing. His pulse steady on the monitor, but that’s the only sign that he’s still here. The rest of it is just a waiting game. You’ve been here before, waiting for someone you love to wake up, to come back to you, but it’s never been like this.

It’s never been this uncertain, this terrifying.

Charles is still here, but you know that might not be the case for long. The waiting is unbearable. Every beep of the heart monitor is both a reminder that he’s still alive and a warning that it could change at any moment.

As the nurse enters to check on him, you hold his hand tighter, unwilling to let go, unwilling to believe that this could be it.

“How long?” you ask her, barely able to look at the machines, not sure you want to know.

“It’s hard to say,” she replies softly. “He’s stable, but his condition is still critical. If we don’t see improvement soon, we might need to make... more decisions.”

That word. Decisions. What decisions? You’re left with nothing but the silence, the uncertainty. The questions. The waiting.

As the hours stretch on, and the doctor makes his rounds again, you finally hear the words you’ve been dreading. “There’s no improvement. We might need to consider...” He doesn’t finish the sentence, but you hear what he means. The fear inside you rises, a growing lump in your throat. The worst-case scenario is beginning to feel more real with each passing second.

Everything is slipping away, and you don’t know how to hold on.

You sit in the chair, staring at Charles, your mind racing with fear and doubt. You want to hope, you want to pray, but it feels like hope is a fragile thing, easily crushed by the weight of reality. The fight’s not over yet, but you’re starting to wonder if it ever will be.

“I’m here,” you whisper again, to him, to yourself. “I’m not going anywhere.”

But somewhere deep inside, you know. You know that the decision you’re dreading might be just around the corner, and there’s nothing you can do to stop it.

taglist: @emryb , @htpssgavi , @aleatorio1234 , comment to be added

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luffington · 1 year ago

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young master ♡

➤ summary: You don't worship the ground Doflamingo walks on, and it turns him on a little too much. (18+)

➤ pairing: doflamingo x afab!reader

➤ word count: 3.7k

➤ warnings: kinda sub!doflamingo (he’s a horny menace), mild dubcon, possessive doffy, spit kink, oral (f receiving), masturbation (m receiving), degradation, name-calling

➤ notes: this takes place before dressrosa but i’m only halfway done with the arc so sorry for any inaccuracies! i haven't posted my writing online in years so please lmk what you think :3

NSFW under the break! minors dni thank uuu

Doflamingo was sulking. His signature smile was comically turned upside down and his arms were crossed over his chest. Feet resting on top of his desk as he leaned back in his plush office chair, crumpling the important documents strewn underneath them that he was meant to review and sign. He knew he probably looked like a petulant child, and he felt like one, too. This was all your fucking fault.

Even though you were only in your twenties, you were already a well-known Vice Admiral. Vergo had informed Doflamingo of your impressive Haki abilities months ago, but that wasn’t the only reason he kept a close eye on you. You were sexy as hell, even in a Marines uniform, and he delighted in every brief interaction he had with you at Warlord meetings. When you decided to take some time off, he snatched you up immediately with a tantalizing job offer. After all, working for him was technically still a Government job, and he was helping so many countries in need!

You made it clear from the very beginning that this was a temporary gig and you had no intention of permanently joining the Donquixote Family. You were his business partner, not his subordinate. He never planned on honoring that agreement, of course, but you were making his plans particularly difficult.

The man had hundreds of thousands – if not millions – of loyal and passive subjects. Obedient workers who never questioned his judgment and praised his iron fist, from the filthy commoners at the bottom to the Elite Officers up top. But not you.

You had the kind of effortless confidence that got under his skin. You were unbothered and detached from his evil antics, from him. He made his presence known everywhere he went and was always the focus of the room, but it seemed like you paid more attention to the damn servants than him. His threats and intimidation which made thousands tremble in fear hardly made you flinch. When he revealed the secret of Dressrosa’s toys in hopes of getting a reaction from you, you practically yawned.

You knew who he was. You knew what he was capable of. You didn’t fucking care.

You weren’t afraid of him, and this greatly disturbed him.

A few days ago, you had strolled into his office without even knocking on the door. He furrowed his eyebrows in annoyance, but you barely took notice. You were there to discuss your agreement in order to figure out a time frame of how long he needed you. He threw his head back and laughed loudly as he said, “That’s adorable. You really think you can get away from me, hm?”

Perceptive as always, you noticed the slightest twitch of his middle finger and immediately held an Armament Haki-coated hand in front of your chest, blocking the nearly invisible string flung your way. “Doffy, I’m being serious.”

He frowned and narrowed his eyes. Diamante used that nickname once in front of you and now you wouldn’t call him anything else. You thought it was cute. “Since when can you block my strings?”

“Do you really think I’d be a Vice Admiral if I couldn’t do that? You were so obvious about it, too.” You clicked your tongue, knowing full well that anyone less powerful than you wouldn’t be able to perceive his movement. Prominent veins popped in Doflamingo’s forehead but the blonde man stayed silent. “I think I’ll stay here for a few more months, at least. Maybe longer if I don’t have a terrible time here. Dressrosa is kind of growing on me.”

“You’re acting like I can’t keep you here by force.” Doflamingo interrupted your train of thought. “I could have Sugar turn you into a cute little doll, and then your Vice Admiral position would disappear. Or Giolla could turn you into a painting to hang on my wall.” He paused as if considering his options, knowing full well what he truly wanted. “Maybe I’ll keep you tied up with strings as my own personal pet.”

Many times he’d pictured you tied to the headboard of his bed, stripped naked and covered in his drying cum as he used you however he wanted. Perhaps then he’d finally ignite a spark of fear in you.

“If you actually wanted to do that, it would’ve happened already. But you’re the one who hired me, remember?” You acted like you were explaining something obvious to a kid. “If you try anything against me, I can always call up the Navy and tell them what you’re doing to your poor innocent citizens. Maybe even let them know your alias? Begins with a J, right?”

“You wouldn’t dare.” He snarled, sitting up in his seat immediately and binding strings around your wrists to keep them pinned above your head. You kept your eyes trained on his, a determined and almost taunting glint in them.

“I’m not a big fan of blackmail, so I don’t want to do that,” you replied in an even tone. “I’m just saying that I can. Now, are we gonna talk business, or are you gonna play cat’s cradle all day?”

Doflamingo should’ve killed you right then and there. That would’ve put an end to his confusing thoughts about you, but your conversation only made them worse. You were on his mind constantly, to the point where he couldn’t focus on anything else. It was an obsession, an infatuation, one completely unbecoming of a heavenly being like himself. People were meant to grovel at his feet and kiss the very ground he walked on – why the fuck were you not affected?

He finally had enough. He pushed the chair away from his desk and stormed out of his office. Servants hurried away in fear, knowing that his scowl and heavy footsteps meant nothing but trouble. A whirlwind of thoughts swirled around his mind — he wanted to make you scream, to completely immobilize you with his power, to kiss you so hard you saw stars. No, that wasn’t it.

He wanted you to call him ‘Young Master’.

Doflamingo threw open the double doors to a secluded drawing room in his typical dramatic flair. You were alone, reclining on a couch and reading a book. Even this pissed him off – you were in a potential viper’s nest, surrounded by powerful people who could turn on you at any point, yet you didn’t feel the need to keep others around you for protection. You turned your head towards the intruder in confusion. His massive body filled the door frame and light from the hallway illuminated him and his feathery coat from behind, making him look like a fallen angel.

“What Devil Fruit did you eat.” It was a statement, not a question. His voice was a dangerously low growl.

“I already told you, I didn’t eat one.” You said slowly, slightly thrown off by his demeanor but still not afraid.

“You lying bitch!” He roared, using his strings to slam the doors behind him as he crossed the room towards you in three giant steps. “You must have some kind of mind control ability, or manipulation, or… I don’t fucking know! Tell me what’s happening!” He threw his head in his hands and crouched over, almost as if he was in pain. “Why can’t I stop fucking thinking about you!”

Your mouth opened slightly and you blinked a few times to process the situation, and then it hit you. A sly grin slowly formed on your face as you dog-eared your book and set it down next to you. You knew this man was incapable of love in its purest sense, but maybe… “Doffy, have you never been attracted to someone before?”

His head shot up and he narrowed his eyes at you furiously behind his sunglasses. Of course he’d fucking been attracted to people – he refused to settle for nothing but the best with his lovers. He had fucked enough sexy men and women over the years to form a small army. But none of them were like you.

They were all cheaply made toys, suitable for one or two uses then tossed in the trash when they broke or when he got bored. He was a greedy and spoiled child who always got what he wanted. But with you… it felt like he was staring through the front window of a shop at a shiny new toy. So close and so enticing but completely out of reach.

“Fuck you! I… I…” You would never know how that sentence was supposed to end, because he sunk to his knees and hung his head in frustrated shame. He slammed his fist against the floor hard enough to rattle the room. “Why won’t you belong to me?!”

The almighty King of Dressrosa, the feared Warlord, the powerful underground broker, was on his knees begging for you. He knew he sounded pathetic. He felt pathetic. But he couldn’t go a moment longer without getting what he wanted, what was rightfully his.

To say you were shocked was an understatement. You had always stood your ground because you knew your worth, but sometimes you did it to purposely push the blonde man’s buttons since no one else seemed to have the courage to do so. But you were just teasing him – this was not the outcome you had in mind.

You slowly stood from the couch to move in front of him. Even bent over, the massive man was practically your height, but he had never seemed smaller.

“Doffy,” you began in a quiet voice and reached out to gently touch his feather-clad shoulder, but he slammed the ground again.

“I don’t need you to patronize me! I need…” he trailed off again and hesitated for a moment before realizing what he needed to do to calm the fire roaring inside him. Fine, he would give you a fucking reason to worship him. He threw himself at your midsection, making you yelp in surprise. He had finally drawn a reaction out of you, and it spurred him on even more. Rough hands yanked your shirt up to your breasts and he hungrily mouthed at the soft skin of your tummy, a frenzied mess of tongue and teeth and soft lips. “I need you. Give yourself to me.” He said breathlessly, punctuating his words with a sharp bite at your hip.

You were frozen in place but weak in the knees, unable to do anything but accept his bites and bruises. You’d be lying if you said you’d never imagined what his long tongue and nimble fingers felt like on your body, in your body. He nipped at your skin hard enough to bruise then soothed it with his tongue, sending heat straight to your core.

Doflamingo was in a drugged-like haze, mind clouded with a dizzying mix of lust and hatred and longing. He belatedly noticed that you weren’t resisting him when he popped the button on your jeans. When he looked up, he realized your cheeks were flushed and your gaze was trained on his long fingers dancing along the waistband of your pants.

He smiled wickedly, feeling a sliver of regained control. “You fucking whore. You want this, don’t you?”

“Doffy, you’re the one literally trying to get in my pants.”

“Shut up.” He snarled, annoyed yet allured by your sweet giggle afterwards. He yanked your jeans down to your ankles to reveal pretty pink lace panties underneath. They practically matched the color of his coat – you had to have worn those just for him. Might as well take them later.

A needy and unashamed whine tore from his lips when he saw your pussy. Even more perfect than he’d imagined all those times he fucked his fist alone in bed. He told himself this was what was necessary to crush that annoying ego of yours, knowing full well he was nearly shaking with pure carnal desire. He grabbed your hips hard enough to bruise and shoved your thighs apart before diving in. His tongue was ravenous, licking a sloppy stripe from your ass to your clit, mouth closing around the nub and sucking harshly. The sweetest moan he’d ever heard fell from your lips and he echoed it, eager to hear more.

Fingers tangled in his short blonde hair as you tried to steady yourself. It was too much all at once. You tried to tug him away to tell him to slow down, yet wanted to pull him even closer. Doflamingo flinched at the contact. Part of him wanted to tie your hands behind your back because how dare you touch him without permission. But instead, he groaned at the rough pull on his scalp, which went straight to his hardening cock. His grip on you tightened as he dragged you further onto his face.

His long tongue lapped messily at your folds then slipped into your cunt, shallowly thrusting the wet tip in and out. He laughed in delight at your delicious juices coating his tastebuds and making his head spin.

“You’re so fucking wet.” He panted and rubbed his nose against your clit, making you jump. A sloppy string of his saliva still connected his mouth to your entrance. “I think you like me after all.”

“I’d like anyone who eats me out this good,” you quipped.

“But no one’s as good as me, hm?” To prove his point, he shoved the entirety of his skilled tongue deep inside you. You threw your head back and whined as the wet muscle curled and twisted inside you, hungrily lapping at your sensitive inner walls. “No one will ever be as good as me. Say you’re mine and you can have this every day.”

“F-fuck, Doffy… so, mmh, good…” He ate you out like a man starved, desperately sucking at every part of your pussy he could reach. One hand moved from your hip, leaving dark blue fingerprint-shaped bruises behind, and plunged into his own pants. He let out a deep groan at the contact.

“Call me Young Master.” Doflamingo breathed heavily as he pulled his pants down slightly. Your jaw dropped when he revealed his massive and fully erect dick, leaking beads of precum and bobbing against his stomach. You knew he’d be big based on his height, but this was inhuman. The blonde man noticed your hungry gaze and chuckled. “You want me so badly. Stop denying the truth and I’ll give you everything you want. I am a benevolent king, after all.”

You actually laughed at that, and he didn’t even try to be angry – being on full display for you meant he couldn’t hide the way your disobedience made his cock twitch. His other hand slithered between your legs and rubbed at your folds and the smile fell off your face.

You stumbled backwards – there was nothing behind you to lean on and your legs were quickly turning into jelly. “W-wait, Doffy, I can’t, ahh, l-let me sit…”

Two of his fingers moved downwards and bound your feet to the floor with his string. Immobilizing your bottom half like a statue but intentionally leaving your top half free to grab at his hair and body as you pleased. “Your king will grant you permission to move when I want to.”

“S’okay, I l-like seeing you look up to me for once.” Your witty reply was lost on the blonde, who had spread your folds apart and was hypnotized by your entrance clenching around nothing. You were so fucking tiny compared to him and he ached at the thought of molding your insides to take him and him alone.

Just one thick finger was enough to make you moan and pant, slowly pushing its way inside your cunt. “Shit, you’re so tight.” The soft squelches of your inner walls rang in his ears and pretty pearls of precum leaked from his dick. “Perfect fucking pussy. Give it to me.”

A second digit was soon added, scissoring you apart expertly. Unsurprisingly, the man really knew how to use his fingers. He crooked them and brushed against your most sensitive spot, causing you to cry out and hold onto him even harder. Sharp teeth playfully bit at your inner thigh in response. Doflamingo gathered some of the constant dribble of precum from the tip of his cock to lube his rough palm. He considered making you spit on his hand to ease the glide, but a better idea came to mind.

“Spit in my mouth.” He ordered, tilting his head up and sticking his tongue out. Waiting for you to follow his command like a good toy.

You were taken aback by the sudden request, but you gathered a ball of spit in your mouth like you were told… and it landed directly on the lens of his sunglasses, obscuring the vision of one eye. Doflamingo knew that it wasn’t just badly aimed. This was an act of defiance. You intentionally spit on his defining accessory, his very essence.

“You stupid slut.” The venomous insult came with a maniacally pleased grin. He pushed the stained glasses onto his forehead and you finally saw his eyes for the first time. Gorgeous and bright blue with lust-blown pupils. Looking at his beautifully depraved expression in its entirety, you briefly wondered if he really was an angel. His fingers sped up to a nearly brutal pace and he slipped in a third digit, causing you to choke on your spit. “Love me. Love me.”

A divine being who fell from heaven to beg at your feet.

“Y-you’re fucking insane,” you panted with a blissful smile, your cunt clenching down deliciously on him. “Make up your, mmh, mind.”

“Adore me.” He responded immediately. “Say you’re mine. Be mine.”

Even though you refused to respond, the blonde was lost in his fantasies yet grounded in the reality of your beautiful face scrunched up in pleasure. Mouth hanging open, hands nearly going numb from how hard you held onto him. He needed to see you like this every day – no, every hour. He could keep you under his desk like a pet, ready to suck his dick whenever he allowed you to. Or maybe you’d sit in his lap all day, one of his hands fondling your tits as he attended meetings and forced his subordinates to watch him play with his favorite toy.

But that was too mundane. He could snatch up anyone in Dressrosa right now and do the same. No, the twisted fantasy that really made his cock ache was already happening. That annoyingly sexy confidence of yours was threatening his godliness.

Maybe he’d make you step on him next time.

“Call me Young Master,” he begged again, too far gone to realize how ridiculous he sounded. Tongue hanging out like a dog (and panting like one, too), he rutted into his hand even faster. His cock was absolutely throbbing, red and angry and dripping precum. He was in no position to be giving orders. You stifled a giggle with your hand, which quickly turned into a moan as his fingers bumped against your cervix.

“I already t-told you,” you sucked in a few shaky breaths. He was watching you intently and still smiling, but his fingers never slowed down. “You’re not my –mm– Master, I don’t, ahh, work for you…”

“But why not?” He whined again. “At least call me it when you cum. I’ll fucking kill you if you don’t.”

You didn’t acknowledge the ridiculously empty threat, instead throwing your head back when his fingers crooked against your most sensitive spot. Slick was dribbling down your legs – Doflamingo licked it off of your thighs before slurping around his digits buried inside you. The blonde echoed your unashamedly loud moans, practically on the edge himself. He only needed one thing to send him into a rapturous white bliss.

He stared up at you unblinkingly, face frozen in a grin as he took in all the telltale signs of your approaching orgasm. Sweat dribbled down your forehead, eyebrows furrowed together, body tense and breath hot. “I-I’m gonna… gonna…” He crooked his fingers inside you the way he’d done thousands of times to turn people into obedient little puppets.

“Doffy~!” Your face contorted into the most divine expression he’d ever seen, crying out his name like a desperate prayer.

You ignored his order. You used that stupid fucking nickname.

He came hard.

The tight coil that had been building in his groin for days at the mere thought of you finally snapped. An animalistic moan left his lips as thick ropes of cum coated his hand and spilled onto his abdomen. He looked even more blissed out than you, panting hard and shuddering and nearly overstimulating himself with the hand on his cock still slowly moving up and down.

Doflamingo finally removed his fingers from inside you and loudly sucked them clean of your essence. Still craning his neck upwards so he wouldn’t break eye contact with you. You could lose yourself inside that piercing gaze, so full of obsession and hunger, especially when it was coming from a position of worship rather than condescension.

Blinking out of your stupor, you realized the blonde’s cum-coated hand was in front of your mouth. If you were anyone else, he would’ve shoved his fingers all the way to your throat and made you choke on it. Instead, he stayed still and kept quiet. This was an offering.

You grabbed his wrist and kitten-licked his sticky palm twice, humming thoughtfully as if appraising the taste. His grin grew even wider. Then you pulled away and teasingly said, “You take care of the rest of it.”

Doflamingo simply giggled in delight — you’d willingly tasted the essence of a god, one that was soon to be your god, but you were still too stubborn to give in. He didn’t expect you to crumble so easily and he didn’t want you to. He was having way too much fun. The blonde smeared the rest of his cum on the crotch of the pink panties still pooled around your ankles.

“That’s disgusting.” You huffed in annoyance and rolled your eyes. “What am I supposed to wear out of here?”

The man chuckled lowly and rose to his feet, suddenly towering above you at full height. He wiped the dried spit off of his sunglasses before returning them to their rightful place on the bridge of his nose.

“Who said anything about leaving?” You paled at the sight of his devilish grin but felt your core clench in need. “You still haven’t called me by my proper title.”

#mine #doflamingo x reader #doflamingo smut #doffy x reader #doflamingo #doffy #one piece x reader #one piece smut #my fics #donquixote doflamingo

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sourszt · 9 months ago

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𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐀𝐌𝐒 | thigh riding + high sex

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 — ellie williams x fem!reader

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 — nsfw, wlw, thigh riding, high sex, inexperienced!reader, lotsa kissing, reader has to be quiet, ellie n reader share a joint, dina mentioned, ellie and dina are not together

𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒 — been thinkin bout my wife lately n this came to me in a dream (i think this is genuinely the fourth (?) thigh riding high sex drabble ive written and posted can you tell im curious about a specific scenario..? 😕)

parties were never your scene.

it didn’t matter if it was a room full of strangers or your closest friends, you could only stand them for so long before you needed to escape. much like you were doing now.

you could hear the buzz of the party underneath where you sat on your windowsill, overlooking the commune with a joint between your fingers. chatter from a few handfuls of people gathered in your family’s living room floated up from below. you didn’t even know what is was for and you didn’t need to know.

you stopped trying to remember half the blunt ago, feeling that warm fuzzy calmness beginning to kick in. the rest of it laid in your homemade ashtray, and you made a mental note to get some more from dina soon. it would be forgotten in a minute, though.

the sound of your bedroom door swinging open nearly made you fall off of the thin sill you were balancing on. for a moment you sobered up, thinking it was your parents coming to nag you about your disappearance. but you calmed when you saw who it was.

ellie williams. that girl that showed up with tommy miller’s brother a few years back. you didn’t know much about her except what dina told you. only talked to her a couple of times. enough to learn a few things about her: her name was ellie, she was a little awkward, and she liked to smoke.

“oh, i’m sorry—” ellie froze when she realized it was you and her tense demeanor softened. “what’re you doing up here?” she asked timidly, like she was testing the waters with you.

you blinked at her, then very quickly scanned the walls of your own bedroom. ellie suddenly started to backtrack, asking why you weren’t downstairs with your family. you let her, silently debating on asking her to join you. “don’t like crowds much. you?” you were talking a little faster than you could think.

ellie smiled a little and tucked her short hair behind her ear. “me neither. i was looking for the bathroom, i need a break.”

a brief, awkward silence followed before you realized she was waiting for you to invite her into your room. “oh, i’m sorry, did you wanna..?” you gestured to the tray at your side.

she questioned the sincerity behind your invitation, but nodded nonetheless. you shifted to give her space on the windowsill. your back was propped on one side of the frame and ellie was opposite you, seated on the cushioned bench just a little lower than you.

you held your lighter up to the dwindling blunt between her lips, watching her face as she took a long drag from it. she caught you staring as she blew the smoke out towards the window. “what’s up?” she cocked her head.

you shook yours. “why’d you come if you hate crowds so much?” you shifted the topic, looking at her with a teasing grin.

ellie huffed out a laugh. “i could ask you the same thing, but technically you’re hosting this one.” she joked. “joel wanted me to come. said it’d ‘do me some good to get out of my room.’ whatever that means.”

“doesn’t everyone’s parents tell them that?” you replied playfully, shaking your head when you remembered all of the times your father had told you the same thing before dragging you to a gathering. when you met ellie’s eyes, you noticed she was a little uneasy. then you remembered that joel wasn’t her father.

“shit, i’m sorry—”

“don’t worry about it. everyone thinks he’s my dad at some point.” she brushed it off, but you could tell she wanted to drop it. her eyes wandered up towards the night sky and stayed there for a while.

for a few silent minutes, she dwindled the joint down to almost nothing before you spoke up again. it wasn’t because you felt like you had to, but because you were genuinely interested in her all of a sudden.

“so how do you know dina?”

the question made ellie stumble on a hit, coughing a few times before mustering a strangled, “what?”

truthfully, you had heard from dina and a few other people that she and ellie were a bit of a thing. but that depended on how dina felt. both about her and jessie, the guy she had gotten with before ellie.

it was a complicated situation that you often heard only the tail ends of, but you found you wanted to hear ellie’s version.

part of you knew your question was personally motivated, too. it was undeniable that ellie was a beautiful woman. you remained outside of the dating scene for as long as you could, but something about ellie made you wonder about what that scene was like.

“you and dina.” you prompted once more, stealing the joint from between ellie’s fingers for a quick hit.

“ah, shit,” ellie cursed under her breath when she realized it was kicking in faster than she expected it to. “we’re friends. she’s pretty cool. aren’t you friends with her, too?” she deflected the question back onto you.

“yeah, just haven’t seen her in a minute.” you lied with a shrug. “do you like her?” you pulled one knee to your chest and tore away from her gaze, like you were scared of the answer.

ellie eyed you curiously. “did she ask you to interrogate me or something?” the girl asked you, though her words were lighthearted. you laughed softly along with her.

“no, but…” you trailed off, suddenly wondering if ellie thought you were being too weird. so you lowered your head against your knee and started pretending to stargaze. “sorry, i shouldn’t have asked.” you cursed yourself mentally. zero for two. one more and you were out.

ellie sat up and laid her hand comfortingly on your outstretched leg. “nah, it’s okay, don’t worry about it.” her fingertips drummed against your knee while she thought. “i used to like her. i’m not really sure now, but she’s a good friend. we still hang out and stuff. why do you ask?” her tone was much gentler now.

you could hardly focus with her palm on your shin. you weren’t sure if it was intentional or she hadn’t realized herself yet, but you didn’t want her to move. she caught your eye eventually and it forced you to think of something.

“i’m not sure how to tell if i like somebody. or… how to tell them, i guess. her. tell her.” part of you hoped she would understand what you were trying to say.

but instead she blinked, eyebrows furrowing as she processed the information. “i mean, i don’t know if i’m much help. it just kinda… happened back then. have you talked to her?”

“yeah, but—”

“kissed her?”

your eyes went wide at the question and your face surely flushed a deep shade of red. ellie burst out laughing, tucking your leg underneath her arm and wrapping her hand around your hip.

she was touchy when she was high. if she even was. maybe she was just comfortable around you, you thought.

“i’m kidding, you don’t look the type.”

now it was your turn to giggle, reaching forward to swat at her shoulder. “oh, and what type do i look like? jackass.” the two of you giggled, the atmosphere growing nice and comfortable.

eventually the joint died out and the two of you retreated to your bed, deciding it was getting too cold to be sitting by the window now. the party was still pretty lively downstairs and joel had yet to come searching for ellie, so you found things to talk about to pass time.

the conversation twisted and turned, but wound up to your little crush on a mystery girl. ellie was curious as to who it was, but you weren’t going to budge.

“i’ve never really kissed anybody before. maybe i am whatever type you think i am.” you mumbled, smiling at the girl laying beside you.

she didn’t quite reciprocate it, her lips parting when she registered what you said. “you’ve never kissed anybody? ever?” her shock was embarrassing to you, if not slightly demeaning.

you sheepishly shook your head. ellie propped herself onto her elbow and stared at you. “i don’t believe you.”

“what do you mean you don’t believe me,” you laughed nervously, “why would i lie about being a virgin? if anything, i would be lying about having slept with the whole town.”

ellie giggled against a genuine wince at the thought of that. “i guess you’re right, but… i dunno,” she paused, her grin stretching wider like she was debating on saying something she shouldn’t. the girl plopped back down onto your pillow. “i always thought you were too pretty to not have had your first kiss.”

silence possessed you for a long while. it felt like years ticked by in that pause, and you could feel ellie shifting nervously beside you. but you couldn’t bring yourself to look at her.

were you so high that you’d hallucinated that? or did she actually say that to you?”

“what… what do you..?” it was like your brain had been overloaded. you couldn’t form a thought or a coherent sentence.

ellie hurried to interrupt you before you could go any further. “i’m really sorry, i don’t know why i said that.” she pinched the bridge of her nose and scoffed at herself, unaware of the way you were staring at the side of her face.

“ellie.” the one word your scrambled brain allowed you to say, and it came out loud and clear. ellie froze beside you. she refused to turn, scared that you were going to kick her out or worse. “ellie, look at me.” you said, this time much softer and with a sense of urgency that gave ellie chills.

slowly, the girl turned to face you. neither of you knew what to do. you risked taking what she said the wrong way and screwing things up. she risked offending you and that crush that you had on whoever.

but, naturally, before you could process your options you had scooted up to her side and pressed your lips to hers. it was brief and chaste, but it was the spark that set everything off.

when you pulled away and registered your own actions, you went to apologize and get as far away from her as possible. but before you could get a single syllable out, ellie’s fist grasped the fabric of your t-shirt and pulled you down into another kiss.

this one was much more than the last one. you followed her skillful lead, sighing when she deepened the kiss by slipping her tongue into your mouth. you put your trembling hands against her chest, sliding them up to the base of her jaw. you swore you heard the softest moan in her throat.

you knew you needed air but you’d rather die than pull away from her at that point. all you wanted was her. it was insatiable.

her hands were planted at your hips, guiding you into her lap. your ass rested against the tops of her thighs, straddling her waist. that was when she chose to pull away, her forehead resting against yours while you caught your breath.

“not bad for your first time.” she mumbled. “you okay?”

“mhm,” you hummed shakily, already eager to kiss her again. you swore you could get high off of that alone.

but ellie’s hand pressed against your collarbone, stopping you. “easy, easy.” she grinned. “you sure you wanna keep going? you don’t have to.”

you nodded, not trusting your own voice this time.

she seemed to like this side of you. needy and completely malleable in her hands. “what do you want?” she asked softly. “i need to hear you say it.” it wasn’t meant to be cruel, but it felt that way when the embarrassment started to creep into your face.

“i…” you didn’t recognize yourself, it was like you were possessed. you’d never heard your own voice sound so timid and tiny. “i want you to make me feel good. please.”

even ellie looked stunned by your confidence, as shaky as it was. her eyes wandered towards your door. they lingered on the lock and she chewed on her bottom lip for a second.

“sit up.” she instructed. you complied without hesitation, allowing her room to peel off her grey hoodie. you weren’t sure if you were supposed to do the same until she started to untie your tiny pajama shorts. “take these off for me?”

you nodded, shifting only so you could slide them off of your legs and toss them onto your bedroom floor while she undid her jeans. but when you went to reclaim your spot in her lap, ellie guided your legs to straddle only one of her thighs, her other leg wrapped around your hip.

confused, you gave her a questioning glance. “trust me, okay?” she laid back and adjusted herself so that her thigh met your clothed pussy. the gasp you let out made her tilt her head warningly. “you’re gonna have to be quiet, think you can do that?”

right, the party. the party where many people in town were gathered in your living room per your parents’ invitation. the thought of them hearing you from all the way down there made your stomach turn.

“okay.” you whispered. you lowered yourself over her and captured her in a deep kiss, slowly getting the hang of it. her hands traced down your sides until they reached your hips. that was when she started to tense the thigh that you straddled.

you gasped sharply against her lips, though it was muffled with ellie’s tongue in your mouth. it melted into a moan when you allowed her hands to guide your body. you ground down onto her muscular thigh, the sensation foreign but one that you could certainly get used to.

it started out slow and gentle but soon you were setting the pace to fit your seemingly unending need for her. you would pull away every so often to catch your breath, and ellie would use that to latch onto your neck.

“shit, that’s it.” she mumbled breathlessly. your cries were getting a bit too loud for her comfort and she pulled you down into another messy kiss.

she could tell by the way your pace was getting sloppier that you were already close. a small part of her was flattered that she could get you this worked up. you held onto her like she’d vanish if you let go. ellie did the same, her fingers digging into your soft skin underneath your shirt.

“fuck, i…” you trailed off, biting back a particularly loud moan. “i can’t.”

“you’re okay,” ellie’s hands dropped to your hips and started guiding you. “i got you.”

your forehead rested against her collarbone while you rode out your orgasm. ellie couldn’t get enough of your soft, undeniably strained moans and whimpers while you came and she wondered what you sounded like when you weren’t holding back.

once you started to go still against her she gently nudged your forehead. “still with me?” she asked.

“fuck,” you huffed under your breath as you lifted yourself upright. “yeah, i’m still here.” you met her green eyes, still hooded with arousal. the two of you started laughing when a strange silence lingered, but you weren’t so quick to pull away.

her thumbs were still rubbing circles into your sides and you were sure she was going to kiss you again with how intensely she was staring at your swollen lips. but she resisted with a stubborn little groan.

“it’s getting late, joel’s gonna come looking for me.” she said dejectedly. rejection shone in your eyes and you hurried to get out of her lap. she caught your hand before you could get too far from her. “i have another joint at mine if you wanna come over after the party ends.”

a smile slowly spread across your lips. “i’d like that.”

meeeeyow 😛😛 i ♥️ my beautiful wife

#kinktober 2024 #kinktober #the last of us kinktober #the last of us #the last of us smut #ellie williams #ellie tlou #ellie the last of us #ellie williams smut #ellie willams x reader #ellie x reader #tlou smut

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s-4pphics · 8 months ago

Text

soul ties. part I (e.w.)

SYNOPSIS: a product of brokenness. WORD COUNT: 13.4K WARNINGS: ellie’s a painter/art dealer, heavy angst[oc is suicidal and has dissociative episodes + abusive parents/SEXUAL ABUSE(nothing explicitly written but aluded to) + patriarchy/men being predatory/traditionalist households + mentions of cheating + alcoholism + disordered eating/self-harm(cuticle picking) + thoughts of murder + mommy issues/daddy issues + parental grief + homophobia + more patriarchy but with dykes + unhealthy relationships with sex(coping) + brief mention of masturbation + sexual tension + making out + fondling + slapping + DUBCON + just matching freaks to avoid trauma], miscommunication, just 2 socially inept crash outs lol A/N: hellloo lol. fixed plot bc im venting… s been a very rough few months. i was convinced i lost my very acute skill so uhhh consider this a test. uhh what else… idk when i’ll be back bc im now a piano player #NEWFOUNDESCAPISM LOL. suggestion: this technically could b read alone but if u care ab context read this first. then this. that is all LOL byeee :p hi taggies we back: @dyk3ang3l @acidblum @mellifluousgirll @elliesatchel @callmewhenyoukan @natgf123 @elliesstella @spaceforescape @floridaopal @lonelyfooryouonly @ellies-converse @amiorca @darkerstarsstuff

fuck the bitch that made this game. dont buy his shit.

aid links from my inbox: one, two, three, four

What to do, what to do…

Ellie is a wreck. An agitated, craving, mess.

What to do… Love your wife, fuck the daylights out of your wife, kill your wife before she kills you… What to do…

It can’t be that hard to hide a body. Is it still murder if it’s self-defense? Ellie’s sure the next bath you run for her will either be filled with bleach or result in her being forced underwater until she’s lifeless. There are lots of people willing to get their hands dirty for her if that’s the case. Not a trace of you or her would be left and she’d finally be able to escape with only the clothes on her back. The weightlessness in her pockets wouldn’t move her in any way. Nothing compares to freedom. What a suffocating life she lives.

The guest room mattress becomes less and less plush every time she lays in it. The sheets are itchier and cold and she’s stuck pondering with each swirl of the ceiling fan, wet hair wrapped in a bath towel; restless, fidgety, and honey-like ache in the pit of her stomach, mind warped with lecherous thoughts of her wife that she despises but not as much, her supposed life partner and fuck, how did you two get here…

Stuck with a tension so thick it permeates your home; if you’d even call it that. You’re both successfully trapped between your own walls; Elegant windows take the place of rusted, metal bars that confine you from the life you both dreamed of before all this; one soft and doting and colorful, one where your light isn’t dulled.

Why does she feel so guilty, suddenly? You’re not lovers, and neither in love, so why does her chest ache with every glance she steals when you’re unassuming? The pain that’s always etched on your face, and if not, in your eyes — fills her with regret. She would abandon you for days — weeks at a time, not at all concerned about what you might be experiencing to rid herself of shame. And to think that you were merely a younger version of your mother; villainous and cruel and greedy when… when you’ve barely spoken. She finds herself, unfortunately, reminiscing on how bushy-tailed you were after marriage. So eager to please and prick her mind and annoyingly mechanical. You cooked at the same time everyday. Cleaned, did both your laundry, sunbathed, swam in your pool. She hated how rehearsed your lifestyle was; it reminds her of the worst parts of her childhood. When her mother was alive. So, Ellie chose to step out on you the second you took her last name; ravaged other women, released her anger and desires on strangers when she should’ve had you beneath, above, on your knees for her. Where has that craving to harm you gone? For months, she’s ached for your suffering to mirror hers, but now… What’s happening to her? What’s happened to you?

Ellie believes you’ve lost it, and somehow she’s found herself chasing that unforeseen part of you; unfiltered and angry and wild. This manufactured doll your mother molded you into is shattering at the core and Ellie craves to see more of you. Guilty. As hurt as you were, that night was the most alive she’s seen you be. You shouted and cried and tore at the seams, desperate for someone to hear you, and Ellie did. Loud and clear. She saw you for what you are. Mangled from the inside out, entirely hopeless. Just like she is. An unspeakable link that binds the two of you.

Soul ties.

She shook and pleaded for you to enter the bathroom and see her battered against the shower wall with a hand between her legs and your name dripping from her lips, but the knob never twisted. Her orgasms were unsatisfactory, and she accepted with irritation that it was because you weren’t there. She ignored the throbbing between her legs and vacated the bathroom. Ellie, with legs that trembled, found you wrapped in satin and snoring. They sounded like whistles.

She stood for a while, just watching you twitch and wiggle in your rest, eyes glazing to the space beside you that could easily fit another body. The sheets are already warm from where you lay. The two of you have never slept in the same room, let alone bed.

Her feet carried her out. Silently left the room with an unfamiliar ache in her chest.

Her mind made an enemy out of you because that’s what you are. When she thought her life couldn’t get any worse, you appeared and destroyed everything in her path. Left her world in ruins. Disrupted her pattern. You’re an enemy and deserve to hurt.

Aren’t you? Don’t you?

Everything is unclear. Ellie hasn’t been this conflicted since she was 15. She wishes she could sleep forever so she wouldn’t be forced to think.

If she had any sense left, she would paint her agony away. In the past, her mind would shut down with every splash of color on a canvas to compensate for the darkness that conjured in her mind. She refrains from that now, though. She’s horny; scared she’ll start imagining what your pussy looks like and sketch it all over the bedroom walls. That’d be too much; a boundary that will remain untouched.

But her brain knows she’s not a good person; she can’t help but imagine how gorgeous your pussy is because you are and she’s known that since the beginning, the second she saw you drenched in white. Drenched in sorrow.

She clutches your wedding band in her palm.

What to do… what to do…

Birds are artists.

They never fail to sing every morning; sonnets aimed to awaken life as sun rays spill from behind mountains. You've always appreciated their tunes whenever you were pulled from a hollow rest, no longer surrounded by darkness.

Maybe it was the routine your mother set for you from young. You were 9 when she first coddled your drowsiness as she shook you awake at five in the morning; the early bird catches the worm, a saying you naively assumed as preparation for the day, for your homeschooling. An energy booster, possibly. Motivation. Something to get you through.

How stupid could a child be?

You were 12 when your cycle started. You were 12 when you realized that your mother never envisioned actual birds and worms like you had. Your mother has games she plays and she cheats. She’s had you on a leash for the past decade; the scars around your neck are forever a reminder of the hell you’ve endured under her hand. It took no effort on her part to be uncaring of your suffering, and somehow that aches more than anything else.

Even more than the existence of him. A demon walking.

Animals aren’t like your family. Birds aren’t. The minute specks of sunlight begin, their job starts, and they complete it happily without compensation or praise or the slightest acknowledgment. Everyone wakes, and they fly to anywhere to wake the next.

But wealth is dirty. Wealth makes people dirty. They swindler and lie and experience life with a vacancy that’ll never be filled with anything but greed. Your mother trained you for years to accept whatever was given as long as you were taken care of. Play your part, she’d say. It took you years to learn her strategy — and unlearn yourself — but you’re here. Married. Successful by association. Rich. Unhappy. Unloved.

Birds guided you. They never shy from their duty, and you hadn’t either…

But you’re human. You crack and cry and scream and you hate. You despise so strongly that you lash out and everything in your path becomes victimized. Sometimes it gets to a point where you crave blood. You want to drown in it, drink it until you’re sick. Your soul is dead. Everyones’ should die with yours.

You don’t know who should go first. Your mother, your stepfather, or your wife.

You want to swallow Ellie whole—

“Good morning.”

You’ve never seen Ellie not dolled up. She clearly just awakened with her wrinkled MILFS ONLY shirt and sporadic hair. Timidity doesn’t suit Ellie. You're so used to seeing her exasperated. Her weary eyes don’t meet yours. You should tell her your plans to adopt a hummingbird. Or maybe you shouldn’t. She might laugh at you.

“Hello.”

“… Hi.” She seems like she wants to say something. You sip your coffee.

“My dad called.”

You hum around the rim of your mug. “Woke you up?”

She merely shrugs. “I uh… did anyone tell you about tomorrow?”

“Of course not.”

You don’t expect Ellie to flinch at your tone. You weren’t that sharp, were you?

You might’ve been because she slows her speech. Like she’s approaching a wounded animal, “Dad’s hosting a dinner. Corporate bullshit but we have to go.”

“Why.”

She squints at you. “Why what.”

“Why do we have to go.” Your mug lands on the table harder than expected.

“To make mommy and daddy look good.” She sneers while approaching her seat, “Did you forget?”

“I just thought they wouldn’t want two dykes contaminating their spaces anymore.”

Ellie snorts. “They don’t. Companies do. Gets their cocks hard. Two gay daughters, how progressive!” She mocks and plops on the chair directly across from you, wiping at her eyes. Your throat dries when you notice her wedding band. She hardly ever wears it. You don’t know where you left yours. Since when does she care to wear it? “They’ll do anything they can to get on their good side. They’re… merging organizations or whatever the fuck he said.”

She swallows. Shrugs uncaringly, “We going?” Her eyes watch your hands squeeze your mug.

“Are we.”

She regards your cup with caution. Does she think you’ll throw it? The thought nearly makes you laugh.

“Yes.” She answers.

“Okay.”

Your wife finally looks up and stands, nose upturned, “Okay? That’s all you got?”

“Yes. Okay.” You sip silently. Your foot taps on hardwood.

“Excited to see your family? You like ‘em now?”

Excited is laughable.

“No, I don’t.”

The sudden calamity from your wife confuses you. She tugs at the strands that flop on her head in agitation. They look soft as they bounce with her pacing. You’ll never feel them. Or you might later. Who knows with her. Who knows with you.

Ellie’s still talking. Her arms flail like she’s annoyed by you. You’re not sure why. You’re following. You’re allowing her to guide. To control. That’s the entire point of this. That’s why you’re going to dinner with her. She told you to go and that’s it.

Play your part play your part play yo—

You don’t remember much of anything; the past, the present, but you recall what Ellie sounds like when she’s angry, whether it’s at you, her father, the woman her father is fucking or married to or whatever. If you’d listen, you’ll discover what ticked her off, but your ears ring too loud. Much louder than her screaming.

You sip your coffee silently. Ellie leaves you at the dining table with a slam of a door.

You think it’s the first floor’s guest room.

The sun sets. Ellie can’t remember the last time she’s been home this long.

She hates the weekends. The gallery is never open and she can’t drown herself in deals. She hates being home when you are. Why the fuck are you always here? You don’t have friends, a job, a life outside of this goddamn house? There’s a sinking in her stomach at the thought of your isolation, but she ignores it. Tries to ignore it.

… Can’t really ignore it. How pestering. You’re a pest.

She knows nothing about you, only bits of your past expressed through photographs at your mother’s or outbursts in your bedroom. Your stepfather is fucking creepy and your mother’s glare is killer, but that’s about it. Still, she doesn’t think she can hate your parents more than you.

You’re so fucking weird. Just like them. Unforgiving and unchaste one day then apathetic the next. How the fuck can one communicate with a person like that?

That feeling in her chest again. Sharp and annoying. Try try try, it says. Begs from her.

Try and do what? Do fucking what—

It took Ellie 3 seconds to unlock the guest room door and fly down the stairs when a crash rings from the first floor. Glass clatters and you sound in pain and oh fuck did someone break in

There’s red all over the kitchen floor but it’s not blood it’s red wine. Red wine red wine it’s not blood—

You’re on the kitchen floor surrounded by green shards and dressed so pretty. Hair coiled and free and your face is done up and you’re wearing flowers. There’s flowers all over and your skin shines and why do you have heels on like a play doll?

Ellie palms at the scattered racing of her heart. Everything’s fine, her brain blares, She tripped, that’s it. Clears her throat. Rustles her hair to appear normal.

She’s not dead.

“… You good?”

An unsteady hand rises to throw her a thumbs up. Your body wobbles when you attempt to stand. Ellie ushers to the counter to slide on her slippers, tells you to stop when your palm nearly plants on a shard.

“Move back before you hurt yourself.” Ellie takes a quick lap around the kitchen for the broom and dustpan. Finds you just as quickly so you don’t accidentally slice an artery.

Your lashes flutter and her heart follows suit, taking in the mess. “I think I fucked up.” You croak.

Hearing you curse is always odd. She huffs, “It’s fine. Can you stand?”

Your head shakes and your bottom lip juts. “My… my shoes…”

You slowly plop onto your bottom and rest your back against the dishwasher. You struggle to grip your buckles to pull and slide the strap and Ellie remembers why she hates heels. She sweeps the glass away from you and realizes she should’ve mopped first because the bristles are soaked and streaking the clean parts of the crystal porcelain. When was the last time she cleaned? The maids always do. Sometimes you help.

You look stunned when Ellie moves to squat in front of you. Jumps back when she adjusts your ankle.

Her palms hang in surrender, “I’m gonna help you. Relax. Do your knees hurt?”

You landed right on them. They should. You don’t disarm, eyes guarded and body locked tight, but you shrug. It’s good enough for Ellie.

She unravels the buckles around both your ankles and tosses them next to you and you just watch. Ellie’s glances are quick and flitting, but she follows the traces of her hands; the sharp inhales whenever her fingers brush against the skin of your leg. You’re not as close as you were last night but she can smell you. Her chest is throbbing. You look like you’re about to cry but you’re drunk. It’s meaningless. Drunk people cry.

Try try try try

“Can you stand now?” She croaks.

It takes a second for you to register her inquiry, but you shrug, and she sighs. When Ellie stands, both her hands extend out to you, but you don’t accept them; She gets jittery under your scrutinizing gaze after nearly a minute passes. Her throat dries and her face burns when you brush her hands away; standing on your own is an unstable journey, but you do, back against the counter to stabilize yourself. You look ill. Your brain must be jumbled.

“Can you get upstairs on your own?”

“You talk a fucking lot. Shut up.”

The corner of Ellie’s mouth rises, but she says nothing. Gives you space to move.

You take one step, then two more, then your eyes shut and your throat jumps. Uh oh.

“Oh shit, come—“

Ellie guides you to the garbage can near the front of the counter, away from the glass, and you dry heave. Liquid splatters inside the can and Ellie hates this so fucking much. The sounds are enough to make her own stomach lurch. It’s been a while since she’s been around someone this drunk.

But she holds your waist so you don’t faceplant into your own vomit.

“Get it out,” She hums with a grimace, “You’re fine.” An I gotcha almost rolls off her tongue but she catches it. She glides a comforting hand over your curved spine because you’re drunk and you won’t remember such gestures in the morning. She prefers it that way.

You’re not gagging anymore so Ellie removes herself from you. Until she hears a whimper. And a sob so quiet she assumes you’re trying to mask it. Drunk people cry; she’s seen it countless times. Why does that seering feeling spark in her chest for what felt like the billionth time today? Fucking try, for fucks sake!

“Let’s… let’s get you—“

“I wish I was dead.”

Your prayer is hollow. Not even sad despite your tears. So, so empty. Ellie’s seen this before, experienced that nothingness countless times, but despite it all, she never learned how to console. Hell, she barely knows how to self-soothe without falling victim to her dark temptations. Even her paint brushes can’t eliminate the constant ache she feels. She just watches the tremble of your shoulders from behind.

“I really don’t wanna go tomorrow.” You whisper.

Ellie sighs. There’s no other choice. You know the stakes; follow your families’ commands or lose everything at the drop of a hat. They’ll leave you both on the streets to rot with no remorse if they please, replace the two of you with two normal children. Het children that won’t deviate. You’re both on thin ice as it is. Mainly because of Ellie. She can’t seem to keep herself out of trouble.

“I…”

I’ll be with you the entire time. I don’t like being around those cunts either.

“It’ll go by quickly.” She settles.

“I hate when p-people look at me.”

“Me too.”

“I wish my family loved me.”

Ellie’s softer now. Only slightly.

“Yeah…”

A tug in her ribcage. Try. Please, try.

“Me too.”

The pounding beneath your skull wakes you quicker than the birds. You shove your face in the pillow you rest on.

The devil tells you to check the time so you do. The bedside clock says noon, meaning a new day, meaning it’s Saturday meaning you’ll die. Maybe not physically but mentally. You’re so drained and you’ve barely opened your eyes; the idea of leaving bed alone is enough to exhaust you. Your wrists and legs ache like fucking hell on top of that.

You make fists with both hands. Repeatedly clench and unclench. The weight is different on your ring finger. Heavier. You haven’t seen your ring since yesterday… or a few days ago — you’re not really sure. You must’ve found it in your drunken stupor. Just when you hoped to never see it again.

The universe will always remind you who you are.

If you stand you’ll vomit but your phone is ringing from the drawer you stuck it in weeks ago. How is it not dead? You know your mom’s calling. You hate that she is…

The ringing stops and you thank the heavens.

You curse them when it starts up again.

The drawer slides open with reluctance. The ringing sounds 20 times louder. You retrieve your device blindly and your throat snaps shut when you speak.

“You rang.”

“Did your… partner tell you about tonight.”

Hard and distant. That’s how she speaks to you. Your heart cracks.

Your mom already knows Ellie did. She loves to bother you with nonsense. You don’t think she’s ever called Ellie your wife.

“Yes.”

“You’re attending.”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

“Is that all.”

“Your gown was delivered here. Come by well before 8 to get ready.”

And she hangs up. Just like that. Always. She’s never told you to have a nice day, or to rest well, or that she loves you, at the minimum. And if she had, you don’t remember any of it. There’s a lot you force yourself to forget.

The selfish part of you disregards the burning of your eyes to stare at your phone — low battery and… no messages. No texts, no phone calls from anyone except your mother, no likes on Instagram because your mom scared you into not making one when you were a teenager. No one cares about you. People care about your wife, though. Maybe because she’s talented; she’s certainly not nice.

Your darkest memories are always the most prominent.

Your phone drops to the floor and you don’t reach for it. You just pray to sleep again.

Tonight will be interesting.

The ride to your mother’s is silent.

At least she chauffeured the two of you. Ellie can be scary when she drives. You’ve never been in a car with her, but she did ram into a lamppost on the sidewalk a few nights after your wedding.

Your wife is already dressed despite the party being hours away. She sits right next to you in all black; in a trenchie and turtleneck and slacks and loafers with fur and gold jewelry. When she descended the staircase, you gawked when she wasn’t looking. So simple, but she had your heart fluttering when she’d asked, ready? You’re still in your sleep shorts, teeth unbrushed and starving. When was the last time you ate?

What an embarrassment — you’re an embarrassment, but you can’t bring yourself to care anymore. If only newly wed you could see herself now.

You swallow a lump when you feel eyes on the side of your face, but yours remain glued out the window. The closer you get to your mom’s, the faster your mind starts to shut down. Everything passes you by in a blur.

By the time the gates with your father’s initials come into view, your thoughts go silent, only filled with the calming images of nature and the song of birds. Your only escapism.

The only way you’ll make it out of here in one piece.

Ellie! Darling! We’ve missed you! Give us a smile!

Ellie! Ellie, look this way!

Ellie, where’s your wife?

She wishes she knew. You’d barely made it into your mother’s home before getting swept down the hall by 4 other people who poked at your appearance. Ellie didn’t even get to give your mom the passive, spine-chilling hi, mom like old times before another SUV came to whisk her away from that hell hole. Her dad always knows somehow.

She hates being at your mom’s; it’s stifling and quiet and the aura is dark. Like mother, like house or whatever the fuck.

She scowls when the bombarding questions redirect to you. Some concerning, some sarcastic, some raunchy — those get under her skin in particular — and she can’t stop fiddling with her ring. Her chest tugs tugs tugs.

Trouble in paradise?

You were caught leaving the bar with another woman on your arm a few weeks ago! How’d your wife react to that?

She doesn’t know. She’s never home to see you break.

Guilt ate at her when the door of your mother’s mansion shut behind her, but she disregards it now. You shouldn’t be forced to listen to their guised jabs; You get enough of that from everyone in your life. She hopes you’ll go through the back entrance when you arrive.

When will you get here?

Ellie’s never made an event appearance without you. You’d pose and fidget and display awkward affection so that they’d buy your love a little bit, then enter the gathering as two separate hearts, riddled and torn, never to cross paths until the bustle is over and it’s time to go home.

Finally, security moves and barricades her until she gets past the 20 foot gate and treads the steps. The flashing cameras are still blinding from behind.

The tended garden is the first thing she notices. Wide and green. The daisy and rose bushes are no longer tangled with weeds and surrounded by dead grass and gnats. How could Joelene not see that and be vengeful? Ellie and her dad may not be close anymore, but she knows him; maybe even more than he knows himself. He still misses her mom after everything, and chooses to express it through her favorite hiding spot. Keeps the flowers that bloom and trims the ones that don’t so she lives through them. Ellie hardly remembers a time when her mother wasn’t covered in dirty overalls and sunburnt.

She manages to hold it together when the large double doors open. The violins suddenly sound like nails on wood.

Voices fade into nothing. People are outside your car. Light hurts so terribly.

One second you’re here, the next you’re not. Your mom and her husband sit across with twined arms and the lace from your dress is itchy and you wanna disappear. When you blink, you’re gone. You only exist on this plain if your eyes are open.

Something hard and leather brushes against your ankle, scratches against your stockings, slow and snake-like. You know what it is, who it is, and you freeze, eyes locked onto your mother. No matter your hopelessness, there’s still a young girl in you that wishes your mother would defend, act on anger, be disgusted at minimum. At least when his crimes are done in secret you can’t blame her for not knowing.

But you’re here and she’s here and he’s here. A shared secret between the three of you.

His shoe doesn’t halt on your leg. Your mother never looks at you.

Birds and songs and sonnets. You’re a bird and you can fly against the strongest winds. Music is your guide and you follow the clouds.

Your fingers twist together in your lap and the black interior of the car glows red. If only… he’s not the only one with sick intentions. If only.

You’re flying you’re flying you can fly and there’s someone who’ll love you gently. They’re out there somewhere and you’ll find them and they’ll find you like every trial was worth it.

Patience. That’s all you need. Just be patient.

The rest of the car ride is unbeknownst to you. Next thing you know, your door is being opened and two men await your entry at the glass door.

Champagne is good. Tequila is better. The two mixed is hell.

Ellie’s throat burns and her mind swirls but she plays it off well enough. Mingles with pensive, old bastards while their daughters’ gawk at her with bright-eyed curiosity and you haven’t arrived yet.

She lost her dad somewhere in the night. He greeted her briefly upon her arrival, pointed out the important men of the night, called your mother a selfish bitch, then walked off with his mistress by his side. Ellie’s eyes keep meeting the back door from the living room.

Where are you?

“Ellie!”

She downs the rest of her chute and guards her agitation with a grin. Shakes the hand of…

What the fuck was this dude’s name?

“It’s an honor! Your art is incredible! I’ve truly—“

—Fucking Ronald? Reginald? … Ronald might be it—

“—Your father, ya know, he’s an interesting man, incredibly smart! I’ve never—“

Her dad gave her a run-down of the … merging or whatever the fuck but what the fuck did he say and holy shit, is she sweating? The man’s handshake threw her off, frankly; almost snapped her wrist in two. Fucking old piece of shit. More business jargon that she pretends to understand and care so much about because it’s a show after all. All cheers and stiff laughter.

“And your wife! By God, what a looker!”

Her jaw clenches. Where are you where are you where are you

“What we’d give, I mean, c’mon!” Men that pass laugh with him and it’s taking everything in Ellie not to smash this glass over his head. One quick swing and it’s over. For him and her. How promising.

“Where is she anyway? You two didn’t come together?”

“She um, she’s with her parents right now. They’ll be here.” She jerks her chin toward the entrance.

“How lucky are you. Treat her like the star she is!” It looks like the shithead’s leaving, but not before taunting, “Holler when she arrives, will ya?”

And just like that, he leaves Ellie to simmer. Three deep breaths. A man in a suit and tray filled with champagne waltzes passed her and she snags two glasses. Downs the first in one thick swallow before another clinks with hers.

Why does everyone keep fucking with her?

“Cheers.”

Ellie doesn’t need to look to know who it is. She scoffs. “Sounds like you’re having fun.”

Jolene stands next to her, shoulders slouched and dress glowing under the chandelier. She arches a dark brow, “Who wouldn’t? Men are the most entertaining when they’re on ego trips.”

“Same goes for my dad?” She snips, and Jolene shocks her with a smile.

“Meh.”

“Why are you here.”

“I just told you—“

“No, where are you here.” Ellie gestures between them, “Why’re you talking to me right now?”

Jolene downs her drink and shrugs, “My attempts at bonding. On a scale of 1 to 10, how shit were they?”

“900. Leave me the fuck alone.” Before Ellie can run, a hand clamps down on her wrist.

“I know—“ The woman rushes, “I know we don’t have the best relationship, but I’m not—“

Ellie almost corrects her out of pettiness; They don’t have a relationship, period. There’s no best or worst. But her sudden desperation halts her.

“—the enemy. There’s not a lot for us in these spaces. I just wanted to try and establish something. Anything. Between us. It can be so lonely without a real support system.”

Ellie hates the direction her heart turns her mind. Suddenly you’re there and you’re crying and clawing at your chest and Ellie just watches like she did that night. So powerless. So empty.

But Jolene isn’t you. She chooses to be selfish. Yours comes from self preservation and nothing else.

Ellie snatches her hand back and throws her the deadliest stare. “You don’t know shit about being lonely. You’re the one who gave up everything you had to fuck my dad when my mom wasn’t looking. How much did you care about her loneliness then? Hm?”

The timing was perfect, really. 15 year old Ellie watched her parents get into one of their most abhorrent arguments; her dad leaves first, then her mom, then only one of them returns, and it was not her mother. Imagine her shock when a news reporter confirmed that her mother’s body had been thrown in a garbage bag and left in a dumpster to rot. It only took two weeks to mourn before he was marrying another woman.

Nobody cared that her mother had been shot or stabbed or gutted. She was just a woman married to a successor who raised a deviant child.

Ellie forces herself to not point fingers, though. Anyone could’ve killed her, she always reminds herself; to keep her from going fucking crazy. But timing…

How telling is time.

Jolene’s eyes widen and her grip weakens. Ellie takes that as an escape before she has a breakdown in front of the caviar platter.

She barely takes a step before she collides with a body.

Funny.

She bumped right into a star that shines a royal blue. The woman of the hour, for sure. In her mind, at least.

“Sorry.” You whisper.

“You’re fine. All me.” Ellie says lowly as she takes you in, and you do the same to her. Shy, but yearnful glances. Glossed lips tightly sealed and brows tense. Your dress shimmers and holds you snug and she feels guilty for staring at your curvature. She’s suddenly hyper aware of the vultures that disguise themselves as men and she has an instinct to hide you. And your ring is on. The thumping in her chest picks up. Only slightly.

“It’s great to see you again.” Jolene says shakily from beside Ellie and she almost loses it before a grating voice interrupts.

“You, as well. And your husband is…?”

Your mother. And her lap dog wagging his tail beside her. What a bitch. Both of them.

Your stepdad says something and you inhale sharply and no one notices but Ellie. She studies you carefully. You look like a frightened cat with a frilled tail as he speaks. Claws out, not because you’re ferocious, but so, so scared. She glances at your stepdad; greasy smile while he ogles at Jolene; what a nasty son of a bitch.

Ellie whispers to you, “Is everything o—“

“Joel! Man of the hour! How are—“

“Where’s the bathroom again?” You whisper back.

Ellie takes your hand in hers and flees while the family’s distracted, leading you down a hallway that’s way too long with lights too bright.

She gestures towards the door. “It’s… This is it. One of ‘em at least.”

“… Thank—“

“What’s the matt—“

“I’m fine.”

“You look like you’ve seen a fucking ghost. Did that piece of shit say something to you?” Ellie glances to make sure no listeners are hiding in the shadows.

The widest smile grows on your face as you laugh, hearty and loud with your head thrown back. Ellie stares in confusion.

“Oh, Ellie! You’re so silly,” She jumps when your hands hold her cheeks. You’re fucking freezing and they tremble. Your eyes are a dark void.

You lean in closer, lips right against her mouth and they part slightly on instinct. She’s concerned and should ask more questions, but your skin is so soft. Are you gonna kiss her, she wonders? You haven’t kissed since your wedding; your breath hits her mouth and her tongue swipes her lips. Her eyes flutter shut and she aches to touch you—

“Save a seat for me, love? Please?”

It happens so fast; the frost of you is gone and the bathroom door slams shut while an elderly woman fondly whispers, “young love,” as she walks by. Ellie only nods with a rigid curl of her lips, throat cinched too tightly to swallow.

You puzzle her. She’s tempted to wait for you, to ensure you make it back safely without bombardment, but then

“Ellie! Why didn’t you call me! Your wife made it safely, I see!”

A hand claps on her shoulder while men laugh from the side, boisterous and predatory and so wide their fangs show. Ellie’s sick and a war rages within her.

“Your father sent me to find you! It’s time to eat!”

She sends them a weak smile. She rushes away from the door and they follow close behind.

Anything to lure them away from you.

Attendees have dwindled, only Ellie and her family and you and yours and some CEOs that are really getting on her fucking nerves. But you’ve eaten, thank God. She can breathe a little.

Only a bit, though. You’re putting on a fucking show and it’s scaring her; Even her dad seems impressed. Charmed by you. Clinking glasses and telling jokes and smiling. Did your mom hold you at gunpoint before you got here? How much did you drink? Not much from what she’s seen.

That one fucker from earlier — Raymon or Robert or whatever the fuck — keeps leaning over the table whenever you do. Peeping at your chest, probably. She wishes these steak knives were sharper.

“So! Our young couple,” says Old Bitch with a Combover and wiggly brows, “When are we getting those heirs?”

You cough uncomfortably and Ellie squirms in her seat. Your mother scoffs, “Two women can’t have children—“

Said Old Bitch shrugs, “Well, not biologically—“

“My point exactl—“

Ellie’s father cuts in with a tense grin, “When they get to that point, we’ll discuss their options. There’s… many nowadays, evidently.”

Neither you or Ellie interrupt, but she notices you’ve moved closer to her. Inched your seat a bit. You squeeze your hands so hard in your lap she’s scared they’ll shatter where they lay. You’re not smiling anymore.

Her dad and your mom are subtle with their blows at one another; snarky with brutal stares, unremarkable to strangers, but you and Ellie know. When dinner ends, you’ll both be caught in their crossfire.

“There’s no shame in me wanting my grandchildren to be by blood. I shouldn’t have to go shopping for an heir.” Your mother hisses.

“Sh—“ Joel huffs with disgust, “Shopping for an heir? That’s what you think adoption entails?”

“Does it not?” Your mother’s tone rises.

Reggie, Rory, or Russell interjects with a dismissive wave, “C’mon, you too! No need to argue. I’m sure girls like them will be fine with obtaining children! It might be more… complicated, I will say!”

“May I be excused?” You croak, and Ellie straightens.

“Why? So you can wallow about dying childless?”

The table silences. No laughter, no wittiness. Completely still. That wasn’t from your mother. Ellie doesn’t remember the last time she’s heard your stepdad speak so clearly. Her blood thrashes beneath her skin so harshly that her tongue unties. There’s a darkness in her that whispers, “grab that steak knife”. Brutalize him. Just for a second. Do it for you.

Do it for her.

“Go fuck yourself.” She spits.

Your neck almost cracks with the speed you turn to her, eyes wide as the moon. Her father condemns, “Watch your mouth, Ellie.”

“Or what, you old fuck?”

Her heart rattles noisily in her chest; her hands shake where they rest on her lap, her cells trembling with the instinct to harm. The gaze of her father is distant and filled with inadequacy for his only line. Nothing unbeknownst to her, but there's a flash of something so deep, so forbidden for them, but she sees it every time they hold contact. Beneath all the loathing and lesions left to drain, there’s longing. An inkling of gratitude that she knows he’ll suppress until he’s buried underground. He’ll never look the same to her, and she imagines the same for him. Too many bridges burned.

“How’d I do?” Ellie rasps to him, “Hm? The night went how you hoped?”

Look at what you’ve done, she hopes her eyes say. Tears welt against her will. When was the last time she cried in front of him? She hadn’t even given him that honor at her mother’s funeral years ago.

Ellie’s stiff stature nearly cracks at the light brush atop her knee. A wind catches in her throat when a pinky turns into three fingers, then five, then a palm that squeezes comfortingly, desperately. Maybe partly to keep her glued to this chair. She gulps the dryness down and a flame lights in the pit of her stomach.

Her glance to you is brief, barely out of the corner of her eye, but you’re watching her. Intensely, and it scorches her cheeks, all the way down to her neck. Scared cat. Scared cat. Shrilled and cold and frightened to hell and she despises it.

What changed? She’ll always wonder. That look hardly shook her a week ago and now it makes her teeth ache.

Suddenly, it’s too warm here.

“Get up,” Ellie rushes you. Grabs your arm and yanks you from your seat, “Not dealing with this fuckin’ bullshit tonight. We’re leaving.”

There’s suddenly shouting from all directions of the dinner table with each step Ellie takes for you, but you never drop her hand. She clenches it tighter when you finally reach the back door.

The door slams shut on the wreckage behind you.

Consider plan MERGE a bust.

Ellie’s a thief. You think. Maybe.

Is it stealing if the car belongs to a family member? Where she snagged the keys from? You don’t remember. One second you’re at dinner, then watching the city pass you by the next. It’s silent in here.

“Stop.”��

You slam back into your body. Still in the car. You wish you were asleep.

“Huh?”

Her eyes watch the road, but a hand rests on both of yours to pry them apart.

“Stop. I hate that sound.”

“… Wha—“

“You’re gonna rip your skin off if you don’t stop.”

… Oh. Yeah. Bloody cuticles. It was all accidental, you swear.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.” Her eyes shut briefly and she sighs, sounding so worn. Exhaustion is her white flag. “Just stop.”

“Alright.”

“Thanks.”

It’s quiet again. The red from the stop light reflects in the car and you’re instantly reminded of your stepfather.

“Ellie.”

“Hm.”

“We should get a bird.”

“… And do what with it.”

You shrug, “Pet it. Feed it, too.” Sing with it, you wanted to add. Ellie would’ve probably laughed at you.

She snickers dryly, “That’s usually what you do with a pet.”

“I never had one.”

The light turns green and the car revs. Your wife hums, “I had a fish once or twice.”

“Lucky.”

A small — very, very minuscule grin quirks Ellie’s lips and your heart hollers. For joy? In warning?

“Not really. They kept dying so I gave up.” She snickers to herself, and you can’t help but stare. She starts talking then. Eyes gone, tension gone. She’s suddenly relaxed.

“My mom… she, uh… loved water. Was always in it or… watching it on TV or something. She always bought fish from fucking… PetCo—“

“PetCo?” You laugh, then Ellie does.

“Right? She’d take me and be like, “get one”. And I went home with a new fish every time.”

“I thought you only went once or twice?”

“… Times 100,” She giggles, “My mom lived there. She would always talk to the cats through the glass.”

You don’t hesitate, “I wanna go.”

“To PetCo?”

“Yeah.” Why not?

Everything is almost over. So, why not?

“… K.”

“So we’ll go?”

“Mhm.”

And the conversation ends. The car is silent. Suddenly tense again when you ask,

“Do you think we’re cut off?”

Ellie’s jaw clenches and the car is suddenly tense. Back to square one. “Possibly. Tonight was a shit show. It went by fast, at least.”

“What’s gonna happen to me?”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m…”

Alone. You’re fucking alone and know nothing about life outside of what was built around you. Without it, you’ll spiral and fail and face a dreadful reality. No more rose colored glasses even if they’re browned and wilted as is. You’ll be eaten alive by the creatures in the night without a protective border.

But the curse will end. You won’t inherit or be forced to lie or play a game that ends in fire. Decades of legacy down the drain just like that, and by your own hand. It fascinates you, that power. A force you’ve been withheld from.

“I don’t know.”

“Still thinking about divorce?” A void in Ellie’s tone.

“I don’t know.”

“They’ll never allow it, you know that, right?”

“What if I just leave?”

“And do what?” Her voice raises.

“Who knows. Who cares.”

“Please,” Ellie exasperates, “Your mom will get fucking SWAT to bring you back.”

“What good will a corpse do for her?”

You’ll be dead but you’ll have a bird. A colorful one. That’ll be your legacy. That’s all you need, really. Ellie doesn’t say anything. Neither do you.

More buildings flash by and suddenly you’re home. Parked in the garage with Ellie beside you, gazing off into opaque walls. You wonder what she’s thinking. If she sees everything in black and white like you do. Maybe she’s the opposite, vision bright and full of suppressed color. She is a painter after all.

“What’re your plans?” Ellie suddenly whispers.

“For?”

“Life. The future. Anything,” She pries and digs for something, “There has to be something that interests you! That gets you excited! There’s so much shit to do.”

You shrug. Not much. Not anything.

“I used to be excited for my wedding,” You mumble, “Like… as a kid. White dress and flowers and everyone’s just excited to be there. For love, and whatever, you know? That’s how it was in movies, at least.” It’s embarrassing to admit, but it’s off your chest. The unhealthy romanticization of the happiest day of your life ended up being just another day to honor the greed of your families. Everyone was so lifeless when they watched you and Ellie kiss. It hadn’t even lasted 3 seconds before she shoved the band on your finger with teary cheeks. Such beautiful scenery was wasted on misery.

You look over and Ellie’s eyes are roaring, palms squeezing together in her lap while her wedding ring twists around her finger. You watch it cycle.

“Now I…” You chuckle sadly, “I just want a bird, to be honest.”

With your heels and purse in hand, the car door opens and you exit, forcing yourself not to peek through the windshield at Ellie again.

The second floor, your bedroom, your bathroom, are all quiet. Did Ellie not follow you inside? For a while, you envision what it would be like if you weren’t married. If you weren’t born as you, would your world be this still?

It haunts you in the shower. Wolffish eyes and dry hands grasping at your shoulders and waist but everything’s quiet.

You wash your face, brush your teeth, wrap your hair alone. You wonder if anyone is actually in the house. Was Ellie a figment of your imagination? Is this one of the nights that proves she doesn’t exist and that your brain is your greatest enemy? You shove your face into the mattress before your thoughts venture. Silence rocks you to sleep, but not forgetting the taunting desire to know

Is death this quiet?

Your mom’s calling.

Vibrations rattle in your bedside dresser. The sun isn’t up yet. The birds are still resting. She never calls this early… or late. Something bad must’ve happened. It takes 17 seconds for your drawer to stop shaking before it starts again.

You can’t move to answer, though. Your body isn’t yours at the moment. Your soul will reclaim its shell soon enough. Or maybe it won’t.

Your drawer shakes shakes shakes. Your heartbeat eventually matches the pace of its vibrations. You think it’s been 20 minutes. Maybe longer. When will the birds wake?

Finally, the calls stop. Your eyes shut again. Instantly taken by darkness.

You never wear normal clothes.

Ellie’s only ever seen you in thousand dollar dresses and high heel shoes that scrape your achilles and cloth that squeezes you so tight she thinks she might explode by just looking at you. No matter how fucking good you look in them.

So what the fuck is that? Moreso, why does she like it so much? Her cheeks are on fucking fire and her heart is trying to flee its enclosing.

You have a t-shirt on. A simple, non-Gucci white tee that says LAS VEGAS and black shorts and a scarf on your head and socks with squirrels on them. Is this the fucking matrix?

You never wake up this late, either. It’s 20 till 10.

“Did my mom call you at all?”

No… no she didn’t… Why can’t Ellie speak? She’s sitting there gaping like a fish and taking guilty glances at your nipples through your shirt. She shakes her head. You nod yours.

“I uh…” She mumbles with a cotton mouth when you step into the kitchen, “I made coffee.”

“I smelled it.” You serve yourself at the counter. 2 Splenda packs, no cream.

“Did your mom call you?”

“Yes.”

“What’d she say?”

“I didn’t answer.”

… Interesting. Odd. Her calls are never missed by you.

“I hope it’s something bad.”

Ellie swallows her sip thickly. “… Damn. Why?”

“She deserves it.” You say calmly while stirring. “He does, too.”

“Your dad?”

“My stepfather,” You hiss and slam your mug on the table. Ellie flinches, “Yes.”

Her palms raise in surrender, “Sorry.”

“Where do you go at night?” The chair across from her scrapes on hardwood when you sit.

Nowhere, recently. Ellie shrugs as nonchalantly as she can, “Anywhere. Wherever I want.”

“Take me next time.”

She pauses her sip to ogle. “Hm?”

“Take me. I wanna see what’s fun for you.”

Ellie huffs a shocked laugh, “No, you don’t.”

You squint, “Yes, I do. That’s why I’m asking to see.”

“It’s not your scene, dude, trust m—“

She jolts where she sits when a hand — your hand, soft and agile and cold, slams down on the table, rattling both your mugs and the vase that holds dead flowers, nearly shattering the glass with an accusatory finger.

“You dunno know shit about me! I’m fucking going whether you like it or not! Whether she likes it or not, and if I have to do it myself, I fucking will, you fucking psychotic fucking bitch!”

You rise and stomp to where she sits with a pounding heart and a lecherous swirl in her gut. You look about ready to slice her open with a blunt butter knife.

“You treat me like fucking trash just like everyone else,” You whisper venomously, and Ellie shakes, “The least you could do is listen for once. Scared to take me to the place you cheat on me at? Don’t want me to see it? That’d be too real, huh?”

Ellie exhales a shaky breath of your name, but your nails, cut and manicured to perfection, sink into her cheeks so tightly that she winces and blushes and her tummy twists with heat. You don’t flinch when her fingers delicately entangle around your wrist; doesn’t want you to think she’s holding you there even though she is.

“You’re gonna show me a good time tonight. If it’s as fun as you say, that shouldn’t be an issue, right?”

Her eyes must read yes, yes, it’s not a problem; Your grin is wild like a hyena; pretty lips swelled around pretty teeth and you always smell good. Caramelized sugar and nectar.

“Who knows,” You purr and Ellie feels goosebumps forming, “Maybe I can meet one of your little friends.”

She chokes around a gasp before her lips curl into a conniving grin, cheeks plush around your fingers, “Aren’t you a little hussy.”

“Fuck you.” You shove her so hard her back collides with the seat but her eyes glow pink. She watches you leave the kitchen and stomp up the steps with a burning chest until a door slams from upstairs. She releases a breath she didn't realize she was holding, wracked and desperate.

Ellie will never admit — or maybe she will, but she purposefully uses your shared bathroom to catch glimpses at you. She always expects to find you out cold and wrapped in warm blankets, chest fluttering with each twitch of your socked feet that peek from below the blankets.

What she doesn’t expect to see, though, is your phone shattered to pieces and left to drown in the clogged sink. Right next to a weighted rubber mallet; Where’d you find that? All your pent up emotions were taken out on your device… and the counter, apparently. The marble is chipped.

She can only laugh in astonishment. Amazement. Fear when she realizes…

Your mom.

Did you ever answer the phone?

Another day you’ve slept away. Either you were dreaming or someone was holding you suffocatingly tight; you enjoyed it, strangely. The sun is completely gone and there’s rustling and music echoing from the bathroom. Ellie’s in there.

All the blood rushes to your head with how quickly you sit up, but your feet carry you past your closets until the light from the room sizzles your vision.

Your wife stands by the mirror, drying her hair with a towel with a cigarette between her fingers. The guitar synths coming from her phone are grinding in your ears.

Is she really keeping her promise?

Did she promise to take you? You don’t remember.

“Hi.” Her eyes meet yours in the mirror and your spine twitches. You say nothing, so she chuffs with a teasing lift of her lips, “Chickenin’ out?”

“No.”

“K.”

“What do I wear?”

She shrugs, “Whatever you want to.” She speaks around smoke and her timbre’s dry.

“What are you wearing?”

“Whatever I want to.”

She must sense your skepticism because she’s suddenly reassuring, voice crackly, “You’re not under any expectations tonight. You wanted me to show you what I do for fun, and I’m gonna. You just have to do your part and enjoy it.”

Your nails dig into your thighs while you watch her. She has her ring on and her body wash coats the room in cinnamon. With a pounding heart, your hands slowly drag up your sides, fingers dragging at the hem of your shirt. She’s not looking.

Enjoy it…

“Did you eat today?”

“No.”

She gives you a look. Stern. What is she mad about? Your tummy flutters, “There’s leftovers downstairs, you can have ‘em,” She shakes her wet hair and puts on her glasses, checks her watch, checks her phone, hits her cigarette. “We’re kinda behind so you should get read—“

Enjoy it.

Her eyes meet where your shirt drops to the floor, breasts on display while your hands inch up your legs to drag your shorts down, all while you watch her. And she watches you. It’s overwhelming, your wife as an audience while you undress. But she told you to enjoy it. Enjoy the night. Enjoy the stares. Enjoy the attention. Enjoy her, for once. It all seeps into your pores. You step out of your bottoms and peel your socks off.

Ellie drinks you in slowly. Says nothing. Simply takes her time memorizing every line, curve, dip, scar of you. You like how ravenous she looks. The sin in her pupils only darkens when your thumbs hook in your underwear to shed them. They dangle from your index finger when you walk; You smile when her throat jumps.

She watches your filled hand travel to her pant pocket to shove the flimsy cloth in. The muscles in her back twitch when your finger traces her spine. Ellie’s pretty, littered in cute, red and brown spots.

“I’m gonna shower.” Your lips brush her ear, and goosebumps rise all over her arms. Her eyes flutter in a pleasant blink, nodding in understanding.

Your wife takes her lighter and reignites your favorite candle while your water warms. How sweet of her to set the mood for you.

Ellie finishes her cigarette while you lather, watching her through the fogged glass of the shower walls, massaging soapy hands into your breasts and your legs and everywhere. She lights another at some point, bent over the counter while she smokes, ogling you through the mirror shamelessly. You smile when it settles in your chest.

You’re gonna fuck your wife tonight.

What a fucking oddball you are. It’s cute. A little sexy, too. Only a little, she swears.

… Fuck.

She waits for you on the bed, dressed and jewelried, fiddling with her watch out of nerves because what the fuck are you playing at? Whiplash; that’s what she’s had all fucking day because of you. She works in the morning, for fucks sake.

Still…

Does she deserve this sudden… What the fuck even is this? Certainly not affection; you nearly strangled her at the dining table. Attention, possibly? Seduction? She’s wired to hell, she wants you so bad. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck

She could act on her attraction, sure. She’s positive you’d allow her to take whatever she wanted because that’s what you’re trained to do; to satisfy your partner — husband, she imagines your mother grating — in any way he desires. But Ellie’s not a man, and she doesn’t want that. She needs you to love it, to crave it as much as she does. To take from her like she dreams of taking from you. Ellie needs you to batter her, and if you’d like, she’ll do the same to you.

If only you’d give her something tangible. Teasing isn’t enough. She’s desperate to get a grasp on your headspace; she wishes she could prick and prod at your brain for a second. What an experience that would be.

You enter the bedroom like a ghost; hair still wet and coily, dressed in all black like she is, only decorated with gloss and earrings. No heels either. Just very shimmery looking flip-flops. Ellie bites down a smile.

“Where are we going?”

She shrugs at your inquiry, “Somewhere really, really loud.”

“Will people find us?” Paps, you mean. Ellie denies.

“Not where I’m taking you.”

“Must be secretive.”

She tuts, “Not… well, maybe. It’s fun though. I think you’ll like it.”

“Okay.”

Ellie stands with her wallet and keys and kiddingly offers you an arm to hold onto. “M’lady.”

But you don’t accept it; back turned, halfway out of the room towards the stairs.

Pleasant. She doesn’t mean to smile.

She makes sure to grab the to-go box from earlier before locking the front door behind her.

It is very loud here. And hot. And raunchy.

… You like that. Your mom would have a heart attack if she were to ever walk in here.

The trip to this whatever, wherever place was pretty far. You counted every second of the nearly hour ride, mainly because Ellie’s jittery knee made you nervous. It’s smaller than you assumed, but not quaint. Not at all. There's a ruckus from the entrance to the back exit, people your age and older, screaming and shouting words that you don’t know while people pound on drums and shred on guitar. They sweat through their clothes while their makeup streaks down their faces as they make love to microphone stands.

… Better than tea time, you suppose. How exhilarating. Your heart’s pounding like crazy.

Not much can be said between you and Ellie. You can’t hear over the bass and rumbles from the floor but she holds your hand and small purse. Guides you to a small section in the back with a bar. She hands the tender her card and… that’s it. Four clear, questionably large shots are poured and slid to her like nothing. You want all of them.

Ellie seems so at home as she guides you, already a burning shot down, into the crowd. You’re shoved instantly by party goers, but she catches you, holds you strongly. You look at her, puzzled with shock, but she uncaringly lifts her shoulders, downs a shot, and starts thrashing.

Your jaw slacks and lights beam and flicker at a rapid pace but you’re smiling. Your wife meshes with the scene so nicely. You wanna be like that. So you follow. You drink and jump and flail and scream your head off.

You and your wife are synched for once. Terrible dancers. No rhythm whatsoever. Who cares who cares who cares.

You wish your mom was here to see you like this. You hope your mom’s dead so she never has to see you like this. A thought so dark shouldn’t bring you this much joy. You laugh and holler at the imagery. Blood all over the marble. Blood all over the doors of your childhood home. Blood blood blood everywhere because they deserve it. Look at what they’ve done to you. Sick evil people.

You wanna kill your stepfather. This music makes you wanna kill your stepfather. It’s gorey in itself, almost. Abborherent verbiage. You think Ellie wants to kill your stepfather, too. You should ask her later. Maybe when you're both sober. Maybe you should make your mom watch you skin him alive. Him dying would damage her more than you ever could.

When your eyes open, Ellie’s gawking at you, seemingly surprised. Impressed? She holds your cheeks to get your attention, gesturing, asking if you want another drink. You nod and shout in her face and she laughs. Ellie holds you by the waist and guides you to the bar. The bartender must like Ellie. You leave with a full bottle this time.

You and Ellie pass it between yourselves, the night becoming more and more broken. Touchy. Feely. Ellie rubs all over you while you pour liquor into her mouth. A bit dribbles down the sides but she doesn’t care. You don’t either. So you lick the drops from her neck like a cat with milk. Ellie stops and you stop and everything stops. It’s just the two of you, suddenly; all other patrons evaporate to nothingness. Her eyes are blown and heavy as she searches your face, and they halt their wandering at your lips. She’s thinking about it; You want her to see how bad you crave it. Even if it’s just for a second. She smiles, pleased. You shudder.

But she doesn’t do it. She spins you so your back is against her chest, lips at your neck while she pushes her hips into your ass. She’s messy, drenching your already sweaty neck in spit. Her nails dig into the fabric of your dress, guiding your hips, swaying you on her. You follow. You follow so blindly because you like her hands on you a little too much. You drink and drink and drink. Everything feels light. Good.

You think Ellie’s speaking to you. Or singing words in your ear. Or maybe she isn't speaking at all. You’re not sure, but your face is burning hot. She tongues at your ear and you make a noise that you can’t hear but hope she can. You need this.

Her hands are suddenly slow where they crawl up your sides until they rest on your breasts. Your empty hand lands on one of hers to squeeze so that she can squeeze you. You feel her smiling on your skin when your jaw slacks.

Your head turns to chase her mouth, but she does you one better. Whisks you once more so your chests smash together. She snatches the bottle from your hand, takes one last swig before passing it to eager, drunk hands that wave from behind. You gasp when her thumb catches your bottom lip, pulls it down to get your mouth open enough for her to dribble liquor into. You moan loud enough for Ellie to hear over those booming drums, swallowing down everything she gives, nails sank into her waist while her hips push into yours. When you swallow the last drops, she kisses you. Messy and hot, tongue and teeth; it gets your heart singing. Her pink muscle swirls inside of your mouth and your arms wrap around her neck, yanking her into you so no space is left. Her hands are everywhere; tangled in your hair, grabbing at your hips, your ass, your thighs. Everywhere everywhere everywhere like she can’t get enough of you. You’re overwhelmed and high out of your mind but you follow her guide. Anywhere she wants you, you are.

Maybe you’re just as bad as she is. After everything she’s done, you should hate her. You think you do. You hate her for leaving you. You hate her for embarrassing you. Abandonment. Her only gift to you. Maybe that’s why you kiss her with such conviction.

Her touch is passionate; strong but not forceful. She breathes you in like a rarity, something she treasures, all while she licks and tugs at you like a slut. There’s a pulse deep within you when her lips enclose around your tongue to suck it. Your thighs squeeze and she grins madly, giving you one last innocent peck before she grabs your hand to spin you. You laugh and twirl with her.

You understand why people fall in love so fast. You hate that you’re one of them.

Or are you simply as delusional as they come?

You’re even more enthralling when free of restraint.

Ellie’s drunk and sweaty and exhausted but she uses every last bit of strength to stare at you. She sits at the bar as the crowd dwindles, artist after artist, established or aspiring, all go on to perform, and you haven’t taken a break once. You simply twirl and spin and mouth incorrect lyrics with the widest smile on your face, all while Ellie brings you her drinks to finish.

You’ve been here for hours it seems, but Ellie can’t drive. But the night is young. You certainly don’t look ready to go home.

What more can she show you?

“Thank you all for comin’ out! Tonight was a dream—“

You’re a dream, Her chest screams. You you you you fuck—

You clap like the happiest seal on the planet before spinning around to face Ellie. It happens in flashes: you come closer and closer until you’re in front of her, warm hands on her cheeks, ears tingling when you whisper,

“I didn’t get to meet your sluts.”

You sound upset about it. Ellie stumbles about how they didn’t come, how they’re not here. How she doesn’t wanna see them right now and she means it all, but you don’t believe her, and her chest hurts. Guilty guilty guilty.

“Get up.” You step away and Ellie pains to pull you back, savor the night a second longer. But she signs the receipt before following you towards the exit. The cold air feels so good. She needs water now.

She gives you a little yank when you start wandering the opposing direction, “Come… come here. This way.”

You grin and slur, “Where to?”

Ellie’s brows wiggle playfully, “Gas station. You hungry?”

“…Yes.”

Ellie extends her hand for you to hold, and surprisingly, you accept. Her heart jolts to life.

The walk is quiet. Your eyes are glued to the sky, wide and innocent; the large moon entrances you, surrounded by glittery stars. You both wobble down the sidewalk, trying to avoid bumping into pedestrians and other drunkards. She thought the rowdiness of nightlife would frighten you, but you seem drawn to the chaos.

Soon enough, you’re both surrounded by aisles filled with chips and sodas and a fuck ton of candy. Ellie cringes at the fond stares she gives you holding 4 packs of watermelon sour patches. You’re cute as hell right now. Have you never been to a convenience store? What the fuck.

“El! El, what the fuck! Where ya been!”

Her sluggish brain is trying — really trying to figure out who the hell just left the staff room and is walking towards the two of you. It’s someone that knows her name or whatever shortened version they’ve created and the closer this person gets the more you shield yourself behind her fuck fuck fuck

Arms latch around her neck in a strong hug. Muscular, nice voice, smells like cherries.

Abigail Anderson. Shoulda known. Great.

“Jesus fuck, you smell like my dad’s liquor cabinet! We fucking missed you! We haven’t seen you in…”

When Abby pulls back, her eyes immediately find you. Ellie steals a glance; eyes wide, soft with curiosity. They darken slightly when they lock onto Abby’s shoulders, all the way down to her arms and Ellie… why the fuck does that annoy her?

“Who’s that,” Abby whispers suggestively and Ellie sighs. Scratches at her eye in irritation.

“I’m her wife.” You say causally, and it shocks both of them. Abby moreso. Did Ellie never tell her? She’s sure she did. Everyone knows she’s married… right?

“Wh— wife?” Her eyes shift onto Ellie, “Bitch, you got married? What the fuc— when—“

“3 months ago.” You answer.

“Fucking — holy shit. Congrats? Uhh… sorry! Nice to meet you! You’re gorgeous, by the way,” She stutters to shake your hand, but you accept it, “I’m Abby!”

“Hi.” You smile in delight and your shoulders relax. Abby smiles just as gently and Ellie thinks it’s time to go because you’re both getting on her nerves.

“Alright, well, we're gonna pay, so… yeah. I’ll text you tomorrow or something. We’re tired.”

“Mhmm,” Abby hums cockily, eyes glued to the mess Ellie made of your neck, “Looks like y’all had a great time.”

“We did,” She confirms with pointed eyes, “See ya.”

“Byeee.” Abby sing-songs with a chuckle before Ellie leads you towards the service counter to dump your snacks. Ellie gives the cashier a familiar nod.

“Is she who you fuck?”

Ellie chokes on her water and the cashier gawks at you from behind their reading glasses. You couldn’t have been any fucking louder in that moment, what the fuck.

“What—“

“Do you fuck Abby? I hope not in that bathroom,” You clumsily point to the gender neutral sign near the entrance. “I heard they’re filthy—“

Ellie whispers even though there’s no point, “Dude, are you fucking crazy—“

“… It's just a question—“

“Have a nice night.”

The cashier rigidly hands Ellie the stuffed baggie and receipt. She snatches them before snatching you to leave. She drops your hand the second briskness surrounds you, “The fuck was that about?” Her chips are calling her. She needs a stress reliever.

“What—“

She squeezes the bag and the pop rings like a gunshot, “Why the fuck are you asking if I fucked Abby? What the fuck—“

“She’s hot and you kinda are… to a certain degree, I guess. I just assumed.”

Ellie’s appalled, but doesn’t have the energy to look offended. “Stop assuming, it’s… that’s fucking weird—“

You simply shove tiny watermelon slices in your mouth and steal her water to chug it. She watches you impatiently before you hand the crumpled, half-empty plastic back to her. She downs the rest and discards it some-fucking-where.

Her thoughts are clouded. Did she fuck Abby? Are you forreal—

“I don’t care, you know.”

“About what?”

You shrug, “If you fuck her.”

“Please be quiet.”

“Okay.”

You both do for a while, dead grass and Dorritos crunching around you.

Until Ellie speaks again.

“You’re quiet.”

“Mhm.”

“Sleepy?”

“Nmhm.”

Wide awake, actually. The world passes you by with each step the two of you take, swirling with bright lights and laughter. You follow Ellie closely, handfuls of candy shoved in your mouth while she munches on her chips. You never had those orange triangles before. Neither of you are in a rush to make it back to the car. Can Ellie drive in this state?

“Do you, uh, like places like that? Concerts?”

“Yes.” You break out in a grin.

“What else do you like?”

“I dunno. I haven’t… experienced much.” You shrug, accidentally brushing against your wife’s shoulder. Electricity sparks near the end of your spine where a steadying hand rests. “Your friend… does she go with you? To concerts?”

“Who?”

“Aaabby.” You tease, mocking the blonde girl from earlier, and Ellie’s expressions flattens. She's unsure why.

“Oh, uh… yeah,” Her chip bag is suddenly very interesting. “Sometimes. I met her at one a few years back after a showcase I hosted.”

“I like her.” She’s nice and smells nicer. You regret not shaking her seemingly strong hand a few seconds longer. Strong all over, actually.

“… Uh huh.”

Your brow arches at that, “Does that bother you?”

“Why the fuck would it bother me? You can like whoever.”

“Exactly how you like whoever, huh?” You sneer lazily, and Ellie goes stoic. And just like that, the conversation dies once more. You’re glad for it; selfishly, you’d rather refrain from telling your wife about how attractive you found her friend. She’s left you guessing under too many circumstances. Consider this a sliver of revenge.

You both make it back to the parking lot in silence, minus Ellie’s agitated crunching. You lean against the passenger door while you watch her dig around for the keys.

“Where to?”

“It's almost 4 in the morning.” She hisses.

“So?” You came home later than that for weeks. You wanna say it. You should say it. Grind your thumb deeper into that open wound, but you save it. Another day, maybe. Maybe not.

“So we’re going home. I’m tired.”

“Well, I’m not.”

“Okay? Whatever, I’ll drop you off somewhere.”

“You wouldn’t leave your poor, defenseless wife unattended, would you?” You whisper slowly, and Ellie tenses when you plant a soft hand on her shoulder. She doesn’t acknowledge you, just stares through the window behind you. You scoff and drop it by your side. Cross your arms stubbornly.

“You’re mad because I like Abby.”

“There’s nothing for you to like! You just met her.” Her voice raises, and annoyance flares in you.

“Exactly! I just met her, and I like her! The fuck did you think I was gonna do? Flash her right in front of the gummy worms?”

“I don’t know! Fucking maybe!”

“So you can fuck other people but I can’t?”

Ellie’s very close to you suddenly. Your heart jumps, “Oh, now you wanna fuck Abby? She’s the first person you’ve interacted with besides me since we got fucking married!”

“SO?” You holler.

“SO YOU’RE NOT FUCKING MY FRIEND! ARE YOU INSANE!” Speckles of spit land on your face and it sizzles into your pores. You might be. You fucking are. Maybe, maybe, maybe. Ellie’s forcing herself into your space, so why do you fight? Why are you hungry?

Your palms crash into her chest and she nearly loses her balance, “I DON’T NEED PERMISSION FROM YOU! WE’LL FINALLY BE EVEN, YOU FUCKING WHORE!”

“Yeah? Think Imma fucking whore?” Her grin is sinister, and excitement coils in your belly. Gets your fingers twitching from how hard they’re clenched.

“Maybe I do.” Vehemence scathed your tongue.

“You know what I think?”

“I don’t care—“

“I think you do.” She mumbles against your cheek, “I think you’re jealous.”

You still. Ellie’s eyes pierce through yours, burning and hot, nostrils flared: she looks like she could snap you in half. Your spine tingles with delirium.

“You’re mad because I get to be. I can exist and fuck and party and come and go as I please and you hate it. You wish you could do what I do.” She stares like you killed her mother yourself. Strangled her with your bare hands. “I don’t have mommy and daddy breathing down my neck every 2 seconds. You want that so bad it makes you sick.”

“So why stay?”

It shocks her. You don’t waver; passive as usual.

“You’re free and can do whatever you want, right? Why are you here? Go and be that. Be whoever you wanna be because you can.”

Everything will be over soon. Might as well. Ellie simply glares through you.

Curiosity is your worst enemy. Might as well ask.

“Why’d you defend me at dinner?”

What does she know what does she know what does she know what

She rubs her eyes stubbornly, “Oh my fucking god, who gives a fuck!”

“Me! I give a fuck! Why’d you do it! Why! You’ve never done it before!”

She knows she knows she knows she knows she knows she knows

“BECAUSE FUCK HIM! FUCK EVERYBODY THAT DID THIS TO US! FUCK YOU, TOO!”

You might cry, you might not. You’re unsure of everything and you’re angry and hurting. Ellie’s a reflection of you, and vise-versa. You hate her hate her hate her.

Hatred. It might be the reason why kissing her feels so good. Because it shouldn’t be happening. Ellie shouldn’t have you trapped between her and her car, grinding so harshly into you that your spine bends. You shouldn’t tug at her hair to expose her neck to lick and suck and bite her neck red while she curses in your ear.

This is the distraction you’ve been desperately searching for. To think you’d find it in your wife after all this time.

“I’d be a whore for you,” She shamelessly seers against your throat, hands wandering to unbutton her own pants, “You know that, right?”

… That’s cute. Makes you blush.

“Yeah?” Her laugh is thick like syrup, “Gets you hot? Knowing how easily I’d give it up for you?”

That sideways grin makes you tick. Your hand closes tight around her throat and she nearly bloodies her bottom lip with her fangs. Your wife looks pathetic; thumbs hooked into her pants, so ready to drop them for you in the middle of the parking lot. People are wandering about; she’s willing to fuck in front of them?

How pretty would she look trying to be quiet for you? Nervous eyes searching for privacy, praying no one walks by and sees her on the edge with your hand down her underwear. Hopefully no one recognizes her, pulls out their phone, records the two of you. Blasts you both on social media while Ellie moans in your mouth. What would people think? Your families? How ashamed would they be? Their two girls making a mess of themselves in public.

The thought makes you smile. Scares you. Makes you choke her harder. Her pained whine vibrates in your palm.

“Get the fuck in the car.”

The windows fog with the heat of your bodies; her body trapped beneath yours in the back seat that’s roomier than you anticipated. She rolls your hips on top of her, desperate and eager to rip your fucking clothes off and feel you for real. Your dress rests around your hips, your panties on display and she wishes she could see them. She only has her hands for reference, tracing over each thin seam littered with lace and patterns she tries to memorize. Your tongue belongs in her mouth. You feel so fucking good; you’re not close enough. She needs you closer.

Her mouth chases yours when you finally separate, only connected by a thin string of saliva, but a stern hand collides with her chest to keep her flat. Her hands tickle your waist. Rests your dress even higher until she can see your belly button.

“Wanna know a secret?” You whisper down at her, and she smirks.

“I know you’re a virgin, baby.” She whispers giddily, and your teeth grit. A flame coils in your chest. You ignore her.

“You could’ve had me after our wedding, you know? With my face buried in the pillows and my ass in your face. I would’ve let you do whatever you wanted that night.”

Your sudden vulgarity stuns her silent. Your wife looks like she’s imagining it; lip bruised from both your and her teeth, mind racing with filth of you in every position she can think of. She wouldn’t have been able to separate from you if that was the case. It’s one of the reasons she kept her distance; those pretty brown eyes rolled back would’ve put her underground. She’d never tell you that.

“But no,” You say like it aches, “You wanted to go and bend over all those girls that follow you around like fucking dogs. You wanted a bitch, not a wife. Right or wrong?”

She can barely breathe and your hand pressing on her chest isn’t helping; reduces her to sharp gasps that make her lightheaded. The more ragged they become, the harder you press. Your brow arches when she innocently bares her teeth.

Her palms squeeze at your ass, “I thought about you the entire time—“

Your hand cracks and her head flies to the side. Right on her left cheek is the already reddening imprint of your hand. The crackles in your palm are numbed by the alcohol and your core burns at the shock on her face. She gawks off to the side, that meddling smile dropped completely, chest ragged with her breaths.

“Ellie, put your hands down.” You spit, and they drop from you completely, palms flat on the seat beneath her.

“You had every chance to do right by me and you wasted every single one.” You sound like you’re about to cry; Ellie’s too scared to look at you. Not the good scared that she’s felt around you this entire time, but a hollow scared. The one that freezes you. Her fight or flight is triggered.

“I think you owe me an apology.” You whisper against her burning face before you kiss it gently. A pained groan escapes her, and you laugh. Loud, in her face. Even louder when she tries to grind her hips up into you.

“Take us home, wife.”

#ellie williams #ellie williams smut #lesbian #works 𖧧࣪#arrangedmarriage!au #ellie the last of us #ellie x reader #ellie williams au #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams tlou #black!oc #black!reader #ellie tlou #ellie x fem reader #ellie williams angst

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girllblogging777 · 15 days ago

Text

TOTAL RECALL ౨ৎ

IN WHICH you get to know your coworker spencer, and try to take him off guard with questions

“alright, we got a new case in LA,” you spoke up, entering the briefing room where the rest of the team was already sitting. the sound of your voice made them all look up, and you tried to appear as confident as you could, despite the way your hands were holding tightly onto some documents.

today was your first day as the communications liaison of the BAU, and as much time as you’d spent training with JJ before she went on maternity leave, handling your first case by yourself was quite pressuring.

especially when you were surrounded by people whose job is to decode body language. remembering this, you immediately tilted your head upwards and shoulders back, before beginning to explain the case.

“four girls under the age of 25 have been abducted in the past two months. including two this week,” you spoke, walking around the table to hand the files to all of your new colleagues.

one of the agents, a brown haired boy you’d previously seen around, asked as he took the documents from you.

“are they under or over 21 ? because the statistics are entirely different within this range,” he explained, the rest of the team not even budging as he began rambling.

“three years ago, women over 21 represented about 65 thousands of missing persons files - 64 thousands nine hundred and fifty six to be exact…”

the man sitting next to the technical analyst smirked at you when he noticed the look of bewilderment on your face. “don’t mind the pretty boy,” he chuckled “he’s our walking encyclopaedia”

⋆˚࿔

about an hour later, after some more debriefing, you and the rest of the team boarded the jet. you sat down next to the window, fingers drumming against your thigh before a voice snapped you out of your thoughts.

“do you mind ?” the brunette (whose name you’d discovered was actually spencer) spoke, fingers pointing at the seat next to yours.

you shook your head, motioning for him to sit down next to you which he did, careful not to disturb your personal space.

the others were all busy talking to eachother, or reviewing the case while the plane took off, and you focused on the steady humming of the engine to distract you from the boy next to you.

“so, walking encyclopaedia, huh ?” you joked, echoing morgan’s words in attempt to get to know him a bit more. you were going to have to work together for a while, after all.

he turned to face you, his expression a bit sheepish.

“i just uh, have an… eidetic memory ?” he suggested, weighing each of his words, assuming that just like everyone else, you’d simply characterise him as a nerd and move on with it.

realising they were not joking about the extent of his intellect, you tilted your head. that was going to be interesting.

“oh, total recall ?”

“basically, yes.” he answered, and you noticed the slightest hint of a smile creeping up on his, now that you thought about it, very pretty face. “but unlike photographic memory, it includes auditory memories and other sensory aspects.”

“woah… so could ask you anything and you’d just know ?”

he wanted to tell you that this was not how it worked, that he could only remember things if he’d ever actually learnt them before. but the way you were leaning towards him and seemed genuinely interested made him want to keep appearing smart to you.

eventually, he realised that the conversation was taking a turn, and becoming a quizz. but spencer couldn’t blame you, that’s what people were usually prone to doing when they learnt about his memory. except this time, he actually was having fun.

“so, do you know like…” you looked around, trying to think of something to ask before your gaze dropped to the cereal bar in your bag. “how many granola bars are consumed every year ?”

a second. his lips pursed.

“about 808.5 million units. the global average of cereal bars consumers is 37%.”

your jaw almost dropped, you had to ask something else.

“and the current population of new zealand ?”

“5 millions two hundred and twenty three… that was two years ago” he answered so quickly that you almost wondered if you should look for an “off” button on his forehead.

“okay, that’s super impressive…” you said, shifting in your seat so you could face him. “i know it’s probably tough though, knowing everyone expects you to know everything and having to live up to their expectations…”

at that, his eyes darted down. he didn’t expect you to say that, especially since you were simply getting to know him. and yet, it felt like you saw right through him already.

“it can get a bit rough sometimes… especially when i feel like i’m not able to use my knowledge properly for a case and it just feels like… like i’m failing everyone.” he said, feeling strangely comfortable admitting this to you, even if you were the newest member here.

you simply nodded, wanting him to know you agreed.

“come on, you’re human. you may be smart, but of course you’re going to be taken off guard at some point.” your voice was light, and reassuring.

“it’s not like you’re gonna know the name of… i don’t know, the deadliest jellyfish in the world”

a chuckle escaped his lips and his chocolate eyes locked with yours. “chironex fleckeri ? commonly known as the sea wasp, or the box jellyfish,” he stated, “the venom can cause death within minutes”

yeah, you obviously still had a lot to learn about him. and about jellyfishes too, apparently.

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sundrop-writes · 5 months ago

Text

Break The Brake

Dom!Maggie Rhee x Sub!Fem!Reader x Sub!Glenn Rhee

I want some more, I want some more - yeah.

Gimme some more, gimme some more - yeah.

Summary:

Maggie has a lot to deal with in life right now - she's the (unofficial) leader of The Hilltop, trying to take care of an entire community, and at the same time dealing with their whiny ousted ex-leader, all while in the early stages of her pregnancy, growing a person inside of her - and somehow, all of the stress makes her hornier than ever.

Luckily, you and Glenn are always there when she needs the two of you.

Or - Maggie fucks you and Glenn in Gregory's bed because he pissed her off.

Dom!Maggie Rhee x Sub!Fem!Reader x Sub!Glenn Rhee. Established Poly Relationship. Smut/PWP. Set during Season 7 (Glenn Lives AU).

Word Count: 10,900

The Walking Dead Masterlist | AO3 Link

Detailed warnings and author's notes below the cut.

Warnings: This is an AU of Season 7 (or even of Season 8, because it's after Negan is jailed, but whatever) - Glenn lives, and I did not specifically mention Abraham dying, so you can imagine that he lived too if you want to - Negan is in jail and all the communities, including what's left of the Saviors, are now living in peace; Glenn, Maggie, and the reader are all in an established poly relationship - at this point in the series, Glenn and Maggie would have been 'married', so the reader is a part of that marriage as well (and though I didn't explicitly state it in the fic, I imagine that the reader goes by the last name Rhee as well); this is during the part of the timeline when Maggie was pregnant (this is why I am saying S7, rather than S8) - still very early on in her pregnancy; discussion of Maggie's body going through changes due to the pregnancy (her gaining weight and a brief, passing mention of her feeling insecure due to that weight gain), also mentions of the pregnancy hormones increasing her libido; this fic DOES use Y/N; the reader has a vagina and breasts and uses she/her pronouns - the reader also has the ability to get pregnant and expresses the desire to get pregnant during the fic; there is mentions of the reader's breasts becoming 'swollen' during pregnancy, but this doesn't denote her pre-pregnancy size, this is just a symptom that comes with pregnancy and an exaggerated descriptor due to the kink-side of her partners being excited about her becoming pregnant; this has very little plot and is mostly smut; warnings for the smut specifically: technically pregnancy sex (because Maggie is pregnant) even though she is the dom commanding the two subs and not actually the one being fucked; a lot of sub/dom dynamics - Maggie is extremely dominant (she is a mean, rough dom), the reader is submissive (she is bratty and teasing), and Glenn is submissive (he is soft and very well behaved); Maggie calls the reader 'little bird' and 'darling girl' and 'brat' and 'whore', and 'sweet little bitch', and 'breeding bitch'; Mommy kink - both Glenn and the reader call Maggie Mommy; brat taming - between Maggie and the reader; bondage - Maggie ties the reader's wrists behind her back, and later in the fic, ties Glenn to the bed with his own belt; punishment and reward - the reader misbehaves and Maggie punishes her (and eventually rewards her); some brief descriptions of anal sex (as a brief flashback - and the flashback is trigger when Maggie uses it as a threat towards the reader, but it's not a main point of this fic); fingering - reader receiving; spanking/pain kink - from Maggie towards the reader; Maggie whips the reader with a belt (across the ass, in a way that is described as pleasure-pain); using a knife to cut off and remove clothes; unprotected penis in vagina sex - between Glenn and the reader; overstimulation - Glenn is 'forced' to cum multiple times to the point where it is painful (but he enjoys it); breeding kink - as I mentioned before, the reader wants to get pregnant (and Maggie also really wants this so that their babies will be close in age, and as things progress, Glenn gets very into it as well); mentions of using a vaginal plug (to keep the cum inside); I think that's actually about it.

A/N: Title comes from a song by Xdinary Heroes of the same name. I have been wanting to write more 'quick' fics for TWD, and this fic was supposed to be like 5k, and even though it turned out way longer than I intended it to, this is definitely one of my quicker fics. So I am really happy with it. I want to write more PWP for The Walking Dead because those fics will be quicker, and because it will help me write fics for characters I haven't yet written about that I really want to write for. So I am definitely going to be writing more PWP fics between working on my longer Daryl fic. Anyway, I had a lot of fun working on this fic, and while I most definitely did not think that this was going to be my first fic of the year, I am super excited to share it with you guys, and I really hope that everyone enjoys it!

...

Patience.

It was one of the things that Maggie had mastered since becoming the leader of The Hilltop - well, the ‘unofficial’ leader. If you asked any one of the people who lived in the small community, they would tell you that Maggie was their leader. They would tell you that they looked to her for every important decision, even unimportant ones, and they followed her lead in everything.

Gregory was nothing more than a figurehead - though, in a lot of ways, he wasn’t even that. Figureheads were supposed to be a symbol that people looked to as a representation of something good. But all Gregory represented was cowardice, selfishness, and these days - avoidance of any responsibilities that he claimed to have. He claimed that he was still the undisputed leader of the community, and that all the ‘work’ he had put into Hilltop most definitely still meant something to the people living there. But when it came to major decisions, if Maggie, Glenn, you, Sasha, and Jesus outweighed him on his word, then he simply didn’t get his way.

Which led him to throwing a lot of childlike fits. Which led to Maggie being forced to develop a great deal of patience when it came to him.

Often times, when Gregory huffed and argued with her, she could hear her father’s voice in the back of her mind, ranting on about Job and how God wouldn’t impart wrath on the ‘weak minded’ - especially when she felt the itch of her hand straying toward her gun. She wondered if her father had some hand in sending a man named Jesus to watch over her, ensuring that she didn’t murder this awful, annoying man in cold blood.

“No, no. Absolutely not, I simply won’t have it!”

Gregory’s petulant voice echoed off the walls of the front sitting room that he had declared as his ‘office’ - clearly, he was trying to have some power over the meeting that he had called to talk to Maggie about this latest issue. He sneered a grand huff through his nostrils as he hurled himself back into his seat - a luxurious upholstered chair that sat tall behind the large oak desk that he claimed to ‘work’ at.

Maggie knew that he spent most of his time sitting there, reading through the expensive first edition book collection that lived in the Manor while he drank through the rare Scotch that Negan had given him when the extortion deals had still been in place. Hard work wasn’t something he was familiar with.

Currently, he was throwing a fit because Maggie had demanded (‘suggested’ Jesus would remind her to say during the meeting) - that more of the beds within the house actually be put into use with winter coming up. The Manor was large and had over ten functional bedrooms, and currently, only two of them were in use. One - the largest main bedroom, being used by Gregory, as it had been since The Turn.

And the second, more recently, being one of the smaller bedrooms on the ground floor had been taken up by you, Glenn, and Maggie. The three of you had only moved in there at Jesus’s insistence when he found out about Maggie’s pregnancy, and he felt utterly insulted at the idea of a pregnant woman sleeping outside in a trailer with thin metal walls.

Gregory hadn’t liked the idea of the three of you moving into ‘his house’ - Maggie already knew that his ego took up most of the Manor, but he seemed especially perturbed about the three of you in particular moving in. And when prodded on the manner, he awkwardly danced around the fact that he seemed uncomfortable with your polyamorous relationship. Maggie wasn’t surprised. Even with the society everyone once knew dead and gone, only those closest to you seemed to truly understand what the three of you had without mocking it or believing that it was purely sexual.

But Gregory’s annoyance and even anger toward you and Glenn only made it more satisfying for Maggie to fuck her two lovers in the new found comfort of the Manor’s bed, louder and louder, knowing that he might be kept awake at night by the noise and feel too awkward to say anything about it.

But right now, as she stood with her arms firmly crossed, glaring him down, Maggie knew that this wasn’t just about you or Glenn or even the comfort of her and her unborn child. This was about the other people in the community who didn’t need to be stuck outside in poorly insulated trailers during the winter, sleeping on makeshift cots for beds when there was a luxurious mansion sitting twenty feet away. Gregory had been selfish and petulant long enough - if the house was his last stand, the place where he truly drew a line, then he could be the one to sleep outside.

“This matter isn’t up for discussion, winter is coming up, and-” Maggie began, speaking firmly, but of course, she was cut off.

“You’re right! This isn’t up for discussion!” Gregory bolstered back. “I don’t need a bunch of… hoodlums running in and out, potentially breaking my priceless artifacts-”

Off to the side, you let out a harsh scoff.

Your annoyance was already thick in the air and Maggie wondered if she was going to regret bringing you into this meeting.

You were sitting in another one of the well padded chairs in the corner, your legs thrown over the arm of the chair in that care-free way that you always had about you. You gave Gregory a look that said you were amused, but tired of his bullshit, and Maggie wasn’t sure if she was thankful for the back-up or already tired at the thought that she might have to wrangle you away from a conflict with him. (Because historically, you had much less patience when it came to dealing with Gregory.)

“Newsflash, asshole. Literally everything is priceless now. There’s no money anymore. And the world has literally turned on its head, in case you haven’t noticed. So canned beans and bullets are far more valuable than any of this old crap that you have in here,”

To punctuate your point, you reached out one of your feet and with absolutely no hesitation, you knocked a vase off a nearby table. It was white with a blue pattern, and Maggie knew that it was likely one of those ‘priceless artifacts’ that Gregory had been talking about. It fell onto the floor and smashed into hundreds of tiny pieces, causing Gregory to jump out of his seat and stare at the mess as girlish gasp fell from his lips. Maggie pressed a firm hand to her forehead, already stressed out at the fact that she would have to mitigate the oncoming fight.

“It’s all meaningless-”

“That was Delftware!” Gregory shouted, turning red in the face with how viciously he raised his volume.

Maggie’s hand brushed over her gun, and she forced herself to clench her fist with patience, moving to stand between you and Gregory when he finally moved out from behind his desk to approach you - not that she thought he would be any threat to you. The man was all talk. But still, she put a hand in the middle of his chest to force him to keep his distance while he glared at you over her shoulder. She became even more aggravated at the fact that she could almost feel the way you were smirking back at him, even if she couldn’t see it.

“It’s just a damn vase, calm down.” Maggie told him, knowing that her annoyance wouldn’t do much to calm him down, but unable to hold back the words.

“Ca - calm down? Me? Calm down?” Gregory balked, looking at her, utterly insulted. “You come into my home, break my things, and-”

“And we tend your gardens to keep you fed, keep Walkers away, negotiate peace and trade with the other communities. Doesn’t Jesus do your laundry?” You added on, sass and impatience absolutely full in your voice. “If it wasn’t for Maggie and the people loyal to her, you would die naked and starving. But a pretty vase is more important, right?”

Maggie locked her jaw, resisting the urge to add onto your point and agree with you, not wanting to add fuel to the fire. She hoped that your words - words that nobody else had dared to speak aloud, at least not to Gregory’s face before - would finally sink in.

She wouldn’t find herself so lucky.

Instead, the man continued to gape at the two of you, looking dumbfounded and insulted, as if he truly could not believe what you were saying.

“I - I founded this community.” He said, going back to the only small leg he had to stand on. “I - uh. Are you going to let your little lackey talk to me this way?” He asked, turning to Maggie, as if hoping that she would dismiss you.

Before Maggie was forced to pick a side in the spat, you spoke up again.

“Are you stupid?” You asked, the words clearly directed at Gregory, sounding entirely casual and conversational, rather than intended to be a genuine insult.

“Excuse me?” Gregory gasped. “How dare that you insinuate that my intelligence is anything other than above average, I have a degree from-”

“It was just a question.” You shrugged. “I didn’t say ‘you are stupid’. I asked ‘are you stupid?’ - I was just wondering.”

Maggie sighed and rolled her eyes, turning to you.

“You. Hallway. Now.” She told you firmly, pointing a hand out toward the door, making an order that she hoped you would be smart enough not to refuse.

You gave her a small smirk that she knew too well - you had been playing it up, dancing on her last nerve on purpose. Then, something inside of her shifted. All the tired frustration that she had been feeling was like coal to a wicked fire, fueling her into a lustful beast. One that was set to attack you the second that she got you alone.

You got up out of your chair and moved into the hallway like she had told you to, your boots crunching over the bits of smashed porcelain that were still scattered across the floor.

“Oh thank god, please tell me that you’re going to punish that wretched beast of a girl.” Gregory sighed.

Maggie was planning on punishing you - but most definitely not in a way that Gregory would ever know about.

Maggie turned back to him, fixing him in her sharp gaze now.

“We are gonna start movin’ people into the bedrooms, whether you like it or not.” She said, making sure he knew that her decision was final. “If you don’t want to live in the house with other people, you can move into one of the trailers, or you can take your chances out on the road and try findin’ someplace else.”

“You’re being completely unreasonable-”

“And clean up that damn mess.” She said with finality as she moved to leave the room, slamming the door on his protests about how you should be forced to clean it up instead.

When she was alone in the hallway with you, her gaze fixed on you like a hungry lioness. You were caught in her crosshairs, and there was no way you were going to escape. (Not that you wanted to.)

You were leaning against one of the walls, perched there oh-so-casually, clearly waiting for her - maybe you weren’t clever enough to run away, not expecting the full measure of the wrath that she was about to bring onto you, or maybe you were eagerly awaiting it.

“Are you stupid?” Maggie barked at you, recycling your own words back onto you as a kind of taunt.

She crossed the hallway in three long strides, soon crowding into your personal space, and didn’t give you a moment to answer the question before she was devouring your mouth. She pinned you even tighter against the wall, completely uncaring of who might come across the two of you and see the utterly carnal exchange - nothing loving to mistake about it, gnashing teeth and panting breath, Maggie trying to devour you in a way that spoke of revenge. Clearly trying to shut you up, and you letting out precious little whimpers as you quickly became turned on by her powerful actions and struggled to keep up.

“I’m not stupid.” You huffed against her chin when she finally pulled back from your lips, looking you in the eyes with a fierce, demanding gaze once again. “Maybe I’m just bored, or-” You choked on a breath, the words dissolving off in your throat.

“What?” Maggie demanded.

She could see the thoughts swimming behind your eyes, something lethal and lustful, something you were almost afraid to say.

“Come on, speak up. Tell me, little bird.”

It was a nickname that made you weak, caused a whimper from deep in your chest - something that she had called you since the beginning of the relationship that made your pussy flutter and made your heart sing.

When your jaw quivered in hesitation and you still didn’t speak, Maggie reached up and harshly grabbed your nipple through your shirt - the peak already stuck off and visible through the thin fabric of your tee shirt, no bra in sight, making you even more of a tease in her eyes. She twisted harshly and wiggled her hold on the sensitive point for a prolonged moment, trying to force words out of you. You let out a small whine, and finally folded to her whims, divulging that secret desire.

“I - I can’t stop thinking about how good you look cause you’re all knocked up,” You said, your voice edging on a whisper, trying to keep it as a secret just between the two of you.

Your hands came forward and cradled her hips - hips that were now wider than they used to be thanks to the epic hunger the pregnancy had given her, something that made you and Glenn proud to satisfy as her providers while she was so busy providing for everyone else. Initially, the weight gain and the way her body changed in make-up (the fact that she was now more curvy than she ever had been) made her feel self conscious, made her feel a bit alien in her own skin. Especially when she had asked Glenn to get her bigger jeans on one of his last scavenging runs.

But now - Maggie’s insides were burning hotter than they had in weeks, raging with confidence and power and sheer need, and what you said cranked the fire up to a full blown inferno.

“I can’t stop thinking about how gorgeous you look.” You said, digging your thumbs into the spot right above the waistband of her jeans, creating an intense tingle across her skin. “I… I wanna be gorgeous like that too.”

The last words came out in a tiny, shy croak, and Maggie almost thought she was mistaken by your meaning - were you saying that you wanted to be pregnant too?

“Say it.” Maggie commanded, stroking a sharp thumb across your cheek and your bottom lip, loving the absolutely enraptured, glassy look in your eyes already. “Say it, little bird.”

“I wanna get pregnant.” You told her, your throat tight around the words as you became swallowed up by your own lust, the statement delivering a beautiful gut punch to Maggie’s stomach.

Her mind was instantly flooded with images of Glenn fucking into you furiously at her command, pulling out - his cock red and raw, drooling and wet with a combination of your cum and his, leaving your cunt used and leaking. Maggie would shove that cum back up inside of you with her fingers to make sure that it took, forcing tears from your eyes as you whined and complained about how sore you were - but it was what you asked for. Your body needed to be fucked and used and filled if you wanted a baby.

She conjured up mental images of your tits swollen and aching, holding them in her hands and feeling how heavy they were, getting to grope all over your body to feel how big and beautiful you were becoming with Glenn’s baby growing inside of you.

And of course, the sentimental part took hold, and she realized that it meant that your kids would grow up close in age. They would be half-siblings biologically - just like her and Beth. It was a needy chime that clanged in her heart that instantly needed to be answered. If you wanted to be pregnant, then Maggie would make it happen.

And then, another stroke of genius flashed into her mind.

She grabbed your wrist and dragged you toward the stairs, and along the way, she spotted something hanging on the railing that would definitely help her in her quest - Jesus had left one of the ropes for the horses bundled up there, so Maggie grabbed it in her free hand and continued hauling you along forcefully behind her.

She smiled widely to herself when she arrived at the end of the hallway and pushed you in through Gregory’s bedroom doorway. He didn’t want people ruining his precious house. Fuck him. Maggie was going to ruin his damn bed.

She followed in behind you and slammed the door shut behind her, and you stared at her with lustful awe in your eyes.

“Uh - Mags, don’t we need Glenn for this part?” You asked, feeling a bitter thrill run up your spine as you watched her take out her knife and cut off a short length of the rope with it.

Maggie let out a dark chuckle - one that made your pussy clench and scared you a little at the same time. She put away her knife, walked over to you, and shoved you down onto the bed with a surprising force. Not that it would take much to topple you when you were this dizzy with lust, shaking with anticipation.

“Darling girl, you still need to be punished for what you did downstairs,” She told you, giving you a dark look.

You choked on a moan and felt yourself most definitely getting wetter - this was what you had been hoping for all afternoon. You were absolutely pliant to her actions when she flipped you onto your stomach and brought both your hands behind your back, tying your wrists together with the abrasive rope that most definitely wasn’t meant for this - it rubbed against your skin in a harsh way that lit up your nerves and somehow, turned you on even more.

Your stomach churned with anticipation and your breath came out in hot pants, and you quickly became dizzier by the second as you wondered what she was going to do to you.

“Just because that old fucker is an awful, thick-skulled, stupid man doesn’t mean that you get to go around actin’ like a rude brat,” Maggie told you, reaching for the waistband of your jeans and your underwear at the same time, harshly pulling the fabric down over your ass, leaving your drooling cunt exposed to the open air in seconds.

You clenched around nothing, feeling more wetness leak out of you, and you knew that she could see it - just how embarrassingly needy and wet you were for her.

“If you can behave yourself through this, then maybe - maybe I’ll go get Glenn and let him stuff your little pussy so you can get your wish, alright?”

You let out a sharp moan at this, and nodded furiously.

“But if you keep actin’ like a damn brat, then I’ll probably have him fuck your ass for practice instead and you won’t even get to cum at all,”

You let out a louder moan - strangely enough, this idea turned you on even more, even though it was entirely counter-productive to your goals. But you remembered the feeling of his cock in your ass from past experiences.

Back at the quarry camp in Atlanta when he brought you back lube from one of his runs to call you out on something he thought was a joke, and you ended up pinned against a tree with his whimpers huffing in your ear, loving the feeling of his cum running down your leg after he pulled out, laughing about how you were ‘crazy’ and it was a ‘weird first date’ (which, it was). Back before the two of you had Maggie - back before the two of you realized that the crazy sex would actually lead to something more.

The memory alone caused more wetness to leak out of you - which Maggie wiped up with two fingers that she promptly shoved inside you with a sharp jab, absolutely no gentleness or warning. The touch lit up your insides with that rough, beautiful feeling, causing your hips to seize up off the bed toward her, instantly seeking more of the friction, more of the fullness.

“God, you are such a little whore,” She taunted you, beginning to fuck you with those two fingers in quick, aggressive strokes.

“I - I’ll be good,” You choked out, turning your head so that your words wouldn’t be lost against the sheets. “I’ll be good, I swear!”

“Yeah?” She taunted you, her voice melting into that fake, honey-sweet tone that turned you on far too much. “You gonna be a good whore? You gonna be a good little whore instead of a dumb fucking brat?”

Then, without any warning, she brought her free hand down onto you in a vicious slap - spanking you harshly across the ass cheek. You let out a moan - enjoying the mixture of bright pain that tingled across your skin and the blinding, sharp pleasure that came from inside of you where she was still fucking you with her fingers, absolutely relentless. She was quickly melting you, turning you into the pliant, submissive, easy girl that she knew you could be.

She was powerful like that. She could have you exactly where she wanted you within minutes.

“Are you gonna earn it?”

She said, her voice becoming slightly breathless from the efforts, but still utterly commanding and powerful in the room - especially past the sounds of you whining and the wet slapping of your pussy under her fingers, being played like a piano for her. Another smack came across your ass from her another hand and you let out another pathetic moan.

“Are you gonna earn the right to be knocked up?”

“Yes!” You cried out in return. “Yes, Mommy!”

“Good girl.”

…

“I need to talk to you.”

Glenn had absolutely no clue what he had done to warrant such a harsh tone from Maggie - firm, demanding, serious. It was her work voice. It was her bossy voice - her ‘something is going down’ voice.

Glenn knew that Maggie had a meeting with Gregory that morning - the man still demanded to be let in on certain ‘matters’, even though, thanks to Maggie, and Jesus, and Sasha, he had very little control over what went on in the small settlement anymore. But he knew how to push Maggie’s buttons, a lot. So either she was pissed off because of something Gregory had done, or something bad was happening.

Glenn found himself unable to move, pure fear struck into him due to the tone of her voice alone, and the stern expression that was knit across her face. He had been picking through a large wooden carriage of goods dropped off by The Kingdom, sorting out a trade haul of both fresh and salvaged items that The Hilltop would need to feed everyone.

Maggie added on even more firmly:

“In private. Now.”

Roused to action by the urgency of her words, Glenn clattered behind her nervously, then, drawn to her bossy energy like a moth to a flame. Usually, it was something that turned him on, now, it was just putting a terrible anxiety deep in his gut. He pattered behind her confident strides with his usual quick steps, wondering what the hell was going on.

Since Maggie had become the unofficial leader of Hilltop, her days had been packed with a busy schedule that caused a lot of stress. Naturally, Gregory felt betrayed when ‘his’ people constantly chose her and looked to her for leadership, especially when going through conflicts with the Saviors that ultimately ended in a peaceful unification after Negan had been jailed. (Gregory had felt even more sour when he had chosen the wrong side, and still, Maggie and Rick had chosen to save his life.)

So these days he mostly just sequestered himself off in his office and drank and pretended that he was actually the one making decisions for the community when everyone looked to Maggie for true leadership.

This meant that Maggie was the truly busy one - she was the one making decisions about food, building more shelters for the growing community, trading with the other communities around them, how to deal with Walkers and potential threats like the Saviours (should those threats come up), medical care. Her days were packed with meetings, gardening to ensure the security of the food supply, and often, traveling off to the other communities to have more meetings. All while she was dealing with the hormones from her pregnancy.

She was adorably round as she entered her second trimester, her stomach just starting to show the cute pouch of a true baby bump - something that distracted Glenn increasingly as the days went on and made him smile. (That, along with the fact that her breasts were definitely growing and her ass was most definitely getting wider. Something she complained about that he found… viciously temping.) While she was busy taking care of the entire community, he was trying his best to take care of her - always chasing her down to eat and trying to make sure that she got the right amount of sleep.

And he was worried that something big and terrible had happened now - something that would cause her and the baby far too much stress.

When they arrived at the main house, Glenn wasn’t surprised when the large sitting room off to the side was closed off, Gregory clearly having closed himself in, sulking again. Maggie tightly grabbed his hand and began literally dragging him up the stairs, causing him to stumble over his own feet as she raced a bit faster than he could keep up.

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong?” He asked, tripping over the edge of one of the fancy long rugs lining the intricately decorated hallways. “Is someone dead?” He dared to ask. “Did I do something? Am I in trouble? Maggie, come on-”

She shoved him inside the largest bedroom at the end of the hall - a room that Glenn could have sworn belonged to Gregory. But he couldn’t bring himself to care at all when Maggie quickly pulled the door shut behind them, locked it, and then yanked him close with two fingers tucked into his belt.

He barely had a moment to think before her mouth was on his, smothering him with an intense heat that he had missed so damn badly, even though it had only been two days since the last time they had fucked.

Oh. The state of her urgency and need for privacy truly clicked into his brain. Oh, fuck.

Glenn let out a sharp moan into her mouth - one that was only amplified when she pushed her tongue forcefully past his lips and reached for his belt. She swiftly unbuckled it and unzipped his jeans, reaching into the fly to forcefully grope his cock through his underwear, bringing him to full hardness so quickly that his head began to spin.

He let out another thick groan that was quickly swallowed by her perfect mouth - his mind was melting so quickly that he felt like he was frying inside of a giant pan, but he truly didn’t care. Her touch was just too good - all of it was just too good.

Glenn almost swore that he could taste the sharp tang of pussy in her mouth, a brightness that made him crave and want even more, that made him dizzy and pliant to her, but that would mean that you -

“Mommy?”

Glenn’s stomach jolted when he heard a pathetic moan that wasn’t his own, and Maggie parted far enough from him to allow his head to veer off toward the sound with horny curiosity flashing brightly through him.

Surely enough, there you were.

He wasn’t even sure when he had closed his eyes, but when he managed to peel them open, he discovered an utterly filthy sight that he was sure Maggie had left there just for him to enjoy.

You were propped against the bed, your cheek pressed against the expensive silk comforter, your mouth wide open and drooling, clearly already fucked out. Your hands were tied behind your back with a rough braided rope that was typically used on the horses, one that was abrasive on your skin and would surely leave marks that would last for days or even weeks and would be obvious to everyone. Hell, those kinds of marks might even be alarming to some people who didn’t know about the rumors of your ‘behind closed doors’ activities if you didn’t wear long sleeves in the coming days.

Your feet were still planted firmly on the floor, leaving your ass exposed to the open air, your stomach leaning on the edge of the bed, with your jeans hastily ripped down to your knees - clearly, Maggie had been in just as much of an urgent rush with you too. The skin of your ass cheeks was bright and raw, already bruising slightly in some places - obviously, Maggie had delivered a vicious spanking to you over something you had done that had displeased her.

If you had sat through your punishment well, perhaps taking Glenn’s cock would be your reward. Glenn’s body tingled with pleasure at the thought.

Especially because your cunt was so pretty and used - clearly Maggie had been playing with it while she had been spanking you. You were so wonderfully raw, spread open and puffed with blood and absolutely drunk with your wetness. The glistening slick spread all over your cute pussy hair and leaking down to slick up your thighs, your hole clenching with anticipation - clearly, you hated the emptiness. (Glenn yearned to march over there and thrust inside of you, filling you up - but he was absolutely not mistaken about the fact that Maggie was in charge.)

He was instantly struck with a mental image of Maggie forcing you onto the bed, tying your hands behind your back and then shoving her face into your cunt - alternating between forcefully fucking you open with her fingers and spanking your ass until you were crying out for her to stop.

Her arms had gotten so strong from the farm work, long hours digging holes with shovels with no heavy machinery to help the process along, lifting heavy bags of fertilizer even when Glenn insisted she shouldn’t, carrying large buckets of water - Glenn would be lying if he said that the fact that she could pin him down so easily didn’t turn him on.

The mental image somehow made him even more turned on than he already was. And of course, with perfect timing, Maggie gave another harsh grope to his cock and ravenously bit at his neck. He had a feeling that if anymore blood rushed away from his brain to rapidly fill up his dick and balls, he would likely soon pass out - but then the idea of Maggie simply not caring and using him as an unconscious fucktoy turned him on even more in a wickedly depraved way.

“Y/N,” Glenn panted out your name, already struggling to breathe.

You flailed on the bed slightly, looking like a fish struggling on dry land because of the difficult position Maggie had left you in with your hands trapped behind your back (your body likely jelly and tired from one orgasm having rocked you, if not a few by now). Eventually, you managed to crane your head enough to see him, and you let out a little wicked laugh when you saw that Maggie was mauling his neck and already had his pants down over his thighs.

“Glenn!” You called back breathlessly in return. “You should have run when you had the chance, dude! These pregnancy hormones are making her fucking insane,”

There was a wicked kind of delight to your voice - and Glenn wasn’t quite sure what the sentiment behind your words was; if you truly felt like he would regret this because Maggie was too wound up to be reasoned with (which could very well be the case). Or if you wanted to keep her all to yourself because you could be a sucker for punishment at times, and you liked her when she was at her most ‘insane’. Glenn had seen how sometimes, you loved to tease Maggie just to drive her ‘insane’ so that she would spank you and overstimulate you until you nearly passed out.

Glenn, on the other hand, was softer. And typically, he enjoyed one or two rounds of playful sex or even making love - so perhaps your warning was a bit of both. Perhaps you knew that Glenn couldn’t quite handle Maggie when she was like this, but you could.

At your words, Maggie scoffed and pulled away from Glenn’s skin, and before he could truly miss the sensation of her soft lips sucking on him, he became intrigued by what she did next. She moved to grab his belt, swiftly pulling it out of the loops of his jeans, now wielding the leather in her hands in a way that was all too familiar - a weapon. It was something she had used against you before.

“Why do you always have to be such a goddamn brat?”

She scolded you sharply, and then, she stepped toward you, holding on tight to one end of the belt - Glenn watched with a delightful knot in his stomach as she wound her arm back, and he realized a moment too late that the end she was whipping toward you was the end with the metal buckle attached to it.

“Mommy-”

“Shut up!” She hissed at you in the same moment that the metal struck across your skin, creating a sharp welt across the width of one of your ass cheeks, causing you to yelp and jolt away from the sensation, and unmistakably - causing a fresh wave of hot slick to gush out of your cunt.

“Jesus, Maggie, the buckle!” Glenn spoke up, alarmed.

He couldn’t help it, it was just his nature. Even if you relaxed your muscles and moaned in pleasure moments after the hit washed over you, and you didn’t make any verbal protests. You knew that, even as ‘insane’ as Maggie was, there was always room for you to do so if you needed to. Glenn always had your best interests at heart. Again, he was just soft like that.

“She’s fine. You know she’s a pain lovin’ whore.”

Maggie scoffed again, rolling her eyes. But then, something else struck her, causing her hot streak to be turned toward him as she dropped the belt onto the floor with a dull ‘clank’.

“Wait - what did you just call me?”

“I - uh-”

Glenn began to stutter, and instinctively backed up when Maggie charged toward him, almost tripping over his own pants (which had now fallen down around his ankles). But he was quickly stopped in his tracks when Maggie grabbed him by the cock again - taking a firm, deadly hold on his cock and balls through his underwear, causing him to freeze deadly still when her sharp, untrimmed nails dug into his flesh oh-so-slightly.

He wasn’t one for pain, but for some reason, it sent a perfect tingle through him, and made his cock throb so perfectly. It sent an epic rush of adrenaline through him and he puffed a hot breath into her face while she stared him down with an utterly predatory gaze, and behind her, he could see you flailing again, desperately trying to see what was going on over your shoulder.

“What did you call me?” Maggie repeated, firmer, fiercer this time.

“Your name.” He wheezed out, knowing that he sounded utterly pathetic.

“No, that is not my name.” She replied, annoyance twinging into her voice. “Not here. Not when we’re alone. Now come on - what is my name? What are you supposed to call me?”

Glenn, growing dizzier with lust by the second, knew that there was only one correct answer.

“Mommy.”

He whined in reply, grateful when she released her death grip on his cock and smoothed a more forgiving touch across his shaft through the fabric, causing him to let out a tiny weep of precum in response. He shuddered and let out a whimper and he absolutely did not miss her utterly satisfied cat-like smirk as she turned back to you, giving him one last glance over her shoulder - naturally, with more dominating words.

“Get undressed. You have work to do.”

Glenn knew that the instructions were simple and certain for a reason - they were meant to be followed without question. Just like her place in the rest of the world, when Maggie picked out a job for him in their relationship, she assigned it to him with finite simplicity, and it was always best not to question her leadership.

(He had realized a bit too late that she had decided to get pregnant before he even considered it an option, and he was just happily fucked dumb and too pleased to question why he was allowed to cum inside of her beautiful pussy now.)

Glenn rushed to undo the buttons of his shirt with clumsy hands, still eagerly watching as Maggie went back over to you, clearly not done with you yet. She raised her hand up, and laid a harsh, open-handed spank across your ass, specifically targeting the harsh welt that the belt buckle had left on your skin to maximize the jolt of pain that went through you.

It definitely worked, according to the wail you let out and the way your body seized up off the bed. Even though Glenn wasn’t someone usually turned on by pain, he couldn’t deny the way his cock throbbed and let out another thick bead of precum, especially when you choked on a moan as she smoothed her warm hands over your skin, coddling you in turn with the harsh pain.

“Maggie-” You whined, making the same mistake that Glenn had earlier, earning you another sharp smack - one that had her wedding ring grazing across your skin sharply in a way that made you squeal.

“Are you stupid?” She barked, quickly moving two fingers back to your gaping cunt and shoving them inside without any gentleness, fucking into your raw hole so quickly that you saw stars. “Or are you tryna piss me off again? Huh?”

“‘m sorry, sorry! Ah!”

“What? I’m sorry, darlin’, I can’t hear you!” Maggie replied in a sing-song type voice, clearly teasing you as she continued to viciously fuck your cunt, digging her nails into the flesh of your ass with the other hand, waiting for you to say the magic words - or rather, the one magic word she wanted to hear.

Glenn’s insides jumped at the pure, filthy ‘squelch’ that rang out through the air, his tongue becoming fat in his mouth as he yearned to push between your thighs and taste that wetness. He raced to tear his feet out of the mess of fabric around his ankles, kicking off his shoes, finally getting out of his remaining clothing to be fully naked and free. He deeply resisted the urge to reach down and touch his throbbing cock where it jutted out from his pelvis, heavy, aching and needy, because he knew that would only get him scolded and put him on Maggie’s bad side. He knew that if he wanted to cum tonight, he should stay on her good side.

He moved forward to stand behind Maggie, eagerly looking over her shoulder and down at you as he waited for her next direction, drinking in the sight of her two fingers jabbing into your pussy with no mercy.

“I’m sorry, Mommy!” You cried out in return, finally giving her what she wanted.

“Better.” She sighed, pulling her fingers out - clearly, she had never been fucking your pussy with the intention of making you cum, but simply playing with you like the toy that you were, winding you up for her own enjoyment.

She leaned down and left a sharp, sudden bite on your ass, right on that same already sore spot, enjoying the scream you let out - another beautifully pathetic sound that only served to remind her of the power she held over you.

She then reached to her belt, going for the knife that she always kept there. For a moment, Glenn thought that she might cut the rope and finally free your wrists - but she surprised him when she used a hold on your arm to turn you over until you were resting on your back.

Once again, moving with utter certainty, she brought the blade to the bottom of your tee shirt and began slicing, easily tearing the fabric in half until your entire body was exposed - leaving your bare chest heaving as you let out a wild moan, far too turned on by the act of her cutting your clothes off you.

“Fuck, Mommy-” You breathed out, now most definitely in that buttery, utterly subservient headspace that Maggie needed you to be in.

“You gonna be a good little whore?” Maggie asked with a smirk, putting her knife back into its holster.

Before you had time to answer, she reached out a sharply twisted one of your nipples, causing you to let out a pathetic wail, arching into the touch.

“Ah! Yes! Yes, Mommy!” You replied, quivering and entirely subservient to her. “I’m yours. I’m good - I’ll be good. Please.”

Glenn’s skin was tingling with the feeling lingering in the air, drool easily pooling in his mouth just from getting to witness this. He was surprised when a small gasp escaped his lips as Maggie delivered a small smack to one of your tits, truly driving home her power with a little bit of extra pain, having you moaning and pressing your tits into the air, eager for more.

“Good.” Maggie said firmly. “Mommy’s glad you’re finally ready to be filled up.”

Glenn was more than eager and willing, but he should have been slightly afraid when Maggie reached back to the ground and grabbed his belt once again.

He should have been anticipating that what came next was going to drive him beyond his limits, but truly - he was far too turned on to care.

…

Not much later, Glenn found himself flat on his back in the middle of the bed, his hands tangled up and bound by the leather of his belt. He was tied to one of the slats on the fancy wooden headboard, with you completely divested of any remaining clothing and perched above him, your hands still tied behind your back, meaning that both of you had absolutely no control over the situation. Exactly how Maggie preferred things.

Maggie had manhandled you into place with that perfect, well-worked strength of hers and hadn’t hesitated to perch you right on top of Glenn’s cock, forcing you to sink down on top of his thick, eight-inch length - so now you were surrounding him like a wonderful, wet, hot sleeve. It was a feeling that had driven him insane within seconds.

Of course, you were clumsy and had practically no control, even though you were the one on top of him. You could do nothing with your arms tight behind your back and your legs weak from Maggie’s earlier brutal fucking of your pussy. You could do nothing but let her guide you. With her hands firm on your hips, she was using you like a perfect doll, like a fleshlight on Glenn’s cock, hammering you down onto his pelvis.

And though he was blind to how long it had been since you had sunk down onto his cock (he certainly wasn’t timing it and wasn’t keeping an eye on any one of the antique clocks in the room, not with your gorgeous tits swaying in front of his face) - it felt like it had been hours of brutal heat gripping him, smothering him in a private desert that had covered him in a thick sheen of sweat and made his muscles ache from the effort.

He was already swimming in a puddle of his own cum, his heavy balls already soaked and sloppy slick, making everything sound even filthier every single time Maggie dropped you down on top of him once again, making him feel gross in a way that somehow turned him on. He couldn’t help but to love every second of this - his mind hazy, his mouth wide open as he panted like a dog, desperate for air, your tits bouncing in his face as you moved on top of him with just as much desperation, chanting in quiet mumbles under your breath.

“Fill me up, fill me up, fuck-”

Somehow, he was still iron hard inside of you from the sheer demand of your hot pussy squeezing him, from Maggie’s beautiful southern voice going on, and on, telling the both of you exactly what she wanted.

“He’s gonna fill you up so good,” Maggie said, petting a hand across Glenn’s stomach in a sweet way that made his aching muscles melt. “Aren’t you, honey? Yeah? You’re gonna fill our girl up so good - gonna fill up this little pussy til she can’t take anymore,”

His cock was almost in pain at this point, and he almost felt like a prisoner, tied up and trapped underneath you with Maggie’s piercing eyes staring at him over your shoulder. But he realized that this was the best place in the world to be trapped. It was a smothering heat, a stinging pain that drove him insane. But it was where he was needed - it was a demand from two of the finest women in the world, a need for him, for his cock - a need that nobody else could ever fill. If it made Glenn a prisoner, then he would serve a life sentence and be a Walker chained up for the two of you to mock and admire as some kind of sick ornament and he would be happy about it.

It was the best kind of torture he could have ever imagined.

“Fuck, it hurts,”

Glenn whined, his head utterly dizzy - he wasn’t even sure if it was a complaint or not, simply a statement of fact. It was a point of awe as a jolt of sharp pleasure-pain zapped through his rod-hard cock and somehow - he found himself loving it, found himself letting out a sharp whine and jostling his hips up into your heat, seeking more of that delicious, deadly feeling.

“Aww, darlin, it’s almost like you’re new at this,”

Maggie replied, tossing him a grin.

She reached around a pinched one of your nipples, and you arched into the touch, and Glenn found his jaw lolling open in a sharp pant, his neck arching forward automatically with the urge to taste, the need to lap over that delicious, plump skin. But he was tied down with his arms stretched high above his head and unable to reach, and if he had any brain left in his head at all, he would have known that he must have looked like a foolish, dumb dog chasing after a treat that he couldn’t have.

“I get what I want.” Maggie continued on. “And what I want - is for this sweet little bitch to be pregnant. By tonight.” Maggie grabbed your cheeks sharply on both sides to emphasize the point, and you let out a whine in response. “So you’re gonna get your job done, Glenn. You’re gonna breed her up good, or I’m gonna leave the two of ya tied up here til it’s done - got it?”

Glenn huffed out a breath - the mental image of you pregnant, especially pregnant alongside Maggie, both of you round together, with swollen breasts and glowing skin and… both of you having his babies, both of you needy for his cock, waking him up in the middle of the night, just as demanding as Maggie had been over the past few weeks. It was just as terrifying and dizzying as it was absolutely thrilling.

“I want it.” You moaned out, your voice echoing and frantic. “I want it, I want it, I want it! Please, Glenn!”

You looked down at him with tears glassy across your eyes, your utter desperation punching him in the gut.

You really wanted to get pregnant. You really wanted to get pregnant with his baby.

Fuck.

“Promise her.” Maggie barked. “Promise her that you’re gonna knock her up!”

She then lightly smacked Glenn across the thigh behind you, jolting him into action.

“Fuck, ah!” Glenn gasped. “I promise. I promise, Y/N. I’ll give you whatever you want. I’ll give you as many babies as you want, I swear.”

He wished that he could have pulled you close to kiss you as a way of sealing his promise, an in that silent way that she always understood him, Maggie grabbed you harshly by the hair and shoved you down toward Glenn, pressing your tits tightly up against his chest as she shoved your mouth into his in a messy, sloppy, somehow very heart-warming kiss. Glenn moaned into your mouth and you shoved your tongue past his lips, entirely eager to taste him.

“You’re gonna look so gorgeous when you’re all knocked up, little bird.” Maggie whispered in your ear. “Such a pretty little breeding bitch for us,”

All too soon, she yanked you away from Glenn’s mouth with that hold on your hair, and the harsh tugging on your roots causing a delightful spike of pain combined with her filthy words sent your body spiralling towards the edge.

“Fuck, Mommy!”

You choked on a moan and Glenn felt you spasming around him, your hips grinding non-rhythmically on his cock in sharp jumps - fuck, you were cumming. You were cumming just from the idea of him knocking you up.

And fuck - he was cumming again too.

Glenn let out a grunt from deep within his chest and instinctively fucked himself up into you in a few sharp pumps. But at this point, when the hot flood came spilling from his cock, mixing with your overflowing wetness and his own previous loads of cum, he couldn’t even tell where the new mess began and the old mess ended. It was all just stickiness and filth at this point.

There was a single, tiny moment where he thought that his dick just might give up - where his body might forcibly black out and that he would wake up later, inevitably in this same position of utterly beautiful torture. But instead, a sharp, tingling pain ran across his skin and developed into a mild muscle cramp in his pelvis, and he remained rock-hard inside of you, once again squeezed by your gorgeous, wet, warm pussy while Maggie kept grinding you down across his filthy wet pubic hair.

“Fuck, fuck, Mommy - I’m so full, I’m so full-”

You stuttered out, your eyes shut and your words slurring with a kind of drunkenness as your head tipped back to rest on Maggie’s shoulder - she looked at you with a unique, utterly satisfied, near villainous expression as she smoothly petted away some stray hairs from your face. Her breasts were heaving inside of her shirt and Glenn could just imagine how wet she was inside of her jeans.

“Well, that’s the point, little bird.” She told you softly, her voice a coo that was edging on teasing once again. “You’re s’pose to get all full til you’re little cunt can’t take anymore… get all bred up and give Mommy another baby.”

Glenn let out a growl at these words - his brain utterly possessed by the idea that yes, it was Maggie’s baby. It was his baby. It was your baby, just like the baby inside of her was yours. The three of you so utterly interconnected that you might as well be handcuffed together on a daily basis.

Maggie put a firm hand on your lower belly, as if to demonstrate her point, as if willing Glenn’s cum to take, to get you pregnant right then and there. You arched into the touch, inadvertently grinding yourself against him in a way that drove him even more insane.

“I need it, fuck, I need it,” You mumbled out ravenously. “I need to be full, I to be bred, please,”

Somewhere along the way, Glenn had realized that this was about revenge.

Maggie wanted to fuck in Gregory’s bed to get back at him. Jesus wouldn’t let her kill him, not without good reason. Especially not since tentative peace had been established with the Saviours - he went on about how ‘no more bloodshed’ was necessary, and in a way, as annoying as he found Gregroy, Glenn agreed.

So Maggie found other ways to get back at him. She had you and Jesus drink his good scotch to reward the two of you for all your hard work, and she would dilute the bottles with water when the two of you were done. Then she would quietly laugh whenever the man droned on about how good a ‘finely aged’ drink tasted, clearly knowing that his unrefined palette could not taste the difference between actually good scotch and the watered down bullshit that she had left him. She snuck Rick and Daryl some of his fine cigars when they arrived with trade items, and when he asked why the count was lower when he remembered, she acted clueless and told him that his count must have been off.

But this was the most brazen she had ever been with her taunting of Gregory.

Some part of Glenn knew that she had absolutely no intentions of changing the sheets - that a great part of her satisfaction would come from leaving dried cum all over his fine linens and either forcing him to clean it up himself (leaving him with the awkward, embarrassing knowledge of what it was). Or letting him be foolish enough to sleep in it if he somehow didn’t notice it. With Maggie always knowing that he was sleeping on the same mattress where Glenn had fucked a baby into you (if he got it right on the first try, which - he didn’t think he was going to miss with this much of his cum stuffed inside of you now).

And somehow, that thought turned him on, too.

Maggie reached down behind you and Glenn let out a very undignified wail when she groped his balls - the skin was slick with your wetness, but he was already so sore, his body so spent and used. The touch sent a sensation through his body, rocking him with overwhelming pleasure - he wasn’t sure how he remained conscious at that point.

“Got anymore for me?” She asked, giving him a wicked grin. “Huh? You gonna be a good boy for me ‘n fill our girl up some more?”

“Jesus,” Glenn hissed, intensely overwhelmed - between Maggie’s words, her touch, and the clench of your cunt around him once again as Maggie’s other hand reached up to tweak your nipple - her question was truly answered.

Like a man possessed, Glenn choked on a breath and garbled spit, somehow shooting another load into your already well used, very wet pussy. Maggie hummed in a pleased tone, and then, seemingly, planted her hands on your hips with the purpose of finally moving you off Glenn.

But she was disrupted by a knock on the door. The sound shook Glenn with anxiety - up until that moment, he had been so perfectly stuck in a bubble where only you, him, and Maggie existed, and hadn’t even thought about the consequences of getting caught.

“Hey, uh - Maggie?” Jesus’s very timid voice came from the other side of the door. Usually he wasn’t shy, but… god, he must have heard what was going on behind the closed door, making him incredibly hesitant to interrupt. “Sasha just arrived with those panels for the greenhouse that you wanted, and she wants to go over the plans again, so… do you mind coming downstairs?”

“Be right there!” Maggie called back.

Much to Glenn’s horror, she climbed off the bed, leaving you to drop back onto Glenn’s cock firmly. You let out another harsh noise as he sank deep inside of you again and Glenn practically saw stars as his body shook with overstimulation. Maggie didn’t look back in your direction - she crossed the room to the door (leaving behind the flannel she had been wearing as an outer shirt, now only in a thin tank top) and her boots, and she scooted out the door, closing it behind her quickly, as to not let any wandering eyes peek inside.

But this left you and Glenn, tied up, stuck together - his cock still fully seated inside of you. (He was willing himself to go soft, to relax, but it was incredibly difficult with you squirming on top of him and making those pretty little noises as you did so, your tits heaving with every breath, your blissful, fucked-out face still right there in his line of sight, your heat still fully gripping his aching, sore dick. Fuck.)

“Can - can you get off me?” Glenn choked out, absolutely no power in his voice, meek and whimpery as ever.

“I’m trying.” You moaned back weakly, still squirming. Your thighs were quivering terribly and your knees were shaking as you tried to lift yourself up, your arms absolutely no help to give you leverage while they were held hostage with the rough rope behind your back. “It’s not my fault I’m stuck on a full seven inches over here.”

“Eight.” Glenn mumbled back in return. (He wasn’t even being cocky with the correction, not in his opinion. It was simply factual.)

“Now is not the time, pizza boy.” You grumbled in complaint, letting out another weak whimper when you accidentally caused his tip to graze across a partially weak spot inside of you, causing more wetness to flood out around the base of his cock - something he definitely felt, and hated how it made his cock throb sorely.

“Fuck, stop that!” He growled at you.

“Stop? Stop what? Stop trying to get up like you fucking told me to?” You replied, annoyed - Maggie had been gone for about a minute, and you had already developed back into a mean brat. No surprise there. “Make up your fucking mind, Glenn, because I know that you’re whiny and overstimulated, but I could sit on your cock all day if I wanted to-”

Your empty threat was quickly cut off when the bedroom door swung open again, and Maggie charged back inside.

“You know, I should make you do it.” Maggie said, clearly having heard your words.

Both you and Glenn craned your necks to look at her as she sat in one of the large cushioned armchairs and began putting on her boots, all graceful confidence and power, every single move calculated and elegant - making the two of you wait with baited breath before she spoke again.

“You’re such a goddamn brat - I should make you stay there, stuffed full until I come back to get you.”

“Maggie, please.” Glenn begged quietly, trying to appeal to her - giving her his best puppy eyes, trying to remind her that he had done nothing wrong.

She let out a harsh sigh, defeated, unable to resist that look from him.

When she stood up from the chair, she finally came over and grabbed you with an arm around your waist, hoisting you off Glenn - the two of you parting made the filthiest sound, slick and wet as his cock slapped down onto his stomach. You were left gaping, a flood of cum instantly leaking out of you and making a mess over your thighs and across the bed, exactly as Maggie had wanted.

Glenn found himself enraptured by the sight - especially when you inevitably clenched your pussy around the empty feeling and more of his cum spilled out of you.

Maggie couldn’t help herself - she reached out and used two fingers to push the mess back into you, causing you to whimper weakly as the intrusion prodded against your swollen, well-used walls.

“I should fuck you again.” Maggie whispered against your ear, a hot threat as she shoved her fingers deep inside of you, rough and unforgiving. “I should teach you a lesson for mouthin’ off to Glenn. But - I do have a meeting to get to.”

You let out a sigh of relief when she pulled her fingers out of you, and then reached for her knife, finally moving to cut the rope holding your wrists giving your now very sore arms some room to move and stretch. Maggie then moved to untie Glenn, and instinctively, when he saw the raw skin of your wrists from the rough texture of the rope, he couldn’t help but to bring your hand up and kiss across your wrist, wanting to soothe it a bit, even if just emotionally.

“You’re too soft with her.” Maggie scolded him, no real heat behind it. “That’s why she’s such a brat.”

“Maybe.” Glenn shrugged in reply, giving you a small smile, which you easily returned.

You wanted to make a comment about how you were a brat because you liked to see how far you could push Maggie - but you held the words in.

“Go get cleaned up,” Maggie told Glenn, picking up his pants and pushing them into his hands, and then shoving him toward the attached ensuite bathroom. He was quick to move, following her instructions. “I have a long afternoon ahead of me, yammering on about the goddamn greenhouse plans - so unfortunately I can’t just leave the two of you alone in here.”

“You ruined my shirt,” You whined, moving to pick up your pants and looking at the pile of shredded fabric that had once been your shirt with sad eyes.

“I’ll get you a new one.” Maggie replied easily.

When you moved to walk around her, going to use the bathroom to clean the (vast amount of) cum off you, Maggie put a hand in the middle of your still very sweaty chest, stopping you.

“Don’t think you’re off the hook just cause I have things to attend to.” She said, locking you in that firm gaze once again.

You caught Glenn’s eye behind her shoulder, and he held in laughter. He genuinely wondered what you had done earlier that day to deserve such a punishment. But he was just glad to be an observer on the sidelines rather than someone at the end of Maggie’s clever lustful wrath.

…

For the rest of the day, you received strange looks from everyone who was at Hilltop, trying to go about their day, doing their chores, because you were walking as though you had just gotten off a particularly long, painful horse ride.

Maybe it was the few extra, vicious strikes to the ass that Maggie had given you when you had complained about the punishment that she was sentencing you to, or maybe it was the punishment itself. That punishment being - stuffing a large plug inside if you in an attempt to keep Glenn’s cum in, and not letting you wash up so that you wouldn’t waste a single drop, wouldn’t wash any of his precious spend down the drain.

But with the gape that his wide cock had left you in, that small plug wasn’t quite enough to keep bits of his cum from spilling out of you whenever you moved, so along with your dirty thighs and matted pubic hair, every single time you moved, you felt your underwear and jeans becoming more and more soiled with the evidence of what the three of you had done.

And to the most careful, watchful eye (that being Glenn’s of course - he tried his best to busy himself with his chores, willing his tired, aching cock to stay down, because he feared that it just might fall off if he got hard again that day) - the seam of your jeans where it was pressing up against your cunt was just a bit darker, the fabric actively wet and stuck to you, soaked from his cum leaking out of you and likely from how turned on you still were from the whole thing.

Glenn had to force himself to focus on his assigned chores, because if he didn’t - he just might have pulled you aside into the trees and tried again to fuck another baby into you. After all, it was what Maggie wanted. And she always got what she wanted in the end.

...

A/N: Please keep in mind, this is a oneshot and there will not be a 'Part 2' or a continuation. If you are going to comment on this fic, please comment on the body of work that has been written, rather than asking for a continuation.

If you like this dynamic, feel free to come to my inbox and tell me that you liked this fic for that reason, and I will likely write more with this pairing (the Maggie x Reader x Glenn pairing). But I will not be continuing this fic directly. You can also check out my other Gleggie x Reader fic Hold Me Tight Or Don't, or you can check out my other TWD fics by going through my Walking Dead Masterlist. Happy reading, and I hope you have a great day!

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